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“Still with me, brat?” I tapped the cane lightly against his fingers where they were clenched into fists above his head, making him flinch.
He cursed me in his own language through panting, heaving breaths until I’d landed two more hard hits to his back and ass…and that was when he began to beg.
“Please,” my northerner gasped as he thrashed in his ropes, his skin a pretty pink that would bruise ever so nicely. The muscles in his arms and legs glistened with sweat and exertion. “Please, Ren. Please stop.”
When I peeked over his shoulder, his angry-looking, painfully hard cock reminded me what a fucking liar he always was.
Yet I paused, giving him the chance to put an end to all this if he wished.
That made him scowl.
“I’m not fucking safe wording!” Mat snarled in my face and I hummed, caning him again and enjoying listening to him howl before leaning in and tracing my fingers gently over the marks to memorise the feel of them.
While he liked less pain than some others I’d played with in the past, I was finding it surprisingly easy to adjust to his tolerances, as if my own desires had aligned themselves perfectly with his. What we were doing – teasing and tormenting him to the very edge of his endurance – was soothing the monster within me, and I wouldn’t need to hurt him like this again for a while.
I laid my next strike across the back of his legs, rewarded by the way his voice was turning hoarse. I couldn’t give him too much more. The skin was already raised and angry, and he’d have enough difficulties sitting for the next day or so as it was. I wasn’t going hard with the cane, but it was thicker and less flexible than the crop, and was clearly hurting my lover so much more.
As it was meant to.
“Are you done yet?” Mathias gritted out, making his displeasure known in the stubborn set of his jaw.
Not even close, darling.
“I’ll put the cane down,” I promised, chuckling at the look of suspicious relief Mathias shot me. “AfterI’ve punished you for each act of disobedience you’ve shown me this afternoon.”
Mat swallowed. “I thought this was about pleasure, not punishment?”
I grinned and peeled the sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead so I could kiss it.
“It is pleasure,” I said happily. “For me.”
And for him, once he embraced it, but if I told him that he’d fight it. Obstinate prick.
“Now, tell me how you disobeyed me, Nathanael.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well, that’s one,” I said airily, and Mat sucked in a breath as he realised how easily he’d earn himself more marks.
And so my northerner stayed sullenly silent as I recounted each moment with perfect clarity, having intended to make him pay for them since the beginning.
“You didn’t undress when I told you to. You kept your hands on me when I ordered you off. Twice. And you didn’twiden your fucking stance,” I chastised, kicking at Mat’s ankles to force him to do so now, even though the crop had been long been discarded. He staggered, the rope biting at his elevated wrists, his pupils wide and dark. “That’s five.”
*
Chapter Fifty-Five
Ren turned back to the bedside table, and I stilled.
I couldn’t take whatever else he pulled from that damned drawer – my mouth was already dry at the promise of five more strikes from the fucking cane and that calculated torment of his. Despite how close I’d come earlier to shifting the scene in my favour, he never lost his control when he was wielding it over me, delivering my agony with a precise level of care.
Ren’s sexual cruelty was as intrinsic a part of him as his flirtatious ways and hidden thoughtfulness, and I’d known from the very beginning what giving into his attentions would mean. Being with him was more than a relationship: it was a complete surrender to the darker parts of human nature that I’d never expected myself to be drawn to.
But fuck, I was. Because for every act of roughness was a gentle kiss. Every cruel word was balanced with a sweet murmur, and every blow he’d ever landed on me, the type that brought heat and gratification to his gaze, was rewarded later with the softest of caresses.
And he’d be paying in gentleness forthisparticular session for a long fucking time.
But even if he didn’t, that would be okay too. Because as much as every inch of me was hot and aching and burning andfuck him to the depths of the continentfor the agony he’d delivered to my still tender nipples…that content look on his face, the tension draining from his body, his heavy, uneven breathing?
