“Yeah, ’cause he doesn’t do Vanilla,” says Grace. “Like, at all.”
“By choice, though, right?” There’s irritation in my voice. “I mean, we did sorta, kinda almost make out before everything blew up. He’s the one who stopped it.”
“The problem is that the man seems to actually like you.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
We stroll by booths where people try out various types of rope and wax and needles and anything else you can possibly imagine, including what appears to be an entire hardware store.
One setup catches my eye, along with the man inside it. “There’s Blade.”
“Yep,” says Max. “Looks like he’s flogging tonight.”
We walk over to where Blade’s running a series of quick slaps over someone’s butt and back. In motion, Blade’s body is mesmerizing, each movement complex and graceful. I get the feeling that not one of his strikes is off target.
“That’s a St. Andrews cross, right?”
“Yep. Also called an x-cross or an x-frame.” Max looks at me. “Want to try?”
“To flog or be flogged?” Grace looks at me. “That is the question.”
“Be flogged,” I say, without hesitation. The only person I can imagine hitting right now is Zion. And not in a sexy way.
A woman stands beside Blade watching, arms crossed. After a few minutes, she says something. He nods and sets his flogger down. The two go and untie the other person from the cross. They collapse, giggling, into the woman’s arms before the two of them take off together.
Blade sets to work spraying and cleaning the structure, then looks up, sees me, and stops. “Hey.”
“Can I have a turn?”
“Flogging?”
“On the cross.”
He sighs, glances over my shoulder and shakes his head. “Not a good idea.”
“Just a flogging. Please. I’ve never done it before.”
“Asking for trouble.” He makes a face, sticks the flogger he just used into a basket and pulls another from a case. “Shit. Go on then.”
“We’ll be right over here,” Grace says, pointing to a spot in the corner.
I step up to the cross, and wait. It smells slightly orangey, like a natural cleaning product. When I lean against it, the cushioned, bright red leather is cool against the skin of my midsection. It’s been set up perpendicular to the Hangar’s interior, which means I can either look at the people passing by on my right, or focus at the hangar’s rough wooden exterior half wall and posts to my left. Beyond that, there’s nothing but dark forest. I concentrate on that.
“Cuffs?” I jump at Blade’s voice.
“Um, sure.”
I hear the sound of chains, metal scraping metal, then with gentle, quick, efficient movements, he wraps something around my ankles, followed by my wrists.
My stance is wide and easy now, my arms supported by the soft leather cuffs, my midsection leaning into the center of the X, with my head and shoulders and chest above.
“You know who you remind me of up there in that outfit?” Grace asks. “Princess Leia. Empire Strikes Back. Is that the one?”
I strain to see her. “Return of the Jedi.”
“Oh, so you know.” One side of her mouth quirks up into a dry little smile.
“That scene was a recurring theme in my youthful fantasies,” I admit. “Being tied up and taken advantage of.”
