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So warm and solid. He feels so good.
But curiosity finally wins out and I turn, bending over the table to take a closer look at the silver thing. I tug at it. The handle is silvery indeed, but from it sprout black leather strips.
“What is this thing?”
“My new flogger,” Hawk says, pressing his chest to my back and sliding his arms around my waist. “I bought it just for you. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
***
It is sleek and dangerous looking, I think, turning it over in my hands. I’m kneeling on the bed, and Hawk is lying on his back beside me, one arm folded under his head, his gray eyes luminous as he studies my face, waiting for my verdict.
“Is this… like a whip?” I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue, and Hawk lifts a hand to my face and wipes my mouth with the tip of his finger.
“Yeah. A hand whip. But it doesn’t really hurt. Like the roses.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Try it on your hand. You’ll see.”
Try it? I wrap my hand around the silver handle and drag the soft leather strips over my other hand. It tickles. It feels… good.
Then I lift it up and bring it down on my open palm a bit harder.
“Oh fuck…” Hawk’s eyes turn to slits. He lowers his hand to his crotch and that’s when I realize he’s hard again. “I want to do that to you.”
“You do?” I mean, obviously, if he bought this flogger just for me, but it’s kind of weird. And exciting. “Where would you hit me with it?”
“On your back. Your ass.” He tugs on his cock, toys with the barbells, and a flush rises to his cheekbones, making his eyes glitter. “On your tits. Between your legs.”
Shit. I’m breathing hard, and the tips of my breasts ache, tight with desire. I never thought I’d want a guy to hit me with anything, roses or whips.
But I can’t deny that the thought, the mental image of Hawk doing that to me is setting me on fire.
“Yes,” I whisper before I even know I’m saying it. “I want it.”
He curses softly, sitting up and putting both hands on my face, his rough palms catching on my skin. He leans in. “Are you sure, Doll?”
“Yes,” I say before I change my mind.
His smile is soft, softer than the strips of his flogger. “I promise it will be so fucking good. And if you wanna stop, just say the word, okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Then he unclasps my skirt and pulls it off me, and I’m naked, except for my boots.
“Love your boots,” he whispers darkly, letting my skirt fall to the floor. “Turn around.”
I turn on all fours, and he puts a warm, heavy hand in the small of my back. “Like this?”
“Damn perfect.” Something cool and velvety caresses my leg, and I realize it’s the flogger. He lets the strips trail over my back, over my ass, lets them flow over my crack, over my exposed pussy, and I shudder, tiny jolts of pleasure running up my spine. “You look fucking beautiful.”
I turn my head, to say not sure what, when he lifts the flogger and lets it fall on my back. There’s almost no force behind it, only gravity, it seems—and the impact is soft and yet startling. Pleasurable.
Instead of speaking, I moan, my head falling forward.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, letting the flogger fall on my back again and again, each time a little lower, stroking shoulder blades, my ribs, reaching my ass. He works the strips over my ass cheeks, and the pleasure mounts and floods into my core, making me clench.
That’s when he spreads my legs more, draws back a little and lets the strips fall right over my pussy, hard.
“Oh God!” I flinch and shake, and it’s not really pain, but it’s not pleasure, either. It’s just shock.
“Relax,” he says, but then does it again, and again, and then it’s all pleasure, dark, thick pleasure that drips down my belly like syrup, tightening my insides until I can’t breathe.
My legs are trembling, and when he hits me again, I small cry pushes past my lips.
