Then, her desire is replaced by pain and panic, but she doesn’t have a normal reaction to it. My soul withers as I watch her blink, clench her jaw, and then her expression slowly dies out, going blank. Her eyes lose their glimmer, her gaze becomes vacant.
Not on my watch. This isn’t the sort of punishment she’s used to—it never will be, and I will not permit her to dissociate. I want her present in body and mind, and I want her to feel everything I do to her, not disconnect from it.
I grip her chin, sharply turning her head to face me. “Look at me,” I growl, mentally making a note that blindfolds are off the tablepermanently. Her eyes are the most expressive part of her, and if this disconnect is her go-to, I need to see them to make sure she’s not retreating into her mind.
She blinks, and her eyes come into focus, locking on my own. Her throat bobs with a swallow as I increase the pressure on the clamps, and her lips part around a gasp.Better.
“You don’t get to slip away when I’m playing with you,” I tell her sternly. “I don’t know what was done to you—though, trust me, Iwillfind out—but I’m not them. I’m not Dagon, or whoever else hurt you. I’mme.The principle difference is that I give a fuck about your wellbeing. I will never scar you. I will never break you beyond repair. Do you understand me?”
She doesn’t respond, staring at me with caution.
I flick the clamp on her nipple, and her back arches. “Do you understand me?” I repeat, harsher than I intend.
She nods. Licks her lips and blinks ten times in a row.
“Words,” I chide.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft and distant, but at least she’s present.
“Yes, what?”
She rolls her eyes—rolls her eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
She doesn’t go hazy as I put the other clamp on, though she does wince and struggle her way through it.
Every time her gaze wanders, I snap her attention back to me with a sharp command. I give her time to adjust to the clamps, my mouth watering at the prospect of sucking her nipples when they come off. They’ll be unbearably sore and sensitive, and I intend to have no mercy.
I glance back at the butt plug, then decide against it. Clamps and a crop will be enough for today. I don’t want to push her too fartoo fast—we’ll have more and more fun as time goes on, but severely overwhelming her will work against me.
“Remember when I said I’d redden your ass until you couldn’t sit? We’re going to get to that part now. I’m going to turn you over—brace on your elbows to keep the clamps from coming off—and then I’m going to crop your ass until it’s a pretty shade of red.”
Chapter Seventeen
Max
Judging from Ember’s sharp inhale, I think she might not entirely hate the idea. That’s good, because I can’t fuckingwaitto get started. And, once she’s thoroughly punished, we’ll get to the part I’ve been itching for since she first came onto me, many years ago.
I grip her waist and flip her over, pulling her to her knees. She braces her elbows on the bed, following instructions like a good girl. Her irresistible ass bounces, taunting me.
I crouch behind her, lifting the crop and smacking the flat end against my palm. She jerks as if I’ve hit her, then casts a slow, cautious glance over her shoulder.
“Eyes on the headboard,” I instruct. “But no disconnecting. If you do, I’ll know, and it’ll only draw this out.” I gently trail the flapper of the crop over her ass, watching as goosebumps rise on her arms and legs. “This part’s going to hurt, but I want you to breathe through it. Got it?”
“Yes.” When I land a short, sharp hit on her ass, she hisses out, “Sir.”
“Good girl.”
I start out with gentle taps, warming her, even though my hand itches to land painful cracks.Patience,I remind myself. Having the actual woman of my dreams in my bed is almost too much to bear—itmakes me want to rut and fuck and take, but I know better. I need to have more care than normal with Ember, because she’s not a normal girl.
When I think she’s ready and there’s a slight flush on her ass, I land the first hard blow. She arches and yelps, fisting the bedsheets, moving around restlessly. I hit her again, and again. I don’t have an exact number in mind—my goal is to push her near the breaking point, then put her back together.
It takes longer than expected to get there. Welts rise on her ass, first in a pretty pink color, then in an angrier red. She yelps, whines, and shifts, but she doesn’t complain or ask me to stop. She also doesn’t dissociate, staying present for me like the good girl I’ll turn her into.
I up the force of my hits, even as concern niggles in the back of my mind. I’m looking for a particular reaction before I stop. Not necessarily to hear her beg—I don’t think her pride will let her do that—but to hear her noises turn from ones of endurance to ones telling me that I’m getting close to the edge.
It. Doesn’t. Work.
