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"I didn’t whip you," he points out.
"Do you—" I swallow. "Do you want to whip me?"
"Do you want me to whip you?"
I search his features. His expression is almost bored. It’s as if he doesn’t care about my answer. Then his left eyelid twitches, and I know it’s the opposite. There’s a part of him that’s very much invested in how I reply.
The silence stretches. What should I tell him? Then before I can reply, his brow furrows.
"What are you doing here anyway?"
Ah, that. I raise a shoulder.
"I’m going to have Rick’s arse for this," he says grimly.
"No, it’s not his fault, uh—" I glance away, then back at him. "I might have thrown a fit and not given Rick a choice but to bring me."
"He’s a bloody security guy. He should know how to deal with his principals."
"It’s not his fault."
"Hmm." He scans my features. "I take it that’s a no, then."
"To what?"
"My earlier question."
"You mean about the, uh, the—"
"Whipping," he smugly supplies.
"I’m not sure what I think about it. It's not something I've ever thought about. It didn’t look very pleasant there." I stab my thumb in the direction of the now empty room.
"And you saw how much she enjoyed it. For that matter—" He curls his fingers around my neck lightly. "So did you."
I flush. It’s true. I came so hard I blacked out for a few seconds.
"What you did—" I place my fingers over his. "When you—"
"Choked you?"
"Choking? Is that what it was?" I ask slowly.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I enjoyed the orgasm, but for a few seconds there, I panicked," I confess.
His gaze intensifies. "You held on, you rode the wave, you had the mettle to see it through."
A warmth bleeds through my veins. Why does his praise feel so good?
"I had a feeling you knew what you were doing," I finally say.
"I did."
"So, you’ve done this with other women?"
In response, he brings his digits—the same ones he had inside me, the same ones I sucked on—to his mouth and sucks on them.
