He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the path of her tears. “And I trust you to learn from this.” His voice was rough, affected in a way he rarely allowed. “Now. Let’s get some ointment on those welts.”
Once he covered every streak with the special Rawhide Ranch gel, he placed a gentle kiss on her nose.
“My precious kitten.” She beamed at his words. He gathered her gently into his arms, carrying her to a plush sun chair on the deck. “Now it’s time for your penance, Sienna. You misbehaved and I corrected that indiscretion. Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m not sure what…” She caught herself at his raised eyebrow. “A... a blowjob? Would that serve as my atonement, Master Crone?”
“For disrespecting me in full view of our boss? Hardly... but a throat fuck might do the trick.”
He watched the color drain from her face. His jaw clenched at her reaction. Though Sienna had steadfastly refused to name the man who had destroyed her, Crone had many contacts and it hadn't taken him long to uncover Stan Hunter’s identity. The BDSM community was tight-knit, and memories were long, especially regarding those who abused the lifestyle’s sacred code. A few careful inquiries had yielded Hunter’s name, followed by an outpouring of horror stories about his psychotic needs.
The bastard’s name burned like acid in Crone’s mind. Each whispered account of Hunter’s systematic destruction of his fiancée had fed a cold rage in Crone’s gut. He wasn’t a Dominant. No, in Crone’s eyes he was a coward and the only way he could wield power was through calculated psychological torture. The way the motherfucker had used sacred acts of submission as weapons to break Sienna’s spirit that had led to the death of her child kept the desire for vengeance burning inside him. This very act—throat fucking—had been one of Hunter’s favorite tools of public degradation.
Crone’s fingers gentled on Sienna’s skin, even as he silently renewed his vow to make Hunter pay. But for now, his focus was on helping Sienna reclaim what had been stolen. Bit by bit he would help her regain her power as a submissive, to trust in herself, and believe in her own sexuality.
“It’s your atonement, little one,” he murmured, infusing each word with reassurance. “But this isn’t about breaking you. You will be the driver the entire time. Remember that, Sienna. You’re the one in control. If you need my assistance, just ask, but you hold the power... all of it.”
Sienna’s breath hitched as she processed his words. Her fingers trembled where they rested against his thighs. His chest tightened at the vulnerability in her eyes shining with a raw and unguarded intensity. This was the trust he had fought so hard toearn. This was the woman who had accepted him, scars and all, to walk beside her in the dark.
“You hold the power,” he repeated, softer now, the words a vow on their own.
She swallowed hard, then shifted onto her knees between his spread legs. The sight of her there—submissive, willing,his—sent a jolt through him. His cock had been half-hard since the first strike of the switch, but now it throbbed, aching with need. He forced himself to stay still, to let her set the pace. This wasn’t about his pleasure. Not yet.
Her fingers fumbled at his belt, then the button of his jeans. The rasp of the zipper was loud in the quiet of the deck. Crone bit back a moan at the first brush of her fingers against his shaft.
“Good girl,” he murmured, watching as she settled more firmly between his knees. Her eyes flicked with uncertainty as she looked up. “Go on. It’s your atonement. You decide the pace.”
She leaned in, blowing a warm breath against the head of his cock. Then—slowly, tentatively—her tongue darted out, tracing the slit before pulling back. Crone’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as his entire body coiled tight.Fuck!He wanted to wrap his fingers in her hair, to guide her, to take and thrust hard—but he wouldn’t. Not until she asked him to.
She tried again with her lips parting to take him in. Her movements were careful, almost reverent. He hissed through his teeth and his hips twitched involuntarily as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him. She pulled back with a soft, embarrassed sound. Her cheeks flushed red as she caught his eyes.
“Master Crone…” Her voice was thick with uncertainty. “I—I don’t know if I can?—”
“You’re doing beautifully.” His voice sounded guttural in the silence. “Just breathe through your nose, little one. Flatten your tongue and relax your throat.”
She nodded, trying again, but after a few shallow bobs of her head, she stilled with her eyes watering. The question in them was clear:Am I doing this wrong?
Crone exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to unclench. He understood then. She had never been offered the initiative to please that bastard. He had taken… by force every time. She truly didn’t know the technique to give pleasure. “Do you need my help, love?”
“Please, Master Crone.” Relief flashed across her face.
He reached down, threading his fingers through her hair to cradle the back of her head. “Then take what you can,” he murmured, guiding her forward. “And I’ll meet you there.”
She opened for him, her lips stretching around his girth as he eased her down. The first press of her throat against the head of his cock was heaven and hell—tight, wet, perfect—but he held himself back, letting her adjust. Her hands gripped his thighs with her nails digging in. “Fuck,” he rasped as he gritted his teeth against the urge to thrust.
“That’s it, little one” he praised in a strained voice. “Just like that. Breathe for me.”
She did, her throat fluttering around him, and the sensation was almost too much. He groaned, his hips lifting slightly before he could stop himself. Sienna whimpered, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers tightened on his thighs, her eyes locking onto his—pleading.
Fuck.
“More?” he asked, though he already knew the answer before she nodded and her lips stretched obscenely around him.
Crone’s control fractured. He guided her deeper, his hand firm but gentle, still letting her set the pace even as he took what she offered. Her throat constricted around him, her gag reflex kicking in, but she didn’t stop. She wanted this. She trusted him.He forced himself to hold back, refusing to break that tenuous strain.
“Master Crone,” she gulped, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice wrecked. “Please. Take what you need. All of it.”
“Fuck, Sienna,” he groaned as her words shattered the last of his restraint.
