Vienna Betrayal - Lila Dubois Page 0,15

called him “master.”

Chapter 4

“I don’t allow my submissives to lie to me.”

Alexander’s words were a cold slap, snapping her out of the ridiculous flight of submissive fancy.

I’ve made a terrible mistake.

That thought sobered her enough that she was able to jerk herself away from a precipice she could not afford to crest.

He didn’t allow submissives to lie to him. Well, he was about to, even if he didn’t know it.

She’d planned to offer him nothing but lies and playacting. But what she felt, how she responded to his domination was the truth. Hopefully that was enough veracity to hide both the lies she’d already told and the ones she would have to tell to get what she needed.

“I wanted you to touch my breasts, Sir. I wanted you to…” She shook her head, casting aside thoughts of both past and future. Now was all that mattered.

She closed her eyes, trying to put to words a feeling that was nearly impossible to explain. “I wanted it to either end or for you to start using that crop.”

“Impatient.”

“Yes, Sir, but it’s more than that—it’s…” She licked her lips, struggling slightly to swallow because her head was still back, his hand still gripped in her hair.

The tip of the crop rubbed her hip then slid up. When he teased her nipple, gently tapping it with the crop, Alena couldn’t help but moan.

“I can read your body language,” he whispered. “I know what it was you wanted. What you still want.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He released her hair. “Your skin is sensitized and now that you’ve had a break, starting again would be painful.”

He was ending the scene. Alena looked at the floor, past her flushed breasts and hard nipples. It was in part to stretch her neck, and in part to hide her disappointment.

The crop came up under her chin, forcing her face up.

He looked like some dark, avenging prince—his face stark and merciless. “Beg.”

“Sir?”

“Beg me to keep whipping you.”

“And if I don’t?” she whispered.

He slapped her right nipple with the crop. Sharp, hot pain lanced through her. From her nipple right down to her sex, which throbbed in response.

“Thank you,” she moaned.

“Turn around.”

Slightly wobbly, she rose onto the balls of her feet and turned, presenting him with her backside.

The crop swished through the air, and she cried out in sweet pain as it lashed her ass. In a matter of moments, or was it minutes? She was shifting and wiggling, seeking an end to the constant throbbing interspersed by bursts of sweet pain. Her whole body was humming with need. The need for it all to stop, for her to catch her breath and calm down.

The need for him to do even more. Harder, longer, more sensitive skin.

“Please, please,” she sobbed.

“What?” he demanded.

“More, Sir.”

The chemistry she’d been surprised by when he first touched her was nothing compared to the connection she now felt. She felt submissive, truly submissive, for the first time in years.

And it was that full submission that sparked a terrible desire. She wanted to beg him to hurt her until she was bruised and bleeding. Knowing, trusting, that he wouldn’t go that far.

“Turn around, offer me your breasts again.”

Her tits ached, especially her right nipple, but she obeyed, presenting her breasts to be cropped.

Thwack, thwack.

A dry sob escaped her, and Alena was no longer thinking about this moment. Instead all the things she’d shoved down, all the things that secretly hurt her, surfaced.

Insults and abuses that she’d dismissed with a witty comment or comeback were now dragged up from the depths of her memory.

Only to burn to ash as they met the ferocious heat of Alexander’s dominance.

He switched to the flogger, starting up the sideways figure-eight pattern once more.

When the first pass struck her breasts, Alena nearly screamed. She was so sensitive. She couldn’t take it.

She could. For him, she could.

And at this point it wasn’t the pain she feared, but the private, personal revelations.

She wore a mask, which wasn’t remarkable. Everyone did. It just so happened that hers was a bit thicker, a bit more permanent, than what other people wore.

And Alexander was stripping all that away.

She still heard the flogger but no more blows fell. Chain clanked and her wrists lowered a few inches. Her overworked arm muscles sent up a protest, but that was minor pain in comparison to her aching breasts.

“Feet together. Now bend over.”

She was tired and aching, raw emotionally and physically.

And he was still going to use her. “Sir, I…”

“I’m not done using you. You