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“Have you been thinking about me, Madeline?”
The way he says my name, slow and deep, with that erotic accent, makes my channel clench. The whip stills as he waits for my answer.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Good.” Though I can’t see him, I hear the smile in his tone. “And when you’re thinking about me, what am I doing?”
I hesitate. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell him. My secret fantasies. The twisted things I imagine him doing to me.
“Madeline, tell me what I’m doing.”
I swallow. “You’re…you’re punishing me.”
His fingers brush across my collarbone and push my bra strap aside, freeing one breast, then the other. “You crave domination,” he murmurs, pulling my bra down. “You crave pain.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“That pleases me. A lot.”
Suddenly he delivers a sharp blow on my nipple, and a sting zings through me, down to my core, making me feel alive. It takes my breath away. Then his hot mouth is there. His tongue soothes the pain, swirling around the tip before sucking it into his mouth. I moan, arching my back. I can’t help it. His mouth feels so good.
When he pulls away again, I have no idea where he is. He makes no move, no touch. The breast where his mouth was now feels cold, tender, raw. I swallow, at once exhilarated and frozen by the fear of another strike.
It comes without warning, this time on my other nipple. I let out a yelp, but more out of shock than of pain. As before, he soothes the sting with his mouth. Now I’m shivering with anticipation.
The tip of the crop strokes up the inside of one of my thighs to rest at the apex. With it he traces the seam of my sex. My heart races, and I hold my breath.
“What do you say, Madeline?”
A deep breath. I tilt my head toward the voice of the man I cannot see. “Thank you.”
“Good girl.” He taps his approval with the crop on my clit, not nearly enough to cause pain but likely a warning of what he might do. My legs stiffen and my hands move to cover myself. I’m in the dark and completely vulnerable, open to him. And I’m not sure I trust him to give me what I need.
Instead, he removes the crop and pushes my hands aside. Then, his hand strokes down my belly, and I jump at the initial touch. The fingers trail down to my hips, pulling my panties down, his nails scraping my skin as he removes them, then tosses them aside.
“Turn over onto your stomach,” he commands.
Without hesitation, I flip over and settle onto my stomach, my legs straight out, arms at my sides. Evan pushes my legs open with a hand while the other pulls my hands over my head. “I want your hands on the headboard. Do not remove them.”
I swallow.
“Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, sir,” I say.
A light touch trails down my spine, the small of my back. He rests his hand on my ass. “Good,” he murmurs.
The whip slices through the air, landing on my ass with a crack. I let out a shriek. Pain slices through me. My legs close, and I tense, anticipating the next strike.
“Legs open, Madeline. Do not make me say it again.”
Without a word, I open my legs, swallow and tense, waiting for the next strike. He quickly lays another blow across my ass. It feels hot, like fire against my skin.
Then another. I’m breathless, panting. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Another strike, another yelp. And when I think I can’t take any more, he gets on the bed behind me, reaching a hand between my legs.
“Soaking wet. I knew it.”
