Sting.
Stroke.
My breathing followed the rhythm without me meaning to. My body began to soften around the sensation. My mind loosened its grip on every frantic thought I’d carried into this room.
The next strike cracked through the air—still measured, still careful, but sharper than the last. It felt like the tempo had quickened, but his rhythm never faltered. Each impact bloomed hotter, lingering under my skin for a moment… then two.
“Good,” Damien murmured, voice low and approving. “You’re doing very well.”
The praise hit deeper than the sting. A small moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
“Good girl.” He chuckled softly, the sound warm and dark. He leaned in, placing a kiss on my heated skin—gentle where the strike had been sharp.
Another crack.
Another kiss.
Heat unfurled low in me.
He shifted behind me—adjusting stance, angle, intention. The air thickened with his focus.
His hand smoothed over the curve of my hip. “Stay with me.”
I breathed in.
I breathed out.
Another strike landed—harder, a clean sound that echoed off the leather.
A gasp tore free of me, but it didn’t feel like fear.
It felt like release.
The next came only a heartbeat later—sharp, bright, a thin ribbon of fire blooming across my skin. Something inside me slipped. Thoughts didn’t vanish—they just… receded. Like a tide pulling away from the shore.
“That’s it,” he praised, voice thicker now. “Relax into it.”
Another strike, heavy this time. The deepest one yet. A bloom of pain that wasn’t pain anymore—just sensation, warm and overwhelming.
“Breathe.”
I did.
Automatically.
Easily.
His voice became the only thing I could hold on to, urging me deeper.
Another strike.
Then another.
The world dimmed to the rhythm he set.
The sound, the warmth, the ache—blurring into something that wasn’t sharp or scattered anymore.
Just… quiet.
