CHAPTER 12
“Do you feel your wolf?” The intensity of Caster’s desire distorted his voice. But the experienced dominant in him knew Mark had so much more to give.
Mark moaned his response, and Caster couldn’t resist touching him. His palm traced the reddening skin on his ass, and his body jumped in response, a sigh leaving his lips. Goddess, he was beautiful.
“Let him heal you.”
The moan started as a protest, the whisper of the word “no” in a mind left wide open but devoid of all strategy, all thought. But then it ended in a sigh as the broken skin and welts on his back disappeared to reveal smooth, unmarred skin, pink with exertion.
This time, when his gloved hand traced the pink flesh, Mark’s moan was a response to his touch.
His body trembled, and Caster’s painful erection called to him to rush this along.
He paused, took a breath, and called on all his training.
Still, the intense desire to have Mark tore his control at the seams, and he couldn’t resist resting his forehead on Mark’s shoulder, needing a few minutes to fortify himself.
It was Mark’s plea for more, one he hadn’t voiced, but was clear in a mind devoid of most thought that drew him away from his weakness. Mark needed his sure hand; his own needs would have to wait. One more caress on his back, and he paused to enjoy the unguarded way Mark responded to his touch.
He stepped back, gathered his strength, and wrapped his hand around the whip’s handle.
His hand shook, and he took another fortifying breath.
His finger hovered over the button on the tiny remote control for the vibrating plug he’d only selected as an afterthought.
Time to see how long Mark could remain torn between pain and pleasure before giving in.
He tightened his grip on the whip, drew his arm back, and swung.
It landed across Mark’s back with a satisfying crack, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the scream sailing past Mark’s lips to satisfy the sadist in him.
He didn’t try to temper his strength as he delivered the second, and Mark, even in his confines, tried to chase the retreating pain as he drew the whip back, gathering his strength for the next swing.
Caster had learned that Mark would begin to battle the pleasure by the fourth swing of his whip.
He reveled in the way his body bowed forward with the assault, only to push back as if seeking more of the retreating pain.
He was beyond exquisite in the way he took the pain, the way he handed himself over to the darkest of Caster’s desires with little hesitation.
As he released the whip’s momentum for the fourth time, Caster pressed the button, and the moan from the new assault fractured Mark.
His cry, a plea, perhaps a threat, was more than Caster could take.
He wanted to toss the whip aside, replace the plug with his cock, and experience Mark’s exquisite pleasure with him.
Mark was generous in his desire to share the pleasure, and like every time they fell apart together, it would be nothing short of spectacular.
But this had nothing to do with him. Mark had begged him to make the world go away, and he wouldn’t stop until that goal was attained.
The toy’s vibration reached past his own harsh breaths, and he swung, Mark’s skin breaking with the impact.
The scent of his blood was nothing short of torture.
Caster inhaled, his mouth watering with the prospect of tasting that essence.
But the way Mark’s body tried to take the plug in further and push towards the retreating whip was too distracting.
“So good, my love. So good…” His own voice sounded foreign, his harsh breaths not from exertion, but from the burden of his desire, making his words incoherent.
“Please…” Mark’s voice broke, his gasp a testament to the tears Caster couldn’t see, but was certain were there.
He took a further step back and unleashed the whip, the cracking sound rising above the plug’s vibration.
Pleas tumbled from Mark’s lips in broken whispers, but he may as well have been screaming.
The pleading tore at Caster’s resolve, and he couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest. This was beyond anything he’d ever experienced, even with vampire play partners whose threshold for pain was much higher.
Mark didn’t try to run from it; his body didn’t constrict in anticipation. His heart raced with the pain’s effects, or perhaps the pleasure, and he begged for more with his words and his body. His mind was empty, but for the echo of his pleas.
Caster knew what he wanted, and as the latest of his assaults drew more blood, the pleas now unable to move past a mind consumed with both pain and pleasure, he relented.
His grip on the whip tightened further. He silenced the vibrating toy, and Mark’s body bowed forward, his choked sob the only sound out of his mouth.
Caster placed the whip on the small table containing his selected instruments of torture and gave in to his need to touch him.
The gloves, necessary to ensure his grip on the whip wouldn’t falter, now hindered that need.
He tore one of them off with more force than necessary, and his fingers traced the angry welts covering Mark’s back.
Mark’s body trembled at his touch, his sigh rising above Caster’s labored breath. Blood continued to seep from the wounds, but Mark chased the effect of his fingers as they traced each one, moaning and pleading between sighs.
His body was devoid of much energy. If he hadn’t been secured to the cross, Caster would need to hold him up. Now, he leaned on the wooden cross’s sturdy frame, and Caster allowed him the reprieve.
“Let him heal you again.”
Mark’s protesting moan made Caster smile, his smile widening further when the magnificent animal hidden in his psyche overrode Mark’s desire, bending to Caster’s will.
He watched in fascination as the animal’s healing power went to work, stitching Mark’s skin together again.
The delicious scent of his blood would not go away anytime soon.
But having to deal with its temptation was Caster’s penance.
He should have tried to find a meal before, but his mind had been too overwhelmed with Mark’s needs.
Mark was nowhere near ready for the intimacy of blood sharing. Would he ever be?
Mark’s sigh as the pain dissipated brought him back to the present, away from the temptation of his blood.
His caress trailed a path over Mark’s back to his hair, wet with the consequence of his exertion, but still as soft. “You OK?”
Mark’s answer was a moan.
Caster walked around the cross, his desire to see Mark’s eyes a burden on his carefully laid plans. Mark’s tired smile greeted him, the haze of pleasure in his eyes intensifying their brown color.
He touched his lips, needing to kiss him, but knowing that if he gave in, the play session would come to an end faster than he intended. “Still comfortable?”
Mark’s nod was small, like his head was a burden, but his smile, his calming breaths, and a silent mind reinforced his reply.
“Good.”
His eyes drifted shut, his sigh tickling Caster’s fingers, and he couldn’t resist. Mark opened to him as soon as their lips touched, his next sigh an invitation Caster welcomed. Although he was sure it would never be possible, he tried to communicate his love in the single kiss.
The position hindered that goal, and the pleas tumbling past Mark’s lips reminded him of his submissive’s need. He pulled away, took a fortifying breath. “What do you say when you need me to slow down?”
A slight frown interfered with Mark’s contented, calm expression.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry…” Mark closed his eyes and moaned. “Star.”
“Look at me, my love.”
Brown depths filled with tears met his.
“Let’s see how much you can take, hmm?” He brushed the strands of wet hair away from his forehead. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if you need a moment.”
He wanted nothing more than to kiss him, pull him away from the cross, and make love to him, but Mark’s needs would always come first.