Chapter Thirteen #3
“What is it?” I asked, trying to turn to him, but he held me in place. My voice sounded muffled and husky.
“A leather strap,” he said, lashing the strap very lightly against me, not enough to hurt—just a light promise of what was to come.
The leather was drawn lower, across my raised buttocks, to fall between my legs, where it brushed against my saturated core, which was so sensitive that the light contact caused me to squirm.
I felt a slight slap on my backside. Not a sting, but a caress that warmed me at the place of impact, and deeper.
Again, the leather fell with gentle force, spreading the heat, igniting the center of my body with an exquisite, scorching glow.
Again. The fluid ecstasy built within me.
He lashed me again, at the same time pushing his fingers gently into the tight constriction of my body.
This time the lash did sting—a sharp, painful shock that caused me to gasp.
The lash licked me with pain, but it was a pain laced with burning, needy pleasure.
I thought I might overflow with it. As soon as the leather left my skin, the pain eased to a radiating warmth, funneling strongly to the place where Kade caressed me with his fingers.
The lash fell again, lower this time, closer to the billowing ache that flared with the echo of his strikes.
I was breathless, on the verge of begging him to show me mercy.
But the pain had turned, mellowing into a deep, luscious craving.
His fingers worked that pleasure, enticing it and energizing it.
“You have no need to favor weakness or mildness any longer, lass. You’re stronger than that, and you’re free now to follow your fiery instincts.
To me, and with me. I’m yours and you’re mine, do not forget that.
I vowed to give you this time to adjust to me, yet you are still mine to do with what I please. ”
He paused, as though waiting for my answer, but I was blind and mute, it seemed. I was too strung-out, waiting for his whip.
“What say you, wife? Do you want me to do with you what I please?” He struck again, lower across my skin.
“Aye,” I cried out, stunned by the blaze of sensation. The glowing burn in the core of my body was feverishly intense, stroked by his fingers and stoked by the sharp sparks of his indulgent punishment. I was moaning—profanities, no less. “Oh, Holy God,” I was saying. “Oh, please.”
“I chose you, Stella. You’re mine. Mine. Do you understand me?”
The delicious contact of the lash struck again.
“Aye.”
And again. The soft pain leached instantly to ecstatic, greedy sweetfire. My body felt alight with the promise of a rapture so extreme I could only lift my hips higher, pushing against his hand, pleading and squirming with need.
“Please, husband,” I begged him, and again.
“You like your punishment? Or do you beg me to stop?” Again, sharper. The sting funneled instantly to the glow, feeding it, expounding it.
“Nay,” I moaned. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I waited for the sting of pleasure-pain, but he would not give it to me. “Who is it you will think of now?” he said. “Who will haunt your dreams, wife, and invade your fantasies? Who?”
“You, husband. Only you.”
The lash found its mark fiercely.
Oh, God. There it was. I was on the precipice. The punishment had become the reward.
“You think that boy could satisfy you? Think again. You need a man who can fulfill your voracious womanly appetites. Like this,” he growled, smacking the whip against the swollen, aching, delicate place where the entirety of my being was centered.
The flare of pain and pleasure consumed me.
I lost hold of myself completely, riding the euphoria in an utter haze of bliss, so immersed in the clenching spasms deep within my body that I was aware of nothing else for quite some time.
My body bucked gently, my moans undulated along with the waves, my hands gripped fistfuls of the fur blankets.
And my husband’s hands teased the pleasure further, relentless and so thorough I wanted to hold them, and him, against me, and in me, forevermore.
It occurred to me, with wonder, that this was only the beginning. We hadn’t even fully consummated this marriage. I felt a mild sense of alarm and of awe, somewhere outside the periphery of my clouded, entranced mind. How could it get even more intense?
And now his hands were rearranging my supple, supine limbs, turning me and laying me back against the pillows. I wondered for a moment if I had indeed lost consciousness. Why was it so dark? Then I remembered that I was blindfolded.
“I’m going to tie your wrists now,” he said.
He took one of my wrists and lifted it to the bedpost, securing it with what felt like a thick silk tie.
My reflexes were slowed in the aftermath of my release.
I pulled against the restraint. “Nay,” I protested weakly.
But my husband seemed not to have heard.
My body was pinned under his and he was securing my other wrist just as tightly.
It was just as Lottie had warned! I was bound and trapped.
As lust-infused and satiated as my body was, I fought against him.
Aye, it would take several days for me to recover already from what he had done to me.
I couldn’t take any more. Yet I wanted more, as I’d never wanted anything in my life.
The intensity of my release had left me dazed and muddled with conflicting urges.
I felt replete yet perturbed and restless.
My body echoed with starry decadence, the memory of it etched into every part of me.
I knew if he touched me again the pleasure would only compound itself.
Already I recognized the quiver, the building warmth.
I wanted to touch him, fervently, to take out my passions and frustrations on him.
Strangely, I wanted to bite him, to taste his skin and rub myself against him. Now.
My head lolled from side to side. I felt delirious with the aftereffects of my release and the need for more of his erotic expertise. “Kade—”
“Hush.” The command was unconditional, without even the slightest hint of leniency.
And now my ankles were being tied, one, then the other.
My feeble struggles were entirely ineffective.
Kade waited, not touching me. I tried to calm myself, listening.
Where was he? What was he doing now? I couldn’t bear to think of how I looked to him, laid out for his pleasure and his domination.
I felt his mouth softly kiss me there where I still pulsed with his forcefulness.
He licked into me, reminding me, coaxing me.
The sweet ache closed in, gathering, divine.
But then he pulled away. “That was more for my own gratification than for yours,” he said.
“I’ve developed something of an addiction for my wife. But first things first.”
I froze as the lightest, softest touch grazed the sole of my foot, tickling me, silencing me. The touch traced languidly, barely a touch at all. All concentration drew to that soft, gliding line as it slid over my ankle, up my calf.
“What is it?” I managed to ask. My voice sounded low and fevered.
“A feather.”
It traveled farther, a fluid, sensual path along my thigh, my hip, circling my navel, to my breast, eliciting sensation, teasing.
Such a light, delicate sensation, focusing upon and circling yet never touching the most intimate points of my body. As the line traced across my skin, its touch seemed to burn me, to brand me with a fiery, penetrating neediness.
Long, torturous moments of anticipation and desperation.
My body was on fire. I thought I might go up in flames, merely from the inspiration of this soft, enticing brush against my sensitive skin.
But then the touch was removed. Quickly, without pause, the touch was replaced with a much more solid one.
Still soft in texture but unyielding, no longer brushing but tapping.
“What’s this?” My voice was sultry, frantic.
“A small whip with a triangular leather tip.”
I heard myself cry out as the leather slapped against my nipple, causing a sharp bolt of sensation that shot straight to my center, scalding me with spiky pleasure.
“You thought your punishment was finished?” he said. “Not even close, wife. I’m exceptionally thorough, you should know. I want to ensure that you remember this lesson. So that you’re not tempted toward further indiscretions.”
I couldn’t help myself. Even though I knew it would cost me. “It was hardly an indiscretion! I didn’t move, or speak. ’Twas a greeting—of his, not mine—nothing more.”
“A greeting,” he scoffed, pausing for a moment to circle my nipple with his whip.
His mouth found the teased, sensitive peak, closing over it, suckling with surprising warmth considering the topic of conversation.
I had a feeling that he was, once again, allowing himself a reprieve that had little to do with either my pleasure or my punishment.
After a voracious minute, he disengaged, leaving me maddeningly enflamed.
“Nevertheless, I insist that you remain faithful to me from this day forward. And so I must make this as memorable for you as possible. I have reason to believe it won’t be memorable for the wrong reasons, however, but for the right ones.
You can beg me to stop anytime you wish, of course. ”
I thought of begging him to stop, now, once and for all.
I would. Soon. But the soft leather was brushing enticingly against my skin, weaving to my other breast, where the light tap was repeated, heightening the fever, jolting my senses, so I could feel the effects to my fingertips and toes.
Again. And again. With each stroke, a rising ache swelled deep within my body, feeding the burn, melting it and stoking it with pleasurable fire.
Then the touch of the soft leather left me. I listened and waited. My breasts rose and fell with my anticipation. My heart thumped heavily in my chest.