If done well, that was my favorite scene.
I reached to my drink and took a sip, forcing myself to take in the players.
The man had the whip. Cat o’ nine tails, a beautiful set in braided chocolate and burgundy leather with expanded curved tips, not knots, beads or frayed.
He was in jeans, nothing else, and had a large, muscular body that was most appealing.
A woman was tied to the post. She was also in jeans and nothing else. I saw the red marks on her back and knew she’d taken more than one lash during my inattention.
And when I watched what the man did next, I automatically crossed my legs, feeling my lips part and Nick Sebring flew from my mind.
He ran his lips along the marks on her back.
One. Another. The next. And the next. Slowly. Tenderly.
A devotion.
Once done, he ran the handle of the whip along her hip.
Again slowly, he stepped back, raised his arm and let loose.
The slap of leather against flesh filled the chamber as her head flew back, her quiet moan sweet and short, her back arched.
He moved in and tenderly ran the tails of the whip along her skin. As he did, she relaxed for him. He then worked her neck with his mouth and pressed his bulging crotch into her behind before he again stepped back and let loose with the whip.
And again.
Then he moved back to her.
I’d seen many such scenarios but not one as slow, as drawn out, as tender, loving, sensual as the one before me. A scene where he mixed pleasure and adulation with her pain like they had an entire week for him to bring her to climax and not the length of their scene at a sex club.
They were on display, who knew how many people watching, but they were completely alone. She was completely his. Her adoration of him not in question. And this adoration was not what he could do to her. Not what he gave to her. That was only a part of the love she had for her master.
She loved him.
His devotion was the same. Unhidden, completely exposed. Every move he made was entirely focused on her pleasure. On her.
She was the center of his universe, at play and not.
After an unusual succession of three lashes, her moan came deeper and I again could not control the direction of my gaze.
It moved to my left.
When it did I saw that Nick Sebring was entirely focused on the scene. Leaned slightly to his right, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his hand up, his thumb distractedly tracing his lower lip.
At this sight, my sex, already damp, convulsed.
I wet my lip and bit it, watching his thumb move along his. Wanting my tongue to replace his thumb with a yearning the strength of which I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt.
Without warning, his head turned, his gaze capturing mine.
His eyes were a startling blue. Pure blue. Like the ocean.
I wet my lip again.
Those blue eyes dropped to it.
My nipples tightened.