N is for... (Checklist Book 14) by L DuBois (best classic books TXT) 📕

whip.

The flogger never stopped, and she lost track of time. The sound of each strike was like a metronome, relentless and mesmerizing. Her breasts ached. She felt swollen and tender, each blow a warm sting.

The pattern broke, the flogger not striking her left breast when it should have.

“We’ll pause for a moment.”

Alena forced her eyes open, blinking.

Alexander casually bounced the flogger against his leg, the only sign of impatience during the small intermission.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Their gazes collided, and for a moment Alena was sure he could see the truth. The truth of why she was here, what she wanted from him.

Anxiety flashed through her, cold and sobering.

Alexander simply nodded, then leaned in, examining her breasts. He used the butt of the crop handle to lift each breast in turn, examining the underside.

“Your skin marks beautifully. No bruises of course, but you will be pink for several hours.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The words were automatic, almost habitual.

As if Alexander had pulled that buried submissive part of her forward in the space of an hour.

This was a terrible mistake. There was a piece in play she hadn’t seen, and that piece, her long forgotten submissive needs, bolstered by the sexual chemistry between them, had knocked her back several moves.

This plan had seemed perfect, both because it was one of the only ways she could gain access to him, and because she was an experienced submissive. It was an approach no normal person would have dared, unless they were so ignorant of what BDSM was that they walked in blind and ignorant.

Alena’s life had never been normal. At best it had been interesting, and at worst traumatic. She was who she was, and did what she did, because of it.

“We’ll continue.”

The flogger swished through the air, finding the rhythm once more.

Instead of her breasts he focused on her thighs and hips.

Thwack. Right hip.

Thwack. Left thigh.

Thwack. Right hip.

Thwack. Left thigh.

The blows were stronger now than they had been on her breasts, but not as hard as what he’d used on her ass.

She’d been right.

He knew exactly how to use a flogger. He knew the implement, knew how to use it to cause completely different sensations, how to moderate his swings for different sensations and strengths of impact.

He was precise. Methodical.

The kind of man who wasn’t easy to trick.

Alexander paused, stepping back, and she sagged for a moment, letting her head fall back and lifting each leg in turn, circling her ankle and feeling the heat in her thighs.

“Again.” The word was merciless. He was merciless.

She braced her feet, closed her eyes, and forced herself to breathe.

Thwack. Left hip.

Thwack. Right thigh.

Thwack. Left hip.

Thwack. Right thigh.

He’d reversed the pattern, which meant he was striking virgin skin.

“You’re almost at your limit.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“No, Sir.”

She didn’t want her limit to be what stopped them. She wanted him to keep going, wanted to linger in this place of uncomfortable heat. It was like the first moments of getting into a too-hot spa after a day in the snow.

“No?”

Alena arched her back, thrusting her breasts towards him.

“Ask for what you want,” he commanded. “Or was that a lie?”

Alena’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze, a bit of ire adding bite to her words. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d be able to read my body language, but if you need every single thing explained…”

“Watch your tone.”

“Or what?”

Alexander grinned. It was the first time she’d seen a full smile. My god, what a smile it was.

“Or I’ll stop.”

“Oh, that’s…That’s just mean.”

“You said you’d ask for what you want.” The smile melted away. “That was a lie?”

“No.”

He scooped up the crop and snapped a quick blow to the inside of her upper arm, which was exposed and vulnerable with her arms bound overhead.

Alena yelped and danced in place.

“Mind your manners.” The grin was gone, his tone cool. But the way he looked at her was anything but cool. It also wasn’t the dispassionate, focused look she remembered Doms wearing during non-sexual impact play scenes.

Because this wasn’t non-sexual.

He wanted her.

She wanted him.

“Did you lie?” He started to walk around behind her. Like prey trying to keep a predator in sight, she turned to follow his progress.

Crack. Again the crop struck the soft, pale skin of her inner arm. Then his hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head back, her scalp prickling with pain.

“Did you lie when you said you’d ask for what you wanted?”

“No… Sir.” She stumbled a little over the second word. Not because she had trouble saying it.

Because right now he didn’t just feel like a Dom, or a casual impact play partner—which was what she’d expected before actually meeting him.

As he held her by the hair, her body forced into a slight backbend, her hands bound and raised, her whole body throbbing from his precise use of the flogger…

He felt like her master.

Keep Reading Vienna Betrayal

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