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He lifts his right hand, spreading his fingers wide as though measuring whether he could palm my head. “What do you want from me?”
My teeth are chattering but I manage to get the word out. “Pain.”
He slaps me with such exquisite control that I barely turn my face with the blow. All I feel is heat on my cheek.
“Is that the kind of pain you want from me?”
I wiggle my cheek, testing to see if it’s sore. It’s not, though I still feel the imprint of his hand. “It’s alright.”
“Hmm, not quite the response I’m looking for.” Grinning, he winks at me. “Would you rather have something other than my hand striking you?”
“No. I love your hands.”
He takes my elbow, I think to guide me toward the bed. He does start to lead me there, but his fingers tighten incrementally, rubbing deeper against my skin until pain zings down the tendon toward my hand.
“There are a lot of ways to hurt a person without leaving a single mark. Or would you rather have the bruises to admire later?”
I nod rapidly, resisting the urge to jerk away from that punishing grip.
“We’ll see,” he says lightly, as though I asked him to take me out for ice cream later. He twists his finger so that my whole arm jerks in his grasp. “It’s an instinctual flight response. There are some spots on your body that I can use to drop you to the floor practically unconscious.”
My breathing comes faster, until I’m afraid I might pass out without the aid of any pressure points.
Instead of slinging me across the bed again, he raises my shackled wrists and latches me to a hook he embedded in the corner poster at the foot of the bed. It’s high enough to keep my arms up above my head, but not so I have to strain or stand on my tiptoes.
Smiling, he flashes the dimple again, but Charlie’s warmth is gone. “The benefit of having a shorter Master. I know exactly how it feels when someone a foot taller sets the limits.”
I don’t understand how he can speak so reasonably about where and how to hurt me.
His big hand grips my nape, his thumb digging in enough to make me turn my head and look at him. “Nope, it’s not there yet.”
My pulse hops around in my throat. I’m not sure if he’s the kind of dom that doesn’t want the sub to speak without permission, but I decide to risk it. What worse punishment could he give me when that’s exactly what I asked for in the first place? “What’s not there?”
“You can speak,” he says in that imminently reasonable voice. “You can scream. I’m looking for that haze in your eyes that your other Master didn’t like.”
Before, the pressure of his hands alone was enough to make my body slip into that eager compliance, hoping I’d get exactly what I need. But this time… “I think I’m a little too scared for endorphins to kick in yet.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” He leans closer, playfully bumping noses with me. “I like the big doe-eyed look of fear too.”
“And you like chases.” I push a little, trying to get a handle on exactly what his kink is. “You like struggles.”
“Sure.”
“Rape fantasy?”
He cocks his head, still smiling with those empty eyes. “Is that what you want?”
It makes me doubt everything I know about him. Eyes like that belong on a serial killer. Not a nice, unassuming man who helps disadvantaged people all over the globe and hauls a big dog to the vet every month.
“No,” I whisper hoarsely. “But that wasn’t what I asked you. I know what I want.”
“You know what I want too.”
He trails his fingers down my spine. I shiver, waiting for the pain. He wouldn’t have me bound and helpless only to flirt and talk. He presses his mouth to my ear, his voice as light as his fingers. “Fear, but trust at the same time. That’s what I want. See me in all my gory detail but still beg me to touch you again. Even if it’s only going to hurt.”
The anticipation builds in my muscles, releasing in little twitches I can’t control. Small gasps of my breath that I can’t contain. When he finally brings his hand down on my buttocks, it’s a relief, though disappointing. He gives me several swats, spreading his fingers wide so I can appreciate the breadth of his palm, the strength in his arm. He makes a satisfying pop, and yeah, my skin starts to heat a little. But if he thinks he can spank me long enough to get me off, he’s going to be as sorely disappointed as me.
“A little slap,” he whispers. Then he digs his thumb into my hip, hitting a bundle of nerves that scream with sensation. I arch my back and suck in a breath, surprised at the intensity. “A little tickle.” His fingers slip between my thighs, and I push myself onto his hand. A little more, and I’ll come so hard I’ll probably pass out. “A little pleasure.”
