Chapter 63
Genevieve
“Move to the foot of the bed,” Ford orders, his voice dropping an octave that carries a note of authority. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, opening the top dresser drawer and removing some items, and my eyebrows crimp.
I find myself oddly nervous for some reason.
Maybe because I’ve been thinking about being with this man far longer than I care to admit, dreamt about it for years.
Thrust my hand between my legs to thoughts of my mystery man taking me the way I desired for nearly a decade after I stopped messaging him.
He’s always been my favorite fantasy, and now, it’s become my reality.
“You don’t want me at the cross?” I ask, glancing at the ropes he has in his hand. Climbing to my feet, I stride closer.
His blue eyes sparkle as his lips spread into a smirk, revealing his damnable dimple.
“What is it you said to me when we first met in here?” he ponders aloud, stalking toward me until we’re inches apart.
A deep intake of breath from each of us could press our bodies together.
“I believe you told me I was topping from the bottom, isn’t that right? What would you call this behavior?”
He brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, making white-hot desire glissade through my body in a landslide until I’m warm and tingly all over. “Now, are you going to submit freely for me?”
I don’t want to make Ford fight for my submission, not when he’s already earned my trust. It’s why I gave him pieces of my soul the other night. He’s proved that even the darkest parts of myself are safe with him, and I have no doubt that my body is, too.
Taking a deep breath, I resolve to relinquish that final tether of control I’m gripping. When I exhale, it feels as though I’m breathing easily for the first time in fourteen years, my chest loose and the tension in my shoulders slackening. It’s glorious.
He’s a more than capable Dom. He won’t give me what I want; he’ll give me what I need.
Instead of answering him verbally, I move to the foot of the bed, reluctantly abandoning the body heat radiating from him. A contented hum vibrates in his chest as he approaches me once more. “Turn around.”
I do as I’m told, coming face-to-face with my own reflection in the mirror above the headboard. Ford takes my hand in his, binding my wrist with a length of rope before securing it to the bedpost.
Once he’s ensnared my other wrist, he kicks my legs apart until I’m spread eagle. My joints groan. It’s not painful, but I’m certain the discomfort will blossom. I shift, seeking a more pleasant position, and Ford threatens, “If you move your legs again, I’ll get the spreader bar.”
I freeze, even after I observe him give me his back in the mirror.
My body blocks most of what’s happening behind me, though, so I close my eyes.
It’s only a moment or two before leather kisses my inner thigh and they fly back open.
I glance down to see the paddle sailing higher, as if my pussy is the ultimate destination.
“Don’t even think about taking your eyes off me again,” Ford commands, low and gravelly. The paddle detours, coasting over my ass. “I want you to watch yourself become mine. I want us both to relive it every time we close our eyes.”
Well, that explains why he didn’t opt for the cross.
I don’t even have time to respond before the paddle lands against the swell of my ass. Torrid heat spreads through my lower limbs, growing hotter and more intense with each blow.
My chest is already heaving, my backside nice and warm, by the time he tosses the paddle aside and turns around again.
When Ford faces me once more, my heartbeat only ratchets as I note the ornately hand-painted bamboo cane I got in Tokyo a few years ago.
Its half-inch diameter and notches mean it doles out a delicious sting and beautiful welts that could remain for days.
I wonder if he knew this was my favorite impact toy, if it spoke to him the same way it speaks to me.
He meets my gaze in the mirror. “What word ends this?”
“Savior, Sir.”
He’s quiet for several beats, tilting his head slightly as he studies me, and I stifle the shiver his gaze sends down my spine.
Maybe he thinks I believe he’s my savior, and maybe he is to a small degree, but the real savior here is me.
I’ve been saving myself ever since I boarded that train.
And I’m saving myself now by letting him in fully.
There’s something poetic in summoning my own strength should things become too difficult; although, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice to share that responsibility.
He nods. “Brace yourself.”
The cane lands across the top of my ass, and I grunt. With the second strike, I jerk and adjust my stance. It stings, but I prefer that sensation to a thud, and I relax into the sensual torture.
“What did I tell you about moving,” he spits, gripping my hair at the scalp, yanking my head back so that I’m staring at the ceiling.
My eyes threaten to roll toward the rear of my skull as I savor the sensation.
His breath skates across my cheek. “You’re not a very well-behaved slut today, are you?
Or are you just looking for a punishment? ”
I whimper. He releases me with a jolt, abandoning me entirely for a moment. Less than a minute later, he’s got my legs locked in a spreader bar, and I don’t bother to trap the moan that escapes. Note to self: this pleasure Dom means business.
“If you move again, I’ll hook you and attach it to a fucking collar.”
I titter, an expression of amusement and joy reflected back at me in the mirror.
I’m impressed. I’ve hooked a couple subs before, Henry being one, but I’ve never been on the receiving end, though I’ve wanted to be.
Ford has really stepped into his own, and I’m dying to experience this for myself instead of as a bystander wishing I was the sub.
Grinning, I decide that being a brat on occasion never hurt anyone, so I make a show of shifting again. He erases my grin, however, when he brings the cane back down on my ass.
“You did that on purpose,” he comments, abandoning me to slide open the second drawer, exhilaration rushing through me. The metal J-shaped object catches the light as he moves to grab something else, presumably lube. “I hope you meant it when you said hooks didn’t scare you.”
Giddiness captures me as a thick leather collar is fastened around my neck and spun until the metal ring is at the back.
The thick band feels comfortable, solid and safe.
I’ve never worn one before, but now that it’s on, I’m not sure I want to take it off.
I feel as though I’m wearing skin for the first time.
“If I unsnap this outfit of yours,” he muses, cupping me between my spread legs, “will I find you drenched?”
“Yes, Sir,” I pant. Thank fuck he hasn’t made me count these because my brain has already short-circuited more than once.
My bodysuit’s clasp between my legs is unfastened, as air hits my pussy, followed by cool slickness that suddenly slides between my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my lip, tensing up involuntarily.
“Breathe for me. Let me inside,” Ford instructs, his finger prodding my back entrance. I suck in a sharp breath and force myself to release it slowly, easing a bit as it penetrates the rings of muscles.
“Ah, that’s my dirty little doll.” The mix of praise and degradation has me practically glowing as he adds a finger.
He works me over until I’ve released the last of my tension.
Only then does he slide the slick metal ball at the end of the hook inside.
I moan, rolling my hips as I acclimate to the pleasant sensation of heavy fullness.
It’s different from a plug, deeper and more intense, but in a good way, and I smile.
Behind me, Ford hums in approval, and I shiver as he threads the piece of rope through the ring at the top of the hook to the ring on the collar.
The tether has a little slack, so I won’t choke, but the threat is enough to have arousal leaking down my inner thighs and my nipples harder than diamonds.
“Fuck, Gen, you look incredible with my hook in your ass.”
I’m as immobile as it gets, yet I’ve never felt more at ease and protected than I do now. Ford wouldn’t let anything happen to me that I didn’t beg for. I trust him and that invisible connection sizzles between us.
The cane lands once, then twice more, decorating my ass in hot, red, raised welts.
I whine, the high-pitched, throaty sound growing in volume with each blow.
Sweat has slicked every inch of my body, making my ass sting worse than it already did as the salty perspiration manages to find its way into the raised welts that have likely broken the skin.
He continues his pattern of hit, hit, pause, resting the cane over the place where he just brought it down with every brief reprieve.
Every swat jostles the intruder in my ass.
The metal hook is hitting all the right spots deep inside me, and I grip the ropes connecting me to the bed frame tightly as I groan.
“Shatter, Genevieve.”
I don’t think he’s telling me to come, although I probably could. The climax is certainly within reach. For some reason, I suspect he wants me to break, to fall apart, but I don’t want to.
“What?” I blink, shaking my head. “I’m not going to cry.”
“That’s why I want you to.” He hits me two more times, and when he pauses, he clarifies, “You’re holding it all inside, and I want to see you release everything you’ve locked down. You’re safe here with me.”
I haven’t cried because I haven’t thought that’d get me anywhere productive. I’ve needed to be strong for myself, for the people in my life who depend on me. There hasn’t been time to lose my shit either, not when the fight is this important, this consuming.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, landing blow after blow, continuing to paint my ass in streaks of red. It’s not until his strikes begin landing on the backs of my thighs that I shriek, no longer able to contain my screams.
“Break, Gen. You’re bearing everyone else’s weight, but who’s carrying yours? We’re going to do this until you let go, until you realize this is a safe place, that I’m a safe place.”
The temptation to give him what he asks for is greater than any I’ve faced before. A good Dom knows what’s best for his sub; he’s more than proven that he can handle that responsibility. If I give him what he wants, it’ll be the ultimate submission.
With four more strikes of the bamboo, the hook heightening the sensations, tears begin to spill down my cheeks, dripping onto my chest. When he starts in on my inner thighs, I shriek, fat teardrops falling harder.
“You look stunning when you cry, with black streaks running down your pretty face. My beautiful, broken doll.”
His blows have ceased, but my tears haven’t, and in a matter of seconds, I’m sobbing, struggling for breath as I relinquish my fears, my anxiety, my past. Ford hastily cuts through the rope binding my wrists, not bothering to release me from the spreader bar or the delicious, torturous hook before he pulls us both onto the bed, clutching me to him tightly.
“Share some of this burden with me, if just for now,” he murmurs, his voice like smoke gently curling through the air. I’m helpless to deny him.
A comforting cloud of black pepper and tobacco settles around me as he strokes my hair, soothing me, sporadically placing kisses to the top of my head while I cry, breaking further with each passing second. I’m in a million pieces by the time the tears finally subside, but he doesn’t let go.