I moan.
"More," I beg. "Give me more. Make it harder. Make it…hurt."
Chapter 9
Caleb
Make it hurt.
Her words land somewhere between my chest and my cock, detonating on impact. The muscle in my jaw tightens. My dick throbs so hard it actually jumps, straining toward her like it has its own agenda, its own desperate need to be inside her.
She has no idea.
No fucking idea how much restraint I'm burning through right now. How every cell in my body is screaming at me to drop this flogger, grab her hips, and fuck her until she can't remember her own name. Until she can't remember anything except the feeling of my cock splitting her open.
Make it hurt.
I look her directly in the eyes.
Her pupils are blown so wide that her hazel irises have nearly disappeared, swallowed by black. The gold flecks I've memorized from a thousand hours of surveillance footage are invisible now, drowned in arousal and need and something that looks dangerously close to trust.
I can see my own reflection in those dark pools. A man holding a flogger. A man barely holding himself together.
"You should be very careful, my little slut, in what you ask for."
My voice comes out lower than I intended. Rougher. The predator bleeding through the controlled facade.
"Because we're writing this story together now." I let the words sink in, watching her face for any flicker of fear, any sign she's reaching for a safeword. "I'm not obligated to fulfill your wishes."
I bring the flogger back and swing it forward in a vicious arc, connecting solidly with her breasts.
The crack of leather against flesh echoes through the jungle clearing.
Scarletta gasps—loud, sharp, her whole body jerking against the restraints. The weighted chain between her nipple clamps swings wildly, tugging at both sensitive peaks simultaneously. Her back arches off the cross as much as the straps will allow, which isn't much.
Red blooms across her pale skin where the falls landed.
"I will be happy to hurt you," I continue, my voice steady even as my cock leaks precum against my thigh, "if you ask for it."
I step closer.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her flushed body. Close enough to smell her arousal mixing with the jasmine oil the attendants rubbed into her skin. Close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.
I cup her face in my free hand, tilting her chin up.
Then I kiss her.
Not a bruising, claiming kiss, but tender and slow. I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, coaxing them apart, then slide inside to taste her properly. She moans into my mouth, and I swallow the sound, savoring it like whiskey.
I kiss her until her breathing changes.
Until the tension in her shoulders softens.
Until she's melting against me as much as her restraints allow, surrendering into the gentleness after the sharp bite of pain.
I pull back just far enough to speak against her lips.
"I like to punish." The admission comes out quiet. Almost confessional. As close to vulnerable as I ever get.
