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Not long after, he stood in the chapel on his wedding day, expecting this scared little girl to walk down the aisle in a wedding dress, but instead, a vixen captivated him. It seemed a lifetime ago, but they were still technically newlyweds.
Confusion and self-doubt furrowed Alessandra’s gorgeous brow, leaving Drake feeling guilty for letting her feel as though things were her fault. He took her as his bride, not caring about her feelings. But now, her heartbreak became his.
He ran the crop over the silky skin of her inner thigh. He stopped when he reached her apex but didn’t hit her with it this time.
“Who have you been talking to?” she asked.
“Be specific, bella.”
“I know Jerry asked you for help, but you refused him. He accused you of being stubborn. I’ve come to know this is a normal trait of yours.”
“You spoke to my friends about me?” Anger clouded Drake’s vision. He tightened his hand around the handle and swatted Alessandra’s thigh hard enough to cause a yelp.
Drake paused to give her a moment to breathe. She had her safe word, and their game would be over the moment she used it, but not their conversation. This discussion was necessary. However, some things were easier to admit when his wife was naked.
“What else, bella?”
“I overheard you on the phone in the safe house,” she cried out as the crop kissed her other thigh.
His wife shivered as he ran the tip through the desire dripping from her slit. He licked a bead of sweat from her chest, savoring the saltiness on her skin before worrying a nipple between his teeth.
“I know you’re connected.”
Drake froze and pulled away from Alessandra. He raised his gaze to meet hers. His expression became unreadable as he called her bluff.
“If you don’t tell me the truth, Drake, I’m going to find it on my own.”
Drake pressed the tip of the crop against Alessandra’s clit, and she bucked and writhed as the tension broke. His dick twitched in his boxers.
“You’re so beautiful, Alessandra.” He spoke with reverence.
He was at war with himself as his hands glided over her bare skin. Alessandra was about to endure another punishment for her husband’s shortcomings, and he hoped she would forgive him.
“Ten,” he said.
“What?” she jerked out of her post-orgasmic fog.
“Make that eleven. You spoke without permission and failed to address me as Master.”
Drake untied Alessandra from the headboard. Her eyes fell to his thumb rubbing her scarred wrists, enraptured by the single point their bodies met. Though her scabs had healed, the new scars were pink and tender. One day they would fade, and he hoped they would become a distant memory. Until then, he would continue reassuring her that she was seen.
Drake pulled Alessandra to the foot of the bed and turned her over. He forced her chest to the bed and rubbed her ass to prep her for the rough treatment he was about to bestow. She wiggled beneath him in anticipation but stopped when he squeezed.
“Count aloud for me.”
The crop came down across Alessandra’s voluptuous ass. A bright pink blush appeared in the spot his crop slapped her. His mouth watered as her head reared. He longed to take a bite and ravish her, but the thrill of punishment was enough. It was his turn to demand answers.
“One,” Alessandra mewled.
“Why don’t you trust me, bella?” Hurt laced his tone.
Without giving her a chance to answer, he repeatedly brought the crop down. A torrent of feelings tore through Drake’s chest. For once, he was driven by emotion and not logic.
Alessandra sagged against the bedspread and yelped. “Three… four…”
“A Dom/sub relationship can only thrive on trust, like a marriage. Why is the bedroom the only place you see me?” he asked, embittered.
“I want to trust you, Master. But how can I when you continue to lie to me?”
