sensation. The tune “Half God Half Devil” playing over the speakers determined his rhythm as he flogged her shoulders and down to her ass, avoiding her spine and kidneys.
The club, the people, everything disappeared as his focus tightened, as every motion of her breathing registered, every twitch and shiver, the color of her skin, the light glow of sweat.
Only the music existed with what she gave him—the hitch in an inhalation, a moan.
Soon there would be more.
With each circuit, he increased the strength of the blows until her skin roughened, pinkened, showing it was ready for more.
But was she? Laying the flogger aside, he leaned against her again, nipping her earlobe.
The sharp bite of teeth on her ear pulled her from the pretty haze, from the lovely mild burn that covered her back like a heated blanket, a contrast to the cooler cushion on her front. His belt buckle was a cold circle against her lower back. When he cupped her breasts, his palms were hot.
“Okay, pretty professor.” The low rough voice felt like the flogger had, dancing over her skin. “You with me here? Open your eyes.”
When had she closed them?
She lifted her lids.
His green gaze was assessing, careful—and hotter than the center of a flame.
“You like this,” she said in wonder.
His deep laugh was openly amused. “Absolutely. So, do you, it appears.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She managed to stop herself from saying, “More.” The memory of Barry’s disgust had never completely disappeared.
But he must have read the request in her face, this too-perceptive Dom. “We’re nowhere near done, pet.”
He kissed her, even as he caressed her breasts. Stepping back, he trailed his hands down her back, over her ass, and between her legs. Discovering she was wet, he made a low appreciative sound. With slow, deliberate strokes, he slid his fingers over her clit and around her entrance, until the bursts of pleasure were entwined with the burning of her skin.
With a low laugh, he moved back. Something struck her back, a different flogger. This one felt less like raindrops and more like the slapping of a myriad of hard hands. He worked from her shoulders to her ass, slowly increasing and decreasing the blows, occasionally hitting hard enough to take her breath.
And it started to hurt as the heat turned to a burning ache.
Just before she was ready to speak, he stopped. His weight pressed against her again. Her skin was so hot and tender, she could feel every strand of thread in his shirt and pants. His clothing was wonderfully cooler.
Then his hands found her breasts and oh, the feeling. As if she’d been waiting forever to be touched.
“You still with me here?” he rumbled in her ear as his fingers teased her, hurt her. The pain was sweet, blooming in cascades of pleasure, leaving her gasping for air. “Valerie, look at me.”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. So hot and amazing and… “Um. Yes. I’m good.”
He huffed a laugh. “You’re going to be an easy one to toss into subspace, aren’t you? Let’s get you off first, then we’ll enjoy some mutual play after you recover.”
“Right.” Play sounded amazing.
He laughed and pinched her nipples until the burn ran like a stream of molten lava straight to her core.
As he moved away, his hands ran over her back and ass, then between her legs. He teased her until she was squirming, and all she could think about was being touched.
Being taken.
He flogged her again, slower, bringing her back to a mindless place where she was simply…taking.
Until it all changed. The pain was different, harsher, stinging lines walking across her ass and upper thighs. The cane? Not quite unbearable, pulling her deeper, until—
There was a pause and the cane struck harder. The pain was a burning line and then sank into her, blended with her somehow, and then he struck again. Again and again.
He stroked his hand over her butt. “Breathe, Valerie. Ride the pain.”
She pulled in air through her nose, breathed it out, as if preparing to meditate. The ache receded like the surf pulling away from the sand.
His gaze was on her, waiting, giving her a chance to quit. And she wanted to—it hurt!—only she didn’t, because the pain had turned into the slow surge of waves with the turning of the tide.
Her lips formed the word. More.
A crease appeared in his cheek, and she could almost feel the pleasure radiating from him, the enjoyment of what he was doing.