The pain started again, startling another squeak from her, and his deep chuckle swept over her like a hot wind before it disappeared into the pool of sensation.
“You deserve a reward, sweetness.”
She blinked, realizing he’d stopped. His chest was against her, and then his fingers under her chin tilted her head back against his shoulder. His hand curled around her vulnerable, exposed throat, pressing lightly in the most primal of threats.
The fingers of his other hand slid between her pelvis and the cross, then down over her mound. With her legs wide, nothing was denied to him, and he slid two fingers over her clit and inside her. Out and over again. And inside again.
Overwhelming pleasure swept through her, making her shake, but her arms were restrained; his body pinned her, his hand still pressed against her throat.
She could only tremble as the tension, the need to come spiraled out of control.
His chin rubbed against her temple as he whispered, “You feel good, pet.” His fingers pressed in and out. “Later tonight, my cock will be here, buried deep inside you for my own pleasure.”
His slick fingers swept over her clit, paused, and circled, slower and slower as her whole body went rigid, waiting for the next touch.
It came, and gods, everything inside her contracted and then released in billowing waves of sensation. “Ah, ah, ahhhh.”
He was chuckling, still holding her in place, and before she’d come down, he slid his fingers inside, his palm on her clit, sending her over again so hard all she could do was gasp.
“Nice, very nice, pet.”
He stepped back, and then he was spanking her ass, sending her back up, the pain—the not-pain—resonating with the orgasm, and she sank into a whole new space. Deep under the waves, there was no pain. She could feel each impact like a quivering of the heavy waters.
Then he was flogging her again, only lighter. A patter like rain on the ocean danced over her skin, and she sank even deeper.
A low chuckle broke into the rhythmic rocking of the waves. “Eyes open, sweetheart,” he said.
His eyes were so green, his face so hard. Such a warrior. So safe.
“Come on back to the real world, Valerie. I’m taking your restraints off now.”
Restraints? She blinked as he pulled her legs together.
Bracing herself on the cross, she tried to stand on her own. He kept an arm around her waist as he undid her wrists.
Even as her legs wobbled, he wrapped a fluffy blanket around her and sat her down on the floor.
Taking a knee, he lifted her chin.
She tried to focus her eyes.
“You went a bit deeper than I expected for a newbie, pet. Let’s get some fluid into you.” He put a bottle into her hand, curling her fingers around it, then helped her raise it to her mouth.
A sip of cool sweetness slipped down her throat, and she swallowed. So good. More. She drank, and after a minute, he let her hold the bottle on her own. “Thank you.”
Why did she feel so shaky inside?
He studied her for a long moment, then leaned forward and kissed her. His touch and attention on her settled the quivery feeling.
When he pulled back, all she could do was look at him, falling into his eyes.
He kissed her again. Slow and sweet.
When she sighed, he chuckled, then rubbed his slightly scratchy cheek against hers. After removing the scrunchie from her hair, he massaged her scalp.
It felt amazing. Was it possible for her muscles to go even limper?
Giving one lock of hair a tug, he smiled at her. “Sit and get hydrated while I clean up.”
“I can—”
“No, sweetheart, you will stay where I put you.” His smile deepened. “I warned you what happened with sadists, didn’t I?”
“…we sadists enjoy turning our victims into quivering messes who aren’t up to anything more demanding than sitting on the floor.”
Good grief, he’d done exactly that.
Chapter Thirteen
Ghost used the elevator to take his blanket-wrapped submissive upstairs to his own quarters. To his bedroom. Still glowing and pink, she was a lovely sight.
She’d look exactly right in his bed.
Stopping near the doorway, he dimmed the hanging Moroccan lanterns to a golden glow.
Leaning against him, she was staring at the king-sized canopy bed he’d bought when he returned to the lifestyle. Rather than wood, the steel frame was of twisted black metal. The Celtic scrollwork on the head and footboards—and corners of the upper and lower posts—made excellent anchors for bondage without being obvious.