“Yes,” April said, her voice muffled in her arms.
Daphne pulled her top up slowly, letting each bit of lace scratch against April’s skin as she did so. April sucked in a breath as the feather touched her bare back, as it swirled and circled. Daphne used her other hand too, drifting her short nails in opposition to the feather, like a kind of dance.
In the background, she vaguely registered Short Hair and Strawberry amping up a little, their noises a bit more breathy, more desperate, but Daphne didn’t look over there. She was entranced by her own scene, by April’s back arching and then curling like a cat’s, her hips moving ever so slightly, her lungs working to regulate the feelings Daphne was causing.
It was intoxicating.
Ms.Love.
She smiled at the name, but didn’t dare speak it. Didn’t dare request it. She simply tucked it away, the feelings that it brought,and paused long enough to grab the riding crop from where she’d left it on the floor.
“This okay?” she asked, letting April feel the flat leather tip against the middle of her back.
April lifted her left thumb in acquiescence, and then Daphne watched as that same hand clenched into a fist as Daphne moved the crop lower. She was gentle, grazing the tool just like she had the feather. She passed it over the waistband of April’s jeans, slowly traveling past her butt and toward the backs of her thighs.
There she paused.
Lifted the crop a few inches, then brought it back down. April inhaled sharply at the small snap. The impact hadn’t been hard, just a shock, Daphne guessed. Still, she asked if April was good.
April looked over her shoulder this time, their eyes locking. They stared at each other for a second. More people came into the basement, more noises filled the room, more sighs and spanks and laughter. But Daphne felt as though she and April existed on some other plane, in an entirely different universe.
“I’m good, Ms.Love,” April finally said. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but to Daphne, it felt like a scream.
The very best kind.
She sucked in her own breath, lifted her chin, and nodded once, feeling more sexy and powerful and safe than she ever had in her entire life. She wasn’t sure what it was, what was happening at all, but she knew she wanted more of it.
“Good,” Daphne said firmly but softly, and April’s eyes went completely black. “Keep looking at me.”
“Yes, Ms.Love,” April said, right before Daphne popped the crop against April’s other thigh.
April’s eyes fluttered closed, but she opened them again quickly and followed Daphne’s directions. Daphne had the urgeto sayGood girl, but instead she simply moved the crop north to April’s ass and snapped it swiftly through the air.
April smiled at that one.
A coy smile. AnIs that all you gotsmile.
Daphne laughed, then popped it again on the other cheek, harder this time, and April’s smile vanished, along with her breath.
“That’s what I thought,” Daphne whispered, then used the crop again, the hardcrackechoing around them.
April’s cheeks were flushed, her mouth open a little. They watched each other again for a few seconds, a sort of standoff. And then Daphne wasn’t sure who even made the first move. But suddenly, April had gotten up, and Daphne was putting away the toys while April sprayed the bench with cleanser, wiping quickly before tossing the paper towel into the trash by the supply table.
Then they were moving, April leading the way, her fingers tangled with Daphne’s. They went upstairs, through the living room, smiling and waving goodbye—Sasha simply saluted them with one finger from the couch—but never slowing down.
Not for one damn second.
They tumbled intoApril’s car, and the thirty-minute drive back to Cloverwild felt interminable. They didn’t speak. Daphne hardly dared to breathe as she clutched the handle over the passenger door, her entire body like a live wire. Music played through April’s phone, something moody and gay, but Daphne didn’t register much beyond the movement of the car, the way her own heart seemed to have left her chest, pumping everywhere else in her body except for beneath her ribs.
When they finally pulled into the Cloverwild staff lot, they both spilled out of the car, walking quickly to their cabin. Thenight was cool and cloudy, and Daphne felt a few raindrops on her arms as they climbed the stairs to their porch. April used her key card to unlock the door and then they were inside just as the rain started to fall a bit harder.
Daphne closed the door, pressed her back against the wood. She was breathing heavily. She had no idea why. They hadn’t run. Had walked a bit briskly, maybe, but that didn’t feel like the reason her lungs were suddenly having a hard time communicating with her brain. Bianca and Bob both mewed sleepily from April’s bed, and Daphne had never been so glad the two cats hadn’t gotten up to greet them.
April tossed her bag and keys onto her dresser, then turned around to face Daphne. The room was dimly lit, the small lamp on Daphne’s bedside table the only light, coating the space and April’s features in a golden glow.
The rain plinked onto the cabin’s tin roof.
They still hadn’t said a word since they’d left Stone’s basement. And Daphne didn’t want to change that. She didn’t want words or questions. She didn’t want soft and subtle and slow.
