again. Sometimes, he used a cupped hand, making the sound explode in the room; sometimes, he struck the tender crease between her buttocks and her thigh, making her yelp.
His fingers touched her, so very intimately, and she heard a rumble like a big cat purr, as if he enjoyed fondling her as much as she enjoyed being touched.
Her clit engorged to a needy ache. When he pressed one big finger up inside her, her back arched at the burst of pleasure.
“Oh, ohhhhh.” The sound came from her, a long-drawn-out sound.
“Next time, sweetheart, you’ll get more than my fingers.” He pressed in another digit, pumping slightly as his other hand played with her clit.
Everything down there tightened as she neared an amazing peak—and then he pulled away. Her moan was drowned out by more smacks on her ass.
Her orgasm lurked, just out of reach, turning the pain into shooting stars of excitement.
“Let’s add to the fun.” As she tried to catch her breath, to protest, he picked up something from his bag and played with the nipple clamps.
She couldn’t see, but as he straightened up, something still tugged on her breasts. “What?”
“Weights, my dear. So, when I do this”—he smacked her bottom— “they’ll swing.”
And they did. Every time he hit her hard, she rocked enough to make the weights pull. Her attention became divided among her throbbing breasts, her burning bottom, and her aching, needy pussy.
He swatted her harder, lighter, varying the blows. Kneading her stinging skin, then teasing her clit until she teetered on the precipice of coming.
Each time, he’d back off again.
He was driving her mad.
“Pleeeeze,” she finally whined. “Why are you doing this?”
He chuckled. “It’s called edging, sweetheart, something sadists love to do to poor strapped-down submissives.”
“You are a monster.”
He laughed again. The next flurry of blows hurt enough to bring tears to her eyes. He pressed his fingers deep inside her, filling her, as he slid his other fingers over her slick clit. Over and over.
She held her breath as the exquisite pleasure grew, and this time, he didn’t stop, and oh gods, as the first incredible wave of pleasure bloomed inside, the world disappeared. She fell off the mountaintop into an ocean of sensation.
His low purr sounded again. “Mmm, that was nice. Again.” His fingers pressed inside, driving in and out.
The spasms of pleasure started up again, rolling over her like warm surf.
When he finally stopped, she lay limp, gasping for air, heart hammering.
Keeping one hand on Valerie to reassure her, Ghost used the other to undo the restraints. Her skin was slightly damp under his fingers, and her breathing still fast.
Damn, he hadn’t had so much fun in an exceedingly long time. Earlier, he’d wondered if the quiet professor would be too inhibited to climax, but once past her initial worries, all her responses were open. Genuine.
“Up you come, lass.” He lifted her off the bench, wrapped her in a blanket, and guided her the three steps to the gold and red upholstered sofa.
Steadily, he pulled her onto his lap, adjusting her so her right shoulder was against his chest, and her legs lay on the cushions. “Comfortable?”
She blinked at him, her cheeks still adorably flushed. “Um. Yes. Thank you.”
“So polite.” He removed one nipple clamp and waited for the blood to return to the abused tissue. “Let’s see if you know any curse words.”
“What?” Her light brown eyebrows drew together. “I don’t—”
Her eyes widened as the pain hit. “Owww. Ya Ibn el sharmouta, ayuha alwaghd!”
He grinned at the language a pissed-off, street vendor might use. “Oh now, lass, my parents were married.”
She glared at him.
“Good choice though. Let’s try for more.” Avoiding her grab for his hands, he removed the second clamp.
A hiss escaped her like an angry cat. “Ayreh feek, hemar.”
Laughing, he covered her breast with his hand, preventing her from rubbing the ache away. “A warning though. In here, cursing is fine. Downstairs, you might use caution about calling a sadist—or a Dom—a donkey. Or saying, fuck you. The Shadowlands can be fairly strict.”
Now, there was an adorable pout. “No one would understand me.”
His lips quirked. “I would.” He emphasized his warning with a pinch to her undoubtedly aching nipple.
To his delight, she not only squeaked—but color swept into her cheeks. She really did like pain. Sexual pain.
So, he massaged her tender breast—damn, but he loved the softness. Gripping her hair with his other hand, he kissed her deliberately hard, owning his territory in the same way he’d owned her ass.