Chapter 1 #2
I widened my stance, willing my four-inch stilettos to support me. Willing my legs to stop quivering. Silence blared through the room, a disquiet that brought the thump-thump-thump of blood rushing through my veins to the forefront, amplifying everything.
The chill in the room, drifting over my skin and causing gooseflesh. The slow and deliberate way he slid the belt from his pant loops. The soft but insistent pad of his shoes on the floor as he neared me.
Despite the phantom echo of pain roaring along my nerve endings, I’d never felt so sexy, bent over the way I was with my hair splayed on the mattress, one cheek pressed to the comforter. Vulnerable to his every whim.
I gripped the hem of my skirt and waited for his command.
Seconds ticked by until a full minute passed.
I bit my lip to keep from squirming, to remain quiet as he expected.
I knew he waited behind me with that strap of leather looped in his fist. This preamble was part of the thrill for him, part of the ritual.
He enjoyed making me wait with my breath suspended.
Fear crept in during this time like it had last week and the week before.
Fear that he knew, and this was his way of punishing me for it.
“Lift your skirt.”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
How could he not hear my heartbeat? It throbbed in my ears as I pulled up my skirt, sliding the silky material over an ass left bare for his pleasure.
Always bare. Always ready for him.
I sucked in a breath, let it shudder out, and gripped my skirt so tightly my fingers ached. We entered another unbearable period of waiting, and I shook with knowing that when his belt did strike my ass for the first time, it would come as a surprise.
Like the week before, and the week before that.
That first lash would steal my breath and make my eyes burn, would cramp my legs and—
Thwack!
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“One,” he said because I wasn’t allowed to speak during these weekly reminders.
I blinked several times to hold back tears, and my deception wrapped around my throat, cinching until it nearly choked me. Another lick of fire streaked across my ass, followed by his hoarse voice.
“Two.”
Eighteen more to go.
The strikes were few compared to his usual allotment, but they were three times the strength. On number eleven, I almost pleaded for him to stop. But like the week before, and the week before that, I pressed my lips together and endured the next one in quiet anguish.
It wasn’t so much that it hurt. Wasn’t that it was degrading. This new ritual of his was…
Confusing.
And if I spoke and fractured our unspoken code of silence, I was scared of what would come out. Would I show my weakness by begging and crying? Would I confess? Would he utter the words I dreaded most?
I know your secret.
I didn’t want to find out, so I took the beating. Week after week, our ritual settled into something that just was, something that transpired between Master and slave in unnerving silence.
“Twenty.”
Finality rang in my ears, bounced around my mind. His belt clattered to the floor, and the sound of his zipper stabbed at my control, primed me to tremble under the firm pressure of his palms on my stinging ass.
I wanted to moan.
I wanted to push my ass toward him in invitation.
God, I wanted.
And he knew it, tortured me with it, had me wrapped long before his cock nudged the center of my depravity. My breath hitched, stalling in my lungs until the edges of my vision grew fuzzy.
Until my world narrowed only to him.
To him dangling me over the precipice with his strong hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he rocked into me. To the stillness of our interlocked bodies and the rush of adrenaline begging me to move against him. Begging me to beg him.
But I understood without him saying a word. I was to have no control. He didn’t permit me to take pleasure, nor to voice my distress in having to hold back. And God, it was torture not to grind against him, to moan and plead for more as he began to thrust.
Finally, he slammed into me the way I needed him to.
Then he did it again.
Deeper.
So rough and brutal and animalistic that the power of his cock drove me to my toes, pushing me higher onto the mattress until my back arched under the onslaught. He grunted while I sucked in quick, shallow breaths as our bodies slapped together.
I balled my hands around my skirt, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to block my impending orgasm.
And I would. I’d do whatever it took to hold back.
I gnawed on my lip, bit down on the comforter, ground my fists into my sides.
Desperation threatened to swallow me whole.
Desperation appealed to the pressure building, whispering to just let go.
But I couldn’t. I’d broken my oath to obey enough already, and I’d atone for it. If—when—he learned of my deceit, I’d pay dearly. But stopping the eruption seemed damn near impossible.
Don’t come.
In my mind, I visualized a cage where I locked away my free-fall into ecstasy, but my pussy tightened around him anyway, becoming slicker. Needier. Greedy.
Shit, he felt good. Not even my burning ass overshadowed the way in which he claimed me.
With a strangled groan, he lifted me onto the mattress, spread my knees, and shoved me to my elbows before plunging deep—so deep that the base of his cock stretched me wide. He tugged on my hair, yanking my head back, and the smack of his balls on my clit almost sent me over the edge.
I will not come.
Not until he uttered the word. And he would, soon. Because he was close.
Just a little bit long—
“Come.”
A muted scream tore from my gaping mouth, and I did the only thing I could. I obeyed.