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I didn’t just moan this time, I cried out—tortured and tormented, desperate and dark.
Running his nose along my tattooed spine, he murmured, “I honestly have no idea how I’m going to react when I start whipping you, Ily, so…I suggest you hold on.”
My heart skipped. “Wait…don’t—”
“You look fucking amazing strung up like this.” Two fingers became three. My mind blacked out. “Ride my hand. Come for me like a good little girl, then maybe I won’t whip you after all.”
His command soaked into my blood.
Any normal person would obey. They’d choose a release over pain and do whatever it took, but today…I wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal. In this place, we were abnormal.
And so…my response was the only one I could give.
Clamping my legs together, I tried to bruise his wrist. “Stop touching me, you bastard.”
Hissing between his teeth, he yanked his hand away.
I mourned the loss of being filled, but then…his body heat vanished too. His footfalls tripped unevenly away. And the slither of that terrifying whip ratcheted up my pulse until I breathed with quick little pants. True terror shoved aside my script. “Henri…wait…”
“Master H is my title. Use it.”
“Don’t—”
“Too late.” He made a guttural noise that made my hair stand on end. “I tried to warn you and even gave you an out. You didn’t take it.”
The quiet hiss of leather flying through the air landed with the sting of a thousand angry bees.
“Ah fuck.” I jolted. My cuffs jingled. My back burned.
Never.
I’d never felt anything so sharp, so stinging, so savage.
The whip snapped over my left shoulder blade, burning me with a million fires. The ink down my spine seemed to throb, the tip of my wand pulsing with heinous magic.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Henri groaned.
I scrambled against the cross. The hook clanged against its chain. And I screamed as the whip sang again—
“Ahhh!” The second lash burrowed deep into my skin, blazing on my other shoulder blade.
“Your tanned skin makes me work harder for those red welts,” he groaned. “You should see what I see. See how drenched you are. See how you arch into the whip’s kiss.”
He struck again.
I collapsed against the cross, my shackles holding me upright.
Just a game.
Just a game.
Playing.
Faking.
So why did it feel so real?
Why did my mind fracture, and my body shatter, and everything I’d ever known tear itself into silly little pieces?
