Chapter 20 #2
Heat rushed through me, making me glance down, my hands curling at my sides. The dress that had felt daring in my bedroom now felt fragile, almost inadequate under his gaze.
“Eyes on me,” he said.
The command hit me low, quick and sharp. My head lifted before I even thought about it.
“That’s better.” His voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You don’t need to hide. Not from me.”
My breath stuttered out. “It’s… different here. I’ve never…” I gestured vaguely at the ropes, the cross, the space itself.
“You’ve never had someone who knew what to do with you,” he finished for me, pushing off the bench.
He came toward me slowly, boots heavy against the floor. Every step narrowed the distance until his body heat wrapped around me. He didn’t touch me—not yet. His hand came up, hovering just beside my cheek, the threat of contact making me tremble harder than an actual caress.
“Two weeks ago, you told me you wanted to level up our relationship,” he reminded me. “Not play. No games. Serious. You weren’t nervous then, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And you told me you wanted me.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yes.”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my lips, but still not touching. “Then you’ll give me more than words tonight. You’ll give me your trust.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “I already do.”
His smile was sharp, knowing. “We’ll see.”
He stepped back, leaving me swaying in the space he’d occupied, already aching for him to return. Then he unzipped the duffel with deliberate slowness, pulling out coils of soft rope, cuffs lined with leather, a blindfold, and a flogger that glinted under the light.
My knees nearly gave out. There was more in that bag than I’d seen him pack into it.
Lord help me.
He looked back at me, one brow lifted. “Last chance to walk, Ember. Once we start, you’re mine until I say otherwise.”
“I’m not walking,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Hardison’s smile deepened, something dangerous and satisfied in it, like he’d just won a battle I didn’t know I’d been fighting. “Good girl.”
Two words. That was all it took to melt something inside me, my body loosening even as anticipation coiled tighter.
“Dress off,” he ordered.
My hands trembled as I reached for the zipper at my side.
The fabric slid down, whispering against my skin, until it pooled around my heels.
I stepped out of it, standing in nothing but the black lace he’d picked for me earlier—bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings.
His gaze raked over me, heat and hunger burning through every inch.
“Turn around.”
I obeyed, facing the cross on the wall. My heart hammered as I heard the soft scrape of leather and metal behind me. Then his hands were on my shoulders, warm and steady, guiding me forward until I was flush with the cool wood.
“Spread your arms.”
The command vibrated through me, and I did as he asked, palms flat against the cross. The click of cuffs followed—the leather snug but not painful as he secured my wrists. Then my ankles. I was bound, open, and trembling with the weight of his presence behind me.
“You feel that?” His hand slid down my spine. Then, slowly, deliberate. “The way your pulse is racing?”
“Yes.”
“That’s your body learning what your mind already knows. You were built to obey.”
A shiver ran through me. “And if I resist?”
His chuckle was dark and low, right against my ear. “Then I’ll remind you why you won’t want to.”
The blindfold came next—soft fabric cutting off my sight, throwing me deeper into the sound of his breathing, the creak of leather, the shift of his weight. My world narrowed to sensation.
The first strike of the flogger was light, a tease against my back. Then another, firmer, warming my skin in waves. My breath caught, half gasp, half plea.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Trust me to take you where you need to go.”
I arched into it. The sting gave way to a deep, rolling ache that anchored me to him, to this moment.
And when his hand replaced the flogger—rough palm skimming over the heat he’d left—I broke, a moan spilling out that I couldn’t have swallowed if I tried.
“Mine,” he growled, and the word wrapped tighter around me than the cuffs ever could.
The cuffs were snug, holding me in place, but it wasn’t the leather that pinned me—it was Hardison. His presence behind me was so steady, so absolute, that my body obeyed before my brain even caught up.
The next few strokes of the flogger were light, rhythmic. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was mapping me, teaching me to hear him through touch. Each fall of leather made my skin hum, a low vibration that built on itself until the sound of the flogger became a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his voice closer now, like he was pressing it into my skin.
I inhaled, shaky at first, then steadier as I matched the rhythm of the strikes. Exhale, warmth. Inhale, sting. Exhale, release. My world shrank to nothing but those two things: his command and my surrender.
He paused suddenly, and the silence was almost unbearable. Then his palm smoothed over my back, slow, grounding. “You’re doing so well, Queen. You’re beautiful like this.”
The words broke something in me, hot tears pricking my eyes beneath the blindfold. Not because I hurt, but because I’d never felt so seen. So known.
He must have heard the shift in my breathing, because his touch gentled even more. His lips brushed the curve of my shoulder, a kiss that undid me more than the flogger ever could. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.
The world tilted, soft and blurry, like I was floating. My limbs felt loose though I was bound, my thoughts dissolving until all I could feel was him. The sharp edges of doubt, fear, and control faded. What was left was raw trust, sweet and terrifying in its intensity.
“Hardison…” My voice cracked, but I didn’t even care. “I love you.”
The flogger dropped to the floor with a thud. His hands were on my face then, rough thumbs brushing at tears the blindfold couldn’t hide. He pressed his forehead to mine, our breaths tangling. “I love you too. More than I ever thought I could.”
He didn’t untie me right away. He held me there, suspended between restraint and freedom, as if to prove that love wasn’t about letting go or holding on—it was about knowing when to do each.
When his hands finally moved again, they weren’t to strike but to cradle. His palm cupped my cheek, then traced down my throat, reminding me with every inch that he could take, but he was choosing to give.
And that was when I slipped deeper, my mind spinning out into a hazy, weightless place where nothing mattered but him.
Subspace. I had read about it, but living it was something else entirely.
It wasn’t weakness. It was surrender, yes, but also strength.
A fierce peace, knowing I was safe to let go because Hardison was there to catch me.
The room, the cross, even my body blurred. All I could hear was his voice, low and reverent: “That’s it, Queen. Stay with me. You’re mine, and I’ll take care of you.”
And I believed him. With every fiber of my being, I believed him.
He retrieved the flogger from the floor, and then it whispered across my skin, the strands a hundred little kisses that landed everywhere at once. It was soft at first, teasing, almost playful. He was luring me in, step by step, until my body was his instrument.
The strikes grew more purposeful, steady as a drumbeat.
Thud. Thud. Thud. My breath rose and fell in time with it, chest expanding, then shuddering as the warmth bled into a sharper edge.
I felt it on my thighs, across my ass, down the curve of my back—each stroke marking me without leaving a trace.
“Good girl,” Hardison murmured, his voice like gravel wrapped in velvet. “Stay right there. Let it wash over you.”
I moaned softly, my knees trembling though I was bound. The leather made me feel everything—heat, sting, the ache of wanting more. I could no longer tell where the pain ended, and the pleasure began; it was all one current pulling me under.
He varied the rhythm, sometimes quick and light, a cascade of sensation that made me gasp. Other times, he drew it out—one heavy fall, then silence, leaving me suspended in the ache until the next landed. My body danced to his pattern, anticipation becoming its own form of torture.
The flogger kissed my thighs, calves, and the tops of my shoulders. He painted me with touch, every strike a declaration: mine, mine, mine. I whimpered, not from hurt but from being so open, so raw. I could feel my body rocking forward into the leather instead of away.
“That’s it, Queen.” His tone sharpened, commanding. “Lean into it. Give me everything.”
And I did.
The flogger wrapped around my hip, snapping a gasp from me. Then softer, repeatedly until the sting melted into fire that spread through my veins. My mind scattered, untethered. Every thought that didn’t include him dissolved.
“Hardison…” My voice cracked, thin and needy.
“I’ve got you.” The flogger landed again, his words grounding me even as the strikes carried me higher. “Fly, baby. I’ll hold you.”
The world tilted. My limbs went heavy, my head light.
I was floating, drifting into that hazy place where time didn’t exist and my body wasn’t mine—it was his.
I was safe. I was seen. I was loved. Every fall of leather, every sound of his voice, drove me deeper.
Until there was nothing but the flogger, Hardison, and the steady drumbeat of surrender.