“No,” she said, thrown off emotionally by the combination of his polite query and his intention to punish her. She walked to the mantel.
“Keep your back to me,” he ordered when she started to turn to face him. She longed to twist her chin over her shoulder to see what he was doing behind her, her anxiety and excitement mounting, but she restrained herself with effort. Was that because she once again didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was curious, or because she somehow sensed he wouldn’t want her to gawk over her shoulder?
She started when he wrapped his hands around one of her wrists.
“Easy, lovely,” he murmured. “You know I’d never really harm you. You must trust me.”
She said nothing, her mind racing as he buckled one of the cuffs snuggly around her right wrist. “Now you may face me,” he said.
She turned, her nipples pulling tight when she realized how close he stood. He must notice. There was no way she could hide her arousal as he fastened her other wrist into the cuff, his lowered head just inches from the tingling, prickling crests. The position of her arms as he cuffed her wrists together plumped her breasts. When he’d finished, her hands were bound together in front of her mons. He stepped back. Her nipples pinched even tighter when she noticed his gaze glued to them.
“Now lift your wrists and place them behind your head,” he instructed. He watched her while she complied. “Push back your elbows and arch your back a little. I want your muscles stretched tight.” She strove to do as he asked, thrusting her breasts forward and her elbows back, noticing the slight snarl shape of his mouth when she did so. The position left her feeling extremely naked and exposed. Then he turned away. “It will amplify the sensation,” he explained, his back to her as he walked over to the coffee table.
“Of pain?” she asked, her voice shaking from a potent brew of anxiety and anticipation as she watched him walk over to the coffee table. Was he getting that scary-looking crop?
He was coming toward her again, but she didn’t see the crop. Her heart knocked on her stretched rib cage like it was asking to get out when she saw the familiar little white jar. He unscrewed it and dipped a thick forefinger into the cream.
“I told you before that I would prefer if you didn’t fear me,” he said.
She gasped loudly, shuddering when he immediately plunged his finger between her labia and began to coat her clit with the emollient that she knew would soon make her tingle and burn . . . and want.
She bit her lip to prevent from crying out and noticed he watched her with a tight focus.
“But I want to emphasize, this is a punishment nevertheless,” he stated firmly.
“I want to emphasize that while I give you permission to punish me,” she said before air puffed out of her throat as his finger rubbed the cream with bull’s-eye accuracy. “I’ll still go jogging—or do anything else I damn well please—without asking for your permission.”
He dropped his hand and walked away. She stifled a cry of deprivation. He turned and came toward her again, now carrying the crop. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wicked-looking device gripped in his large, masculine-looking hand. It looked as if it would hurt more than the paddle or Ian’s hand.
“Spread your thighs . . . if you damn well please,” he added softly.
She blinked at his words, her gaze zooming up incredulously to meet his stare. Heat rushed through her sex when she saw the glimmer of amusement and the heat of arousal in his eyes . . . when she absorbed the edge of a dare to his tone.
If she agreed to what he’d demanded, it would be because she wanted it. And her impulsive statement of defiance just now was proof of that. Frustration went through her when she recognized how he’d tricked her into compliance and revealed her own desire in one fell swoop.
She widened her stance, glaring at him all the while.
“Your anger tautens your muscles as greatly as the position. It doesn’t displease me, strangely enough,” he murmured, the tilt of his mouth indicating he was laughing silently, not only at her but at himself. He lifted the crop, and all of her irritation was crowded out by stark anticipation. Wasn’t he going to slap her bottom with it, like he had with the paddle? Her abdomen muscles jumped in excitement when he ran the leather slapper over her belly. An erotic sensation swooped through her sex when he rubbed it sensually over her hip. He lifted the crop.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
She gasped, feeling the sting of the slapper lingering on her hip. It quickly faded to a tingling sensation of heat.
“Too much?” he murmured, his gaze running over her face and then her breasts. He smoothed the leather across her ribs over the globe of her right breast. She moaned uncontrollably when he pressed the slapper against her nipple and rubbed. “Your pretty nipples are telling me all is well.” He lifted the slapper and popped the side of her breast, then the bottom curve, and then the puckered nipple, his actions quick, firm, and concise.
Something ignited inside her. Liquid heat rushed between her thighs, the strength of her reaction shocking her nearly as much as the fact that he’d just spanked her breast. Her eyes clamped tight as shame struck her. What sort of a deviant was she, to have such an overwhelming reaction to something so sick?
“Francesca?”
She opened her eyes at the sound of his taut tone.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she told him, her mouth quivering uncontrollably. The clit stimulant seemed to be doing its job with even more vigor than when Ian had paddled her, making her clit sizzle with excitement.