I nodded, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones. “Yes.”
Damien exhaled once, slow, controlled, then stepped toward a piece of furniture near the far wall—one I had mistaken for some kind of abstract ottoman earlier. He ran a hand along its top. “This is a spanking bench.”
I moved closer, breath catching as the details sharpened under the amber lights. It was made of sturdy black leather and polished steel, sleek and discreet until you looked closely.
“The padding here,” he said, touching the curved upper surface, “is where your torso rests. It’s angled so your spine stays neutral and supported.” His hand slid lower. “Your knees go here—on these cushions.”
Two kneeling pads extended from the base, thick enough to provide comfort while keeping the body steady.
“Your arms can rest here,” he continued, indicating two padded arm rests on either side of the upper cushion, “or down along the sides—whatever feels safest to you.”
My pulse tripped. “And the straps?”
He followed my attention to the leather buckles attached to the sides of the arm and knee supports—strong, soft, padded.
“For the future,” he said gently. “Only if we choose to incorporate them. They’re not for tonight.”
I circled the bench slowly, absorbing what it meant, what he meant, filing each detail away so the intensity wouldn’t swallow me whole.
“So… what do I do?” I asked, voice shaking despite my best effort.
He stepped toward me, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek. “You,” he murmured, lips curving in that devastating, confident grin, “show me that beautiful body of yours, Ms.Sinclair.” His fingers trailed down my arm, light as a whisper. “And let me do terrible, wicked things to it.”
Heat slammed through me so fast my knees actually weakened.
But he didn’t let me fall. His hand slid to my waist, steadying me with effortless strength.
“Damien,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower—slow, deliberate, savoring. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I’ll be gentle to start.”
“To start?” My voice broke on the last syllable.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He brushed a knuckle along the side of my throat. “We haven’t even begun.”
Chapter 49
***
Emma
I obeyed.
First my shirt, then my skirt, then the lace bra and thong.
Damien watched with a hungry, reverent attention as each chilled inch of skin was exposed to the air. When I finally stood bare before him, his expression shifted—dark desire tempered by something softer, deeper.
He stepped forward and kissed me. Tender. Slow.
Completely at odds with his promises of pain… and completely aligned with his promise of deliverance.
His hands were gentle as he guided me into position. First my knees found the padded rests, sinking into the cushions as the frame steadied beneath me. Then he guided my hips forward, lowering my torso until it met the cool leather support—my breath catching as it kissed bare skin. My forearms slid into place next, settling along the arm braces, palms curling over the edges for balance.
The bench shaped itself around me—open, offered, waiting.
A shiver rolled through me.
Behind me, I heard footsteps, then the whisper of fabric. A blanket draped over my back, warm and soft.
