“Take off your shirt,” she demanded quietly. She didn’t bother to look at him and hid a smile when she heard the rustle of his clothes as he obeyed. He always wanted to obey and sometimes he did so without argument, but boy did he struggle with it at times. She loved the challenge he presented. She doubted she would have ever fallen in love with him if he were truly submissive. She set the paddle aside on the dresser and turned to approach him, slapping her flail against the leather of her boot. Each time it cracked, he released a little gasp of excitement.
She stopped to stand before him and trailed the dangling ends of the flail over his flat belly.
“So you think my pussy is yours, do you?” she asked.
“Oh yeah.”
“Since it’s between my legs, don’t you think I should decide who it belongs to?”
“I already know,” he said. “It’s mine.”
She snapped her wrist, and the flail slapped his chest. He bit his bottom lip, but didn’t jerk or make a sound. He just stared at her with those dreamy chocolate-brown eyes of his.
“You may touch it only when I allow it,” she said.
“Which is whenever I want,” he said, lifting a brow at her in challenge.
Completely true, but only because she always wanted him. Always. Two years in his arms, his bed, and she still always wanted him.
“And what would you do if I said no?” she asked, cracking the flail against his belly. “Take what you wanted anyway?”
“No, I’d pleasure you until you thought it was your idea, until you submitted to me.”
Submit? She hit his chest twice with her flail for his audacity.
“I never submit,” she said, knowing it was a lie. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”
He chuckled. “Maybe you can claim you’ve never submitted to anyone before me, just as I never submitted to anyone before you, but we both know I let you dominate when it suits me.”
“You’re trying to get a rise out of me, Mr. Seymour,” she said.
He chuckled again. “Only because you’re not hitting me hard enough yet.”
So she remedied that situation until his entire chest and belly were crisscrossed with red lash marks and his fly was about to burst under the strain of his erection. When she took a step back to catch her breath and allow him to experience the sting in his flesh, he moaned in torment. Not because he wanted her to stop, but because she was only giving him half of what he really wanted. He preferred his pain served with a contrasting dose of pleasure.
“Please, Mistress,” he whispered and rubbed a hand over his crotch. His abs clenched in excitement, and his eyelashes fluttered as he got his first taste of pleasure.
She lashed at the back of his wrist in warning. “Don’t touch it until I give you permission.”
When he unfastened his fly and the thick, hard length of his cock sprang free of his jeans, Aggie’s pussy clenched, and her pelvis jerked involuntarily in his direction, which threw her shoulders back to lift her breasts high. Yes, she wanted him, but for fuck’s sake, she couldn’t let him know that yet. He bit his lower lip and stared into her eyes as he gently wrapped a hand around his cock and skimmed his palm down its length. The look of rapture that came over his gorgeous face almost made Aggie regret that she’d have to punish him for disobeying. Almost.
She turned her back on him—because watching that man pleasure himself always made her weak and horny—and went back to her suitcase for more supplies. He obviously needed to be restrained and then tortured with pleasure, but not in the way he expected.
He didn’t resist when she fastened the leather cuffs around his wrists, or when she used long straps to secure his right cuff to one post at the head of the four-poster bed and his other arm to the post at the opposite end. His cock stood rigid just above the mattress, and his bare back was exposed for her to work her magic.
“Did you ask my permission to touch yourself?” she asked near his ear, the tips of her breasts just grazing the skin of his back. She fought the urge to grind her body against his, because then he’d know how much she wanted him already, and they were still playing games.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, his tone full of challenge. The man knew how to get her worked up and exactly how to top her from the bottom. But she had a surprise in store for him.
She slid down his back, rubbing her nipples against his skin as she squatted. She jerked his jeans down to his knees to expose his ass. Her breath caught as its perfection came into view. She massaged his firm cheeks for the sheer pleasure of it. God, she loved this man’s ass. She almost hated to cause it pain. Almost.
He tensed when the first blow of the paddle landed on his cheek. She purposely struck him way below his tolerance for pain. In fact, for someone who got off on pain as much as Jace did, her blows were probably more annoying than stimulating.
“Harder,” he pleaded.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
She grinned, feeling a bit evil for tormenting him. Much more evil than she ever felt when she was delivering the pain he craved. “You’re being punished, so no, I won’t hit you harder.”
“Please.”
“You know I love it when you beg, baby,” she said. And she was certain he’d be doing a lot of begging by the time she was finished with him. She paused to squirt lube on her fingers and rubbed them over his ass, making him nice and slippery. He went completely still.
“Aggie, what are you doing?”
“Whatever the fuck I want to do,” she said.