That was the madness of my family. Not so much for principle or honouring our ancestor’s hardships—but to embrace the power we once lacked. Power we now wielded in perfect precision. The Weavers weren’t our agenda—it was the convenience of having an exclusive family tree destined to let us torment and torture, to keep our fangs dripping and claws sharp.
I raised my arm, sailing the knotted strands, tearing across Nila’s skin.
“Ah!” Her body shuddered with agony.
My cock stabbed painfully against my belt as Nila writhed on the pole. Dropping my hand, I grabbed the rock hard piece of flesh, rearranging its position so it didn’t snap itself in two in my trousers. “Idon’t hear counting,” I growled.
“Three,” she cried.
Another lash.
“Four.”
Another.
“Five!”
With each one her back blistered, turning from un-whipped perfection to weeping rawness. The humidity of the conservatory drenched my shirt until liquid salt covered my skin. Every lash, savage hunger built inside, feeding off Nila’s pain and my own for wanting her.
My mouth watered to kiss her spine, to lick at the mess I’d caused.
I wanted to nuzzle her tears and whisper the truth of who I was.
You never can.
Just the mere thought of being honest petrified me. If I spoke it, how would I keep it hidden?
I should never have done this in such a hot place. I should never have attempted something so barbaric without shielding my mind properly. Every strike hurt Nila externally, but she couldn’t see what it did to my soul.
I struck again, breathing hard through my nose.
“Six,” Nila moaned.
The heat of the room seeped through my pores, twisting my heart, melting any frost I might’ve conjured. Every cold shard melted, turning into a cascade of warmth.
I swallowed as I drank in Nila’s exquisite form. The way she trembled but refused to let her knees buckle. The way her cheeks flushed and dark eyes sucked power from the room.
She was...magnificent.
I cocked my arm, sending the flogger to claw at her lower back.
Nila groaned loudly. “Seven.”
My arm ached as I struck again.
“Eight.”
And again.
“Nine.”
Nine down.
Twelve to go.
Shit, I was ready to collapse. I was ready to crawl to her feet and beg for her to forgive me.
Forgive me?
