“Move to the desk.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the brutality of the command, something bitter curdling in my stomach when I couldn’t help feeling moist between my thighs.
I stood next to the desk, watching his slender fingers work his belt’s buckle, the movement slow and precise.
I bit the inside of my cheek, glancing away at the same time a tear dropped.
I knew what he was going to do to me. And I knew I would attempt to fight it as usual, but in the end, I would bend, cave and beg for it. I knew this truth and it made my teeth grind, nose flare, and tears to pour in waves as my heart wrenched painfully inside me.
What sort of a vicious circle was this?
“Turn around. Bend over. Brace your hands on the desk.” The commands dragged through the room like blade on concrete. My throat closed up, my nails digging into the edge of the table.
I didn’t obey. I fooled myself for a while, pretending like I had a say, deluding over an idea that I had a voice of my own when truthfully, I was merely just a puppet.
“I said…” He started then paused, his voice dropping to something quieter, deadly, like a knife stained with poison. “…turn around. Bend over. Brace your hands on the fucking desk, Elizabeth.”
I didn’t need him to repeat himself. The air in the room had shifted, the command hanging over me like a blade pressed to the throat.
Slowly, I turned, leaned over, the cold, polished wood scraping my nipples as I braced my hands indeed.
This was it, the final and bitter truth. I had never really been fighting him. I was just fighting myself. I was never meant to accept this version, never meant to yield, never bow. But every time, it had always ended the same way; breath hitching, spine arching, my will folding like paper in his hands.
I didn’t want him, yes.
My heart didn’t want him.
But my body did.
And so did my mind.
And my heart had always been weaker when my body and mind wanted the same thing.
My breath scraped through my lungs when I heard it, the pad of his footsteps approaching, the quiet sound of leather slipping free from its loops.
Then there was silence after, the heat of his presence looming behind me, a dark force pressing against my senses.
I gasped, a shiver travelling up my spine when his cold fingers brushed against my waist, lifting my hip until I was standing on my toes.
And there it was, the sharp crack of leather tearing the skin on my ass.
A loud cry tore from my throat, pain and pleasure tangling in the mix. The sting bloomed across my flesh, burning, electrifying, awakening again, that thing that stirred at the echo of his shadow, something deep and twisted.
“How many minutes did he hold your hands for?” he demanded, his cold hand gently touching the welt forming on my ass.
“I d-don’t know,” I choked out, a hot roll of tear sliding down my cheek.
Another strike echoed.
My head snapped backward, the cry tearing past my lips, louder this time, but the fire between my thighs intensified.
“Think hard, Elizabeth,” he murmured, his finger tracing the fresh marks forming on my skin. “Or I will keep going until your ass is all red, bleeding, and you can’t sit for hours.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing mind to remember.
“Four minutes,” I whispered the first number that floated into my head.
“My bad,” he clicked his tongue, tone cynical. “I should have probably warned you. You get extra whips if you lied.”
