Page 107 of If I Were Yours

Grigory gives me just that as he strikes my back again.

I scream. But I don’t fight. I let the pain burst through my body, taking everything on its way. The worries, the weight, the godawful want that’s been pounding within me since the first time Grigory planted himself at the root of my submissive center. Another strike, another scream, and everything swooshes out of me, leaving me empty—a vessel for Grigory to fill.

“That’s it,” he says. “Take what I give you. Show me how much you’re mine.”

Crack.The sound is more harrowing than any of the previous times. It leaves me numb for a split second as the whip strikes. I open my mouth in a silent gasp, and then everything cracks. Pain flares on my back with a force that knocks the air from my lungs and my legs give out from under me.

I collapse in the ropes, hanging by the cuffs as I squeeze my eyes shut in quiet agony. Then comes the scream, shrill and harrowing, tearing through my throat with new pain.

Another strike and tears burst free, leaking into the blindfold as my breath stutters.

“Aah,” I half scream, half yelp when something large connects with my back. But it’s only Grigory’s warm hand. The soothing feeling of skin against skin. The feeling of the man who encompasses my entire world—who has worked his way into my mind, obliterated everything to make room for the magnitude of his possession.

“Why does it hurt?” he asks.

I pant and swallow, trying to gather the words.

“Why does it hurt?” he demands with the full force of his dominant authority.

“Because I’m yours,” I croak, spurring another stream of tears even as the words give me the strength to straighten my legs and support my weight. It hurts because he wants it. It hurts because I need to prove my full and utter submission—because I need to give it as much as he needs to take it.

“Good. You’ll take ten more.”

“No, no, no. I ca—” My plea becomes a keening scream as the whip strikes, searing into my skin with mind-numbing pain.

I take ten lashes like this, each more harrowing than the previous—each sending a shrill wail up my throat. I cry and beg in between strikes, but I never plead him to stop. I beg because I need him—his words, his touch, his comfort.

But all he gives me is pain.

I’m utterly broken, through and through, when the whip finally hits the floor with a thud. I’m not even crying anymore. I simply don’t have the energy. My head is hanging, my limbs shaking in the ropes.

The pain is everywhere—in my back, my arms, my throat. And a new wave erupts in my back when Grigory hauls me back into his hard chest, his shirt scratching against my sore skin.

I’m about to shut in on myself, expel the world from my consciousness. But then strong arms wrap around me, engulfing me in heat and safety.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and all I’ve been yearning for while the whip tore me to pieces.

“I’ve got you,devochka,” Grigory whispers, pressing his lips to my temple. “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting go. I promise you that.”

I start crying again. I don’t know how, but I do. My chest shakes along with the rest of my body as soft whimpers fall past my lips. This time, though, it’s not harrowing grief that tears at my body and mind. This time, the tears are cathartic, full of gratitude.

“Good girl,” he praises, stroking his knuckles over my wet cheek. “My girl.”

“Yours,” I say, and that’s about the last thing I remember before my mind becomes mush, engulfed in silent darkness.

***

I blink my heavy eyes against a flickering light. Warm and welcome. Flames dancing behind a glass plate. I let my eyes drift over the space around the fireplace, finding tall bookshelves filled to the brim, wooden surfaces, beams beneath a vaulted ceiling. Flickering my fingers before me, I feel the softness of thick fur, and I look down to find that I’m curled up under a blanket on a large bearskin.

As I slide my fingers into the thick softness, the rest of my body slowly wakes up too. I sense the warmth radiating from the fireplace, the smooth blanket against my naked skin, and a hand gently stroking my arm.

Craning my head, I look up at the man touching me. Dark eyes, hard features, and a promise of protection.

“Welcome back,” he says softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm,” I hum, too drowsy to speak—too peaceful to make an effort.

“You’ve been out quite a while.”

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