Chapter 2
Kane
T he kiss was hot and deep and filthy. There was nothing gentle about the way my mouth devoured hers, nothing tentative or restrained.
I kissed Charlotte like I already owned her, my tongue sliding against hers, my teeth catching her lower lip in a sharp nip that made her gasp.
My hand tightened in her hair, angling her head exactly where I wanted it, and she opened for me completely, surrendering to the kiss with a moan that vibrated through the both of us.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and she kissed me back with a hunger that matched my own. Her tongue dueled with mine, giving as good as she got, and when I bit her lip again she returned the favor, her teeth sinking into my bottom lip hard enough to sting.
I groaned into her mouth, my cock throbbing against the front of my slacks. This woman. This fucking woman . She was going to be the death of me, and I was going to enjoy every second of it.
When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her eyes glazed, her chest heaving.
Needing a moment to regain control of my desire, I stepped back. “Kneel,” I ordered, pointing to the spot on the padded mat in the center of the room. “Hands on your thighs. Eyes down.”
Still fully dressed, Charlotte sank to her knees immediately, her movements graceful and obedient despite the obvious trembling in her limbs.
She arranged herself exactly as instructed—hands resting lightly on her thighs, palms down, eyes cast toward the floor.
Her back was straight, her shoulders relaxed but attentive.
Perfect form . Whether she’d been trained before or was simply a natural submissive, I didn’t know. But she looked like she belonged there, kneeling at my feet, waiting for whatever I chose to give her.
My cock hardened even more. I had to take a slow breath to steady myself, to keep from abandoning all my carefully laid plans and simply take her right there on the floor. The sight of her—composed and beautiful and so willingly vulnerable—made raw, primal desire flare to life in my chest.
Patience , I reminded myself. The anticipation is half the pleasure.
“Were you a good girl this week?” I asked her in a surprisingly firm tone. “Or do you need to be punished?”
I was more than happy to give her either.
If she wanted stern correction, I was delighted to provide it.
She’d loved the flogger and the riding crop last time, had moaned so prettily when I’d striped her ass and thighs with delicious pink lines.
But I was also happy to give her nothing but pleasure, to make her my plaything, my toy to use however I saw fit.
“I think I’ve been a good girl,” Charlotte said, her voice tentative. Soft. Testing.
“You don’t sound very sure about that.” I circled her slowly, admiring everything about her. “You can say that you’ve been good, Charlotte. As long as you’re telling me the truth. You can praise yourself. I want you to praise yourself, if you’ve earned it.”
I watched her throat move as she swallowed. Her fingers twitched slightly against her thighs.
“I’ve been good, sir.” Stronger this time. More certain.
“That’s my girl.” I stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see my shoes, my legs.
“I’m so glad to hear it. I trust you to be honest with me when you’ve been bad.
I love reminding bad girls why they need to be good.
” My voice dropped and roughened a bit. “But I also love rewarding good girls. Do you want to be rewarded tonight, Charlotte?”
“Yes, sir.” No hesitation now. Just need.
I smiled, though she couldn’t see it. “Look at me.”
Her eyes lifted, that deep blue meeting mine, and I saw everything she was feeling written there—anticipation, desire, a flicker of nervousness, and beneath it all, trust .
She trusted me to give her what she needed.
To push her exactly as far as she could go, and no further. And to catch her when she fell.
It was a heady thing, that kind of trust. A responsibility I didn’t take lightly.
“You were thinking about this all week, weren’t you?” I murmured, reaching down to cup her chin in my hand. Her skin was soft, warm. “Thinking about what I did to you the last time. What I might do to you tonight.”
Her breath shuddered. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you touch yourself?” I asked her. “While you were thinking about it?”
The flush that crept up her cheeks was answer enough, but I wanted to hear her say it.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. “I... I couldn’t help it.”
“How many times?”
She bit her lip, and I tightened my grip on her chin just slightly. A warning. Don’t hold back from me.
“Four times,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Maybe five. I lost count.”
Fuck. The image of her alone in her bed, hand between her thighs, replaying what we’d done together while she brought herself to orgasm... it made my cock stiffen painful in my slacks.
“Did you come?”
“Yes, sir. Every time.”
Every time. The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Four or five times in a single week, and every single one of them had ended with her falling apart, thinking of me.
Thinking of what I’d done to her, what I could do to her.
I released her chin, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I fought the urge to pounce on her right then and there.
I circled behind her, letting the silence stretch, letting her feel my presence without seeing me. Let her wonder what I was thinking, what I was going to do next. When I finally spoke, my voice came out rougher than I intended, raw with a hunger I couldn’t quite conceal.
“What were you thinking about?” I demanded to know. “What specifically made you come?”
Her blush deepened. “The...the flogger. How it felt. And when you...when you called me...”
She trailed off, and I felt my lips curve into a grin.
Ah, yes. That.
Something I’d discovered during our first session was what Charlotte liked to be called during scenes.
That was always fun to figure out—what name, what label would make the sub go absolutely wild.
Some women loved being called princess, or baby girl.
Some wanted to be degraded, humiliated, called names that would make them slap anyone who tried it outside a scene or in a public place.
Charlotte was unlike any woman I’d been with before. When I’d had her tied to the frame last week, whimpering under the strikes of the flogger, I’d glanced between her legs and seen that she was so wet it was sliding down the insides of her thighs, glistening in the low light.
What a greedy little slut , I’d said, testing the word. And Charlotte had moaned , her entire body shuddering, and I’d watched her get even wetter.
So, I’d quickly learned my girl liked that particular brand of degradation—not cruelty or as an insult, but a filthy term of praise. A label that acknowledged what she wanted to be for me during our scenes, without shame. And I was more than happy to accommodate that kink.
My perfect little slut.
“Stand up,” I ordered, ready to begin. “Strip for me. And then go to the center of the room, beneath the suspension rig.”
Charlotte rose gracefully to her feet, her movements deliberately unhurried as she first stepped out of her heels. She held my gaze as her hands went to the zipper at the back of her dress, and I watched, mesmerized, as she slowly drew it down.
The dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
She stepped out of it, standing before me in nothing but a simple black bra and matching panties—no elaborate lingerie, nothing designed to seduce.
Just clean lines and creamy skin and luscious, full-figured curves that made my mouth water.
She reached back to unhook her bra, and I held up a hand. “Stop. Leave that for a moment.”
She stilled, waiting.
I circled her again, admiring her from every angle. The delicate line of her collarbone. The swell of her full breasts, barely contained by the bra’s fabric. The dip of her waist, the flare of her curvaceous hips. The way her panties clung to her figure, the fabric visibly damp at the center.
“You’re already wet,” I observed, stopping behind her.
I lightly traced a finger down her spine and watched her shiver.
“Already soaking through your panties, and I’ve barely touched you.
Is that because you were thinking about last week?
Or because you’re thinking about what I planned to do to you tonight? ”
“Both, sir.” Her voice was breathy. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you might do to me.”
“And what were you imagining?”
She hesitated. “I... I wasn’t sure. But I knew it would be good. You make everything feel so good, sir.”
Warmth expanded in my chest at her words. That pride had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way she trusted me. The way she gave herself over so completely.
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Take off the rest of your clothes,” I said, swatting the back of her thigh with my hand, just enough to sting and cause her to inhale a startled breath. “Now.”
Her hands trembled slightly as she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor.
Her generous breasts spilled free—full and round, topped with nipples already peaked and flushed dark pink.
Then her panties, sliding down her thighs, revealing the neat strip of auburn curls between her legs and the glistening evidence of her arousal.
“Beautiful,” I murmured. “Now go to the center of the room. Hands at your sides. Wait for me.”
She obeyed, her bare feet silent on the mat as she moved to stand beneath the suspension rig, positioned exactly where I wanted her. I watched the subtle sway of her hips, the way her hair was starting to come loose from its bun, and felt anticipation coil tight in my gut.
I went to the armoire first, retrieving an item I’d specifically ordered for tonight’s scene.