A swallow lodged in his throat, and the handle shook in his hand. Where were these thoughts coming from? And what if he made her worse?
If the whip brought her unfathomable pain, she would avoid the outside more, unless she was able to engage with the pain and connect it with pleasure and arousal. It was the response he hoped for. Otherwise, this would end in disaster.
With his feet spaced shoulder-width apart and the grass tickling his toes, he shifted his left foot forward. Hips loose, left hand up and out for balance, he settled into a relaxed stance and waited for the shaking to stop.
For the span of a dozen pummeling heartbeats, his uncertainty shifted. His dominant hand warmed and strengthened as it held the whip selflessly for the first time. Until now, it had struck only because it felt good, because it satisfied a craving. He tightened his fingers around the stiff leather grip as Amber’s panting cries surrounded him, begging wordlessly for his help.
He let the whip fly. Over and over, the lashes kissed her back, her ass, and her trembling legs. Whether he wanted to deliver a light sting or a muscle-bruising blow, his body knew what to do, his attention centering on her responses. The uncurling of her fingers, the loosening of her knees, the clench of her thighs, every answer contrasted with and complemented his strikes, each stumbling sigh playing different tones of the same melody. The song of unbidden surrender.
As the physical pain overpowered the emotional, her body liquefied. Nerves, muscles, and vocal chords, once stressed to their max, appeared to be softening, dissolving into a gentle sway of limbs and hushed moans.
His arm burned with exertion, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. He lowered the whip, catching his breath, and angled his head. The moon cast a globe of light on the glistening arousal slicking her inner thighs.
Pride lifted the corners of his mouth and expanded his lungs. He was the Master of a glowing red ass and a soaking pussy, of an agoraphobic who hung naked in the woods with a sigh on her lips. Damn straight, he owned that.
He set down the whip and approached her back, pausing close enough to let her feel his body heat without touching. Not one lash had broken the skin. He’d gone easy on her, though she probably wouldn’t thank him for it. “What are you feeling, Amber?”
Her head rolled forward, and a shiver rippled her shoulders.
He walked a wide circle around to her front, slowly, confidently, his gait a habit of lethal charisma, as her heavy eyes tracked his movements. A kiss away, he cupped her face and raised her chin. “Tell me.”
She licked her lips, her eyelids half-mast. “I...I need...”
She’d better say him. He needed her to say it.
Holding her jaw with one hand, he dropped the other to a taut nipple, brushing it with a knuckle in teasing strokes. “What do you need?”
She arched her spine, pressing her heavy tit against his palm. Her eyes rose to his, brightening with unspoken thoughts, then drifted over his shoulder and widened. Her next inhale caught in her throat. “Take me inside.” She sucked in sharply, her jaw stiffening, her voice rushed. “Need to go back. Oh God. Now.”
Panic gripped him, and he twisted his neck, scanning the timber behind, his muscles swelling to attack. But nothing moved amidst the skeletal silhouettes of the sleepy woods.
A throb lit behind his eyes. Shit, her phobia was contagious, and of course, it was still there between them, a gasping fucking presence. What had he expected? A miraculous cure beneath his whip?
He checked his blooming anger and kept his tone calm yet authoritative. “Focus on me, Amber. On my hands.” He flicked her nipple and trailed the pads of his fingers around the curves of her breast, lifting the warm, dense weight. “Fucking love your tits. The velvety texture, the little hard buds.” He pinched a nipple, made it harder.
Her eyes shifted, and when they found his, they softened. She leaned toward him, her arms trembling in the cuffs.
“Focus on my lips.” He took her mouth, and after a few coaxing nips, she melted into him. He kissed her with a deep ache in his chest, a burning need for her total attention. Sucking and licking, he dominated her mouth, fingers plunging into her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.
The phobia might’ve slipped in, but she was still entranced in subspace. All the endorphins and adrenaline that had been released with the pain would be buzzing through her body, floating her in a warm, drifty cosmos that gravitated toward her Master.
As their tongues swirled together, tangling and tasting, his hands edged around her breasts, down her flat belly, and tiptoed over her hipbones. Her skin prickled with goose bumps, her pelvis lifting toward his, enthralling him.
He continued his caress to the creases between her mound and hips, sliding down her inner thighs, and returning to her waist. A vibration thrummed beneath her flesh, heating with circulating blood. He knew how to toy with her, when to ease off, teasing the anticipation by touching everywhere but the one place that would send her into a blissful spiral. He broke the kiss. “Tell me what you need now.”
A visible tremor skated over her. She tried to bend her elbows, unable to budge the rope, and dropped her head to his chest. “I...I’m scared.”
Quiet, desperate, her admission shivered through him. He needed to hold her, to assure her. If he released the cuffs, would she try to run? Doubtful, but if he was wrong, he’d catch her.
With years of practice in rope
