Vienna Betrayal - Lila Dubois Page 0,13

nipple.

He released the first breast only to cup the other. “What else do you want?”

Before she could speak, the flogger slapped down. With his hand under her tit, the flesh was forced to absorb the full impact of the strike.

She breathed through the sweet pain, nearly whimpering when he released her breast and stepped back.

With uneven breaths, she watched as his gaze roamed over her front, as if considering where to strike next.

He studied her the way a master sculptor examined a block of marble.

He raised his arm.

The flogger struck, in rapid succession, each thigh, then the upper outside edge of her thigh—her hip area, but not high enough to land on the part of the hip that was out of bounds thanks to the kidneys and other soft organs not protected by the ribcage. Back to thighs then breasts, hip area again, and breasts once more.

By the time he was done, Alena was gasping and no longer able to keep still. Between blows she would rise up on the balls of her feet, arch her back, twist side to side, or some combination of all three. She wasn’t trying to get away. The opposite.

She needed more.

Her whole body was warm and throbbing. The moments of waiting between the strikes were torture.

“Tell me what you need,” he commanded.

“Again. Don’t pause. Please, Sir. More.”

“More pain?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “If that’s what you want.” She blinked to focus her eyes on his face.

He looked grim, his jaw muscles clenched. Anger? No. His brow wasn’t furrowed, and his eyes were…hungry. Control. He was near the edge of his own control, clenching his teeth as he fought to hold himself in check.

She didn’t want him reserved. She wanted him wild, and it had nothing to do with why she was here. It had stopped being about the job, about the next move in the game, when he flogged her breast.

Bringing a Dom to the edge of their control stoked her own perverse desires.

He started up again, this time adding in blows to the outsides of her thighs, and striking her breasts less frequently.

“Hurt me, please,” she begged during a pause. “Make me feel it. I don’t want to think for a little while.”

His expression shifted to surprise for just a moment. Then it closed down again even as her rational internal voice was screaming at her to back up a proverbial step.

At least she hadn’t said all of what she’d been thinking. I don’t want to think about why I’m really here.

He raised the flogger and started to flick it through the air, moving only his wrist. Soon he had a good rhythm, the flogger making an infinity pattern.

She watched in wonder and masochistic fascination as he turned to her, the rhythm of the flogger never altering.

Snap. He struck the top of her right breast with a down swing, then the underside of her left with the upswing. The strands of the flogger were moving fast. This wasn’t the thumping sensation of a moments ago.

She’d never been flogged like this, with quick fast blows. Instead of the warm thumps, the strikes were sharp, the sensation closer to the sting of a crop, but with a multilayered sound as each tail hit at a slightly different time.

And it hurt. Wonderfully. Terribly. She cried out, rounding her shoulders as her breasts started to burn with heat, the sting not having time to fade before he struck her again.

“Shoulders back,” he commanded.

“I…I…”

“Give me your breasts. They are mine to abuse tonight.”

His perverse command made her shiver in need. She needed this, deserved it. How had she forgotten how good it could be to submit?

Years ago she’d been so heavily into BDSM that she’d actually hosted a monthly munch—a BDSM meet and greet.

Then she’d grown restless and slowly drifted away from the community and the lifestyle, taking with her everything she’d learned about how complex a person’s sexuality could be, and how universal the desire for connection was, even if that connection was found on opposite ends of a whip.

The flogger never stopped, and she lost track of time. The sound of each strike was like a metronome, relentless and mesmerizing. Her breasts ached. She felt swollen and tender, each blow a warm sting.

The pattern broke, the flogger not striking her left breast when it should have.

“We’ll pause for a moment.”

Alena forced her eyes open, blinking.

Alexander casually bounced the flogger against his leg, the only sign of impatience during the small intermission.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Their gazes collided, and