“Good girl. From now until we leave this room, I am Master. You will call me that. Do you understand?”
Callie tried to swallow but her throat was dry, so she nodded. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, an approving gleam in his eyes. She leaned into his touch and he kissed her. The gentle claiming turned rough, the moist softness of his mouth turning wild, as it sent spirals of desire coiling deep into her belly, burning low and hungry.
Then he fastened the cuffs around her wrists. The leather was soft and the fur against her skin even more so. He slid a finger between her wrist and the cuff, testing to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Then he lifted the black cloth. She expected him to blindfold her, but instead he parted her lips and stretched the cloth across her mouth and tied it snuggly behind her head. It was an effective gag, but not one that affected her breathing in any way. Just like he promised when they’d talked about this in Paris.
Wes hooked her cuffs together with a small chain and then he hit a small red button on the wall by the foot of the bed and a silver hook lowered from the ceiling. He raised her arms and when her wrists were level with the hook, he secured the chain on the tip of the hook, and then raised the hook one inch. Just enough to keep her from standing on tiptoes to unhook herself.
Helpless. She was completely helpless, in a room that couldn’t be found with a man who warned her of his inner darkness. A little panicked whimper escaped her, muffled by the gag.
Wes walked around from behind her and cupped her chin, his eyes fathomless, except for the heady lust gleaming there.
“Breathe, Callie. It’s just us. And pleasure, so much pleasure.” He leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. She jerked against the cuffs and chains, struggling to get closer to him, but couldn’t.
He was in complete control.
Wes tilted her chin back, exposing the column of her throat, and then he licked and nipped a path down to her collarbone, worshipping each inch of flesh he encountered. Each kiss and nip lit a fire in her blood and she prayed he wouldn’t stop this sweet torture. Callie dropped her head back. Every part of her was focused on his mouth. She panted against the gag and her back arched.
“So impatient,” he said and chuckled as he stepped back, his gaze raking down her naked body so heavily that she could feel invisible hands on her. She huffed against the gag as he walked over to the dresser by the bed. The rasp of wood opening and Wes’s broad back before he turned around to face her was all she could see. In his hand was a long leather-wrapped stick about two feet long with several ribbons of leather dangling from one end.
A flogger.
Every muscle in her body tensed and she gasped against the gag. He was going to flog her.
She tried to calm down, but fear and excitement chased each other through her veins until she was dizzy from the rushing blood.
“This is a light flogger,” Wes explained as he drew the ribbons along the palm of his left hand, and then with a quick flick of his right hand, he snapped the ribbons down over his left palm. No trace of pain crossed his features. Maybe it didn’t hurt…or he had a really high pain tolerance. Callie gulped.
“You remember in Paris, when we talked about this? How I can make you burn and your skin heat up, but without real pain?”
She managed a shaky nod. She did remember.
“We are going to try that.” He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a golf-ball-size silver bell. “This is what you will use to give me your safe word while you’re gagged. Clench it in your fist like this and the sound is muffled. I will know you are fine. If you need me to stop, open your palm more and shake the bell.” He approached her again and settled the bell in her right hand.
“Go ahead, shake it for practice.”
The bell jingled as she shook it. There was plenty of wrist flexibility for her to easily shake it. That made her relax. She had part of her control back. He’d respect her if she used that. She trusted her feelings for him and relied on that to feel safe with him.
“Remember, Callie,” Wes spoke softly in her ear as he settled one hand on her waist. “Trust me. I will stop if you use the bell, but know that my goal is not to hurt, only to arouse you. Do you trust me?”
She nodded. As insane as it was, she did trust him. The initial wave of panic had faded and she was calm again, as calm as she could be considering that she was chained and strung up for Wes’s pleasure. A little thrill rippled through her.
Wes set the flogger down and he plucked the silver cuff links out of his dress shirt and set them on the dresser. Then he removed his expensive suit coat. As he rolled up his shirt sleeves he exposed his muscled forearms. There was something disturbingly beautiful about the way Wes looked half-undressed. His dark red hair fell across his eyes and he brushed it back with one hand before he retrieved the flogger and walked behind her.
“Relax into the blows,” he instructed. It was her only warning.
The first blow landed on her upper back. She gasped loudly, but more from shock than pain. She had a few seconds to realize it didn’t hurt. More like a slightly heated stroke of leather upon skin. How many times had she smacked a set of leather reins against her thigh while riding? This was exactly the same sensation. No pain. Another strike hit her lower back, then her ass. Her body, once a little chilly, heated up beneath the flogger’s caress.
It seemed to go on for hours, the light blows, the delicate slaps of soft leather to bare flesh. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the anticipation and the following release of tension after each strike. She clutched the bell, loosely, no need to shake it. She was safe here in this blackness, with Wes, her dark protector, setting her free with each delicious kiss of leather to hot skin. Her mind slipped into a strange place, half euphoria, half heighted awareness.
The touch of the flogger disappeared, and strong hands clutched her hips. The gag was tugged down from her mouth and suddenly Wes was embracing her. She still hung from the hook, but he’d opened his trousers and freed his cock, clearly intending to make love to her standing. His hands cupped her ass, lifted, and her legs curled around his hips. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her hard while he positioned himself to enter her with his other hand.
Then he thrust up, hard and fast, but she was so wet that he entered smoothly. Callie cried out at the feel of him filling her, stretching her to the point of almost painful tightness. He could fuck her like this, pulling her down on his shaft as hard and fast as he liked. An orgasm exploded through her. The flogging had primed her so well that she hadn’t been aware of how on edge she’d been until he’d pushed into her.
Wes’s lips claimed hers as he rocked against her body. Her nipples, so achingly sensitive, scraped against his fine dress shirt and Callie moaned. A second orgasm rolled through her, so brutal it left her shaking and struggling to breathe. She was limp and boneless but Wes kept driving into her, seeking his own pleasure. There was something wild and raw about him, the way he stared into her eyes as he pumped into her over and over. One of his hands held her up by her ass, and the other still held the back of her neck, keeping her still. When he finally came, he shouted, hoarse and guttural.
Her skin burned lightly as he stroked her back, up and down with one hand. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his other hand slid down to caress her bottom. The touch almost hurt, in a good kind of way, like after a hard day’s work on the ranch, when every muscle was exhausted, and she collapsed into bed. Two mind-numbing body-exploding orgasms at Wes’s hands had that same effect on her.
“How do you feel, darling?” he asked in a faint whisper against her ear. His warm breath made her shiver and the light sheen of sweat from their lovemaking cooled her skin.
“Like I died and went to heaven.” Her words were almost slurred with exhaustion and she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. It was hard to think beyond the fuzzy sense of safety and the warmth of his touch.