Tempt Me - Caitlin Crews Page 0,40

up like a turkey, and not because she’d been kidnapped or taken against her will—no. This was worse.

She had chosen to be here. And just now, she’d reinforced that choice.

For some reason, that made something in her seem to yawn open, then. Wide and dizzying.

And almost unutterably raw.

Smack.

He hit the other cheek, and it was the same. Worse, almost.

That bright bloom of sharpness, the awful burn of it. Rory knew better than to jerk the way she had before, but she did it anyway. And it had the same result, so she yelped in reaction, not sure what to do in all that confusion of pains. Should she try to move away from that slap or away from the persistent ache in her nipples?

It was like she was trapped in the tumble of it, the pull, and then there was his hand again, rubbing the ass cheek he just slapped.

Making it better. Making it worse. Somehow taking all that confusion and smoothing it, not away, but down through her body to make her clit seem to glow.

With a hunger she was surprised didn’t make her implode, there and then.

“If I have to tell you to count again, Rory,” came his implacable, ruthless voice, “I will double the amount to ten.”

“Two, thank you, Sir,” she forced herself to say, though there was something in her throat. She felt thick and agonized. Somehow both hideously connected to everything that was happening to her and as if she was across the room, watching him spank her.

All the while her clit pulsed, sending a different sensation rolling through her, until it all mixed together and was too much—

The next time he spanked her, it was exactly the same spot as the first. He did it again on the other side. She did her best to count.

Each wallop was worse. While inside her, everything was chaos and that rawness, too big, too tight, too much.

She didn’t realize that she was sobbing until she felt the tears on her cheeks. And that only made her cry harder.

“Stop tensing,” Conrad said, his voice descending as if from on high somewhere. Dispassionate, disengaged.

And even that seemed to work in her like heat, going directly to her pussy and sharper into the pain.

Rory tried to make her body obey her. She strained against the cuffs, too aware as she sobbed of that stiff collar around her neck.

She thought, then, there is no part of my body he’s not in control of right now. There is no part of me that doesn’t feel every single thing he’s doing, and he knew it. He knew what this would do—

But that last slap was cruel.

He hit her low on her ass so that the reverberation lit her up, everywhere. From that collar to the clamps to the cuffs, and her poor, red ass, because she could feel it. Sharp and bright and painful.

“Five,” she somehow made herself get out, though she was sobbing so hard she was surprised she could form words at all. “Thank you.”

And she wasn’t sure she could get the last bit out. She wasn’t sure... But there was something about the pain. About that rawness inside her. If she focused, on him, it wasn’t like it went away, but it felt less overwhelming. “Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

She thought she heard him murmur something, probably good girl, or some other such thing that should have outraged her.

But it didn’t. She felt scraped clean, a jangle of sensation she couldn’t quite sort through. Especially when everything was tipping all over itself, again.

Rory hardly recognized that she was on her feet again, because Conrad was the one doing all the work. Holding her and moving her around as if she was some kind of doll.

A notion that should have appalled her, deep into her core.

But instead, it had the opposite effect. Because his hands were big and he knew how to hold her. And she went with him willingly enough—or more to the point, it didn’t occur to her to resist—as he took her back to that archway. She was trying to figure out how to breathe in a way that she didn’t set off that same chain of sensation—collar, cuffs, clamps, and ass.

And her greedy, impossible clit.

Though there was so much noise inside her that, after a moment, she couldn’t separate one sensation from another. It was too complicated to pull one strand from the next.

There was nothing but that noise, everywhere.

Except him.

Conrad was the center of everything, still and