Chapter 83
“They look good on you,” he murmured, too pleased. “Could keep
these on you for hours. Maybe next time we try a silver ring.”
I shivered like an idiot, and he chuckled. Then the heavy flogger
kissed across the clamps, and a line of lightning shot straight through
me–pain and pleasure braided together so tight I couldn’t pull them
apart. I arched. The table creaked. He gave me another, lower, and I
felt everything tighten in my chest and run south like a switch had
been flipped.
“Sir, please… I need to-”
“No.” Calm. Final. “You’re not there yet.”
I clenched my toes and tried to hold the line. My voice came out
rough. “Please help me not-”
“And you won’t,” he said. “Trust me. Let go of the fear.”
Right. That’s the point. Let him carry it. I exhaled slowly and made myself stop fighting the swell. If he said it wouldn’t happen, it
wouldn’t.
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The flogger went away. Wheels whispered across the floor. The toy
chest–yeah, I knew that sound now. Drawers sliding. Tiny metal
sounds. Then nothing again.
I wanted to cuss him out and thank him at the same time.
What I got was his mouth.
He kissed me once–quick, hot–then again, longer, deeper, like he’d
opened a door and let me fall two steps in before catching me with a
hand to my jaw. I leaned up for more, and he met me halfway, tongue
sliding slow until my knees tried to pull up and the cuffs reminded
me who was in charge. When he broke it, I chased the air he left
behind like a fool.
“Still,” he said, his voice closer to my ear now.
“I’m trying,” I said. It sounded like a complaint. It was. “Sir.”
“Good boy.” Quiet, satisfied. Those two words hit harder than any
strike.
He switched tools. Lighter tails this time–thinner, faster. The
touches landed like rain, all over, building heat without giving me the
friction I wanted. He brushed the inside of my thighs, and my hips tried to follow. The clamps tugged as my chest moved with everything
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else.
“You okay?” he asked. We both knew it, but he always asked.
“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I’m good.””
“Then take what I give you.”
He didn’t speed up. He stretched it out–heavy flogger here and there
to wake the clamps, then the lighter one smoothing everything into
heat. He tugged one chain, and the bite sharpened, and the sound
that jumped out of me wasn’t pretty, but it was honest. I felt stupidly
proud of it.
He stopped without warning. The silence punched a hole in the room.
I strained for any sign–breath, clothing, that tiny shift of air when
someone moves near your face. Nothing.
“Sir,” I said, too fast. “Please.”
“Please what?” His breath touched my hairline. Two fingers ran along
my jaw, and every muscle tilted toward his hand.
“Please touch me,” I said. No game left. Just the truth.
He didn’t answer. A long, warm palm settled flat over my sternum.
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The clamps tugged underneath it. That steady weight anchored me
better than any order. I breathed under his hand until the stupid
panic I hadn’t noticed cracked and drained out.
“You think you can make me touch you whenever you want,” he said,
not a question.
Could’ve lied. Didn’t. “I thought I could…convince you.”
“Temptation isn’t obedience.”
“I want to learn; I want to please you.” I swallowed. “I want… you,
Aiden.”
The words choked in my mouth the second I said them. He didn’t correct me for using his name; he didn’t say anything at all… And suddenly, I realized what I really wanted might not be what he
wanted at all.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
