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Angel stilled.
Truthfully, she’d expected him to figure it out much sooner, but when he hadn’t said anything, she’d decided he wouldn’t notice or had noticed and didn’t care. From the expression on his face, she was guessing he had finally noticed, and he did care. At least a little.
She was still going to play it as if she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What about our daughter’s beautiful name?”
The side of his lip quirked. Oops. Might have laid it on a little too thick there.
Adam
Oh, how he’d missed this. His sassy Angel, keeping a brave face on, pretending she’d done nothing wrong when she knew she was caught. It was her favorite game, which he enjoyed as well.
“Melody Ginevra? Hmm, I wonder what the issue with her name could be? Perhaps that it happens to be two names from fandoms after I told you we were not naming our daughter after fictional characters?”
“If there happens to be someone in a large fictional world with multitudes of characters with the same name as our daughter, I would argue it was bound to happen. It would be impossible to avoid similar names or even the same names, given the large number of names taken by various fandoms.” The words tripped blithely off her tongue. Almost as if she’d practiced them in anticipation of making the argument.
“So, when you suggested Melody, it was because we both like music and my guitar playing, not because it’s River Song’s real name?” He raised his eyebrow. When she’d put the name forward, he’d been a little surprised at all the schmaltz in her explanation, but hell… she’d just had a baby. Schmaltzy wasn’t entirely unexpected.
He hadn’t been able to think of a single superheroine—Supernatural, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars—character with that name. He’d even been ninety-nine percent sure it wasn’t from Gilmore Girls, though he’d admittedly tuned out as much of that show as possible, no matter how much Angel insisted he was the Luke to her Lorelei, although Luke was the only bearable character on the show.
So, imagine his surprise when he’d finally gotten around to watching the Matt Smith years of Doctor Who while Angel was napping and discovered Angel’s favorite character went by another name.
Melody Pond.
‘We both love music,’ his left ass cheek.
To his surprise, Angel dropped the innocent act, her chin tilting daringly as she stared him directly in the eyes.
“Too late to do anything about it now.”
Shaking his head, Adam walked over to the wall where a multitude of floggers was hanging. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Angel’s bravado falter once she thought he wasn’t watching her, and he had to hide his grin. Choosing one of the medium-weight floggers, with thick black leather strands and little knots tied on the ends that would thud nicely against her skin, Adam hefted it in his palm.
The weight, the smell of the leather… he felt more in control of himself than he had in ages. He’d almost forgotten how good it could be, just him, Angel, and her submission to him.
Turning, he wasn’t surprised when she quickly reverted to her defiant posture, chin back up as if she hadn’t doubted her decisions while his back was to her.
“What’s your color, naughty girl?”
“Green as an Irishman, Sir,” she replied, startling a laugh out of him with the throwback to one of their first scenes together. Grinning at him, her eyes sparkled with delight and triumph at throwing him off his game.
“You’re going to pay for that, brat.”
“Yes, please, Sir.”
Angel
The thuddy fall of the flogger against her skin made her muscles tighten, then relax. The leather kissed her shoulders and her ass hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to make her cry out—yet. She knew from experience her skin would become more and more sensitized as they continued.
Just like Mitch, Adam moved the flogger in a series of figure eights, the ends thudding against her skin and sending delicious tingles through her as her skin heated under the leather’s caress.
A low moan escaped her lips, and she realized she’d closed her eyes, her back arching to meet the blows falling over her skin like rain. She shuddered, wanting more. As if he’d heard her internal plea, the intensity of the impacts increased. The slight amount of pain added to her pleasure, like salt on caramel, enhancing rather than distracting. Angel cried out again as hot need coiled inside her.
“Please…” The word came out as a throaty plea, and a moment later, she remembered to add, “Sir.”
“Yes, Angel? Do you think naughty girls deserve to be rewarded?”
The flogger swept up between her legs, some strands hitting her sensitive inner thighs and the rest landing directly on her splayed pussy with a wet thwapping sound. She went up on her toes, crying out louder, pulling at her bonds, both welcoming and fighting against the pain.
He really was recreating Mitch and Domi’s scene, and the myriad of sensations was overwhelming her. It had been so long since she’d been bound this way, at the mercy of a flogger. She hadn’t forgotten how to handle it—exactly—but her brain was overloaded by the sudden influx of stimulation.
“Fuck!” She cried out as the flogger landed between her legs again. Her pussy throbbed from the impact, pain and pleasure mingling in her core, swirling in an ecstatic mix of sensation.
“Only naughty girls curse.” The flogger flicked against her pussy again, then went back to tenderizing her shoulders and buttocks without missing a beat.
Like hell. She bit her lip against the words. Out of the bedroom, Adam couldn’t care less how foul-mouthed she was, but in a scene? That could easily take things from funishment to punishment, and she was far too hot and aroused to risk her orgasm.
