His voice sounded a bit strained—probably because the twisted twine was rough against his aroused cock. But he stayed as he was, his back a masterpiece of rippling hollows and grooves, his arse high and tight. She came over to inspect him and noted that he had new scars. Apparently, he hadn’t just been gallivanting and enjoying the life of a privileged rakehell. The four-inch red line below his left shoulder had been made by a blade, and her chest tightened as she realized how close that weapon had come to ending his life.
There were other assorted hurts: what appeared to be a healed bullet wound close to his hip, another mark made by a blade, this time a jagged one, a few inches higher. Sebastian’s powerful body was a canvas of pain. Whatever he had been up to, it had been dangerous…literally life or death. What was so important that he would risk himself in such a fashion?
None of this has been a game. Whatever you may think of me and of everything that has happened, I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you. I left to protect you.
Perhaps he hadn’t been lying. That did not excuse anything he’d done to her. At the same time, the realization reached beneath her anger, uncovering her desire to know the truth.
“Not as pretty as you expected?”
He was trying to sound casual, but she was surprised to hear the gruff undertone of uncertainty. It made her want to laugh. Beneath his arrogance, did he harbor doubts about his attractiveness? When scars only served to heighten his virile appeal?
Not that she would give him the satisfaction of knowing. After all, he’d been keeping secrets from her for years, and now she knew what she wanted tonight, what she was determined to get: answers. The public nature of the scenario made interrogation difficult, but she was a skilled investigator. One who would make use of all the tools at her disposal.
She headed to the wall behind the net where the devices of punishment were displayed on hooks. She felt Sebastian’s eyes on her as she ran a finger over a birch, a cane, then a leather whip, making the handles swing and clack ominously against each other. Did she imagine it, or did she hear his swift intake of breath when she selected the gleaming black riding crop?
His gaze followed her until she went to stand behind him. Knowing that they might have an audience, she trailed the tip of the crop along the scar beneath his shoulder blade, and he shuddered.
“Oh, darling,” she purred. “Wait until I’m done with you.”
Sixteen
Jack was so hard he feared he might spill over the ropes. Even the chafing roughness of the hemp did not dampen his arousal. Looking down, he was treated to the shameful sight of his cock jutting between the ropes, a milky bead clinging to its tip.
“Spread your feet shoulder-width apart.”
At Lottie’s command, which was followed by swift taps of the crop against his inner thighs, his bollocks tightened, the drop of seed splattering on the ground. He bit back a groan and did as she asked, exposing himself to her mercy. He hadn’t lied: he would take what he could get from her. After he’d blocked her from following Xenia Loveday, the last thing he’d expected was for Lottie to play a sexually charged game with him. Or perhaps she merely meant to torture him. But he’d take his chances.
This was the woman he’d fallen in love with: spirited, unpredictable, and bold. Maturity had honed her independent spirit into something rare and intoxicating. When he felt the edge of the crop sliding up the crack of his arse, he shivered, wondering just how far his little spitfire would go.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?”
Because of his past, his desires did not typically involve being dominated by women. Even now, shame flirted at the edges of his consciousness, but he was able to push it back. Because he was with Lottie, and with her, everything was different. Everything felt right in a way that nothing else in his life did. Even when she was playing this part, her manner that of a cool schoolmistress, he felt the heat of their connection, and it burned away his numbness.
It was as if he’d been sleepwalking all these years, and the presence of his wife awakened him. Made him feel alive again. Alive and randy as hell.
Despite her well-deserved anger, he knew that she would not hurt him. She was not that kind of woman. It was one of the reasons why he’d fallen head over heels for her: the care and compassion that was at the core of who she was. He trusted Lottie. More than anything, he yearned to win back her trust. If that meant giving her control over the situation, then he would play along.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said steadily. “And I’m sorry for it.”
“You’ll be sorrier yet.”
Her sensual threat, coupled with the sensation of the crop tracing up his spine, sent another sizzle up his prick. Hearing rustling behind the walls, he knew they were being watched. He felt an illicit thrill at the idea of others seeing him with his beloved. If things were different, he’d give them a real show and take Lottie up against the stone wall. Their fucking required no enhancement, was pure beauty in its rawest form. Him and her, skin to skin, his cock buried inside her tight, wet pussy?—
Smack.
He jerked, the sting on his right buttock making him grunt.
Lottie circled around the net to face him, and he roved his gaze hungrily over her bounty. He saw clearly what others could not: the magnificence that lay beneath the wig and padded frock, the mask and paint. He wanted the world to know that she was his...if only for this game.
“Am I boring you?” she inquired.
The idea was laughable.
“Never.”
“Then give me your full attention.”
When she tapped the tip of the crop against the dome of his cock, his breath hitched. For the first time, unease nudged him—or maybe that was just her torture device. His heart pounded like a fist when she pushed the crop through the net, caressing his cock from the base to the dripping head.
