Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(75)

“Harder.”

So to get it over, she did three more as forcefully as she could.

“More—just like that.”

By the time she’d struck him another three times, she was crying.

“Go on.”

Her eyes were blinded by tears, but nothing could shut out the slap of the strands against skin.

Finally, finally, he caught her wrist and tugged the flogger from her hand. His strong arms enfolded her as he pulled her to his rock-hard chest.

She turned into him, burying her face against his shoulder, crying so violently she almost couldn’t breathe. She’d hit him; hurt him.

“All done. You did well, little one.” He was wrapped around her, his cheek on her head, rocking her gently. Making her world right again.

Never, never make me do that again. And yet, even as she soaked his shirt with her tears, she realized her anger at how he’d listened to the doctor instead of her had dissolved.

Slowly, her crying eased into shuddering breaths.

He kissed the top of her head and straightened. But when he finger combed her hair out of her wet face, she saw the horrible red welts running up his forearm and started to cry again.

“Poor pet.” He pulled her back into his arms. After a minute, she noticed he was laughing…and fondling her breast.

She pushed him back. “Z!”

An eyebrow rose—unaccompanied by a smile.

She sputtered. “I mean, “Master, you-you—”

“That does sound nice. I think I’ll forego gagging you, so you may beg me freely.”

“Beg? For what?”

“For mercy. It’s your turn to be punished, kitten.”

Oh God, he was fully in Dom-space. Under his gray gaze, a dark desire seeped into her blood, and her nipples spiked into throbbing peaks.

His hands were merciless as he flattened her on her back and secured her wrists to the headboard. He positioned a cushion under her hips and bound her knees widely apart, using the mid-bed straps. Close to the end of the bed, her * was tilted up…and open. Air touched her folds, emphasizing how damp she was.

As if to point that out, he bent and circled a finger around her entrance and over her clit, which still hummed from her orgasm.

“Nice and aroused. Unfortunately, being wet will make your punishment worse, I’m afraid,” he said in a serious tone.

“Punishment—there?” Using that damn flogger? “You wouldn’t.”

The set of his jaw said her protests would be ignored. He picked up the short leather flogger. “Jessica, look at me.” The caress in his deeply resonant voice overlaid a steely edge.

Her gaze lifted to his.

“I love you, my spitfire. I love you enough to give you the sex you want—and the control you need.”

And with that, he flicked the strands hard over the inside of her left leg and the right.

Her legs jerked as the burn bit into the delicate skin, and she yelped.

He ran his hand over the light red marks, his tender touch at odds with the pain. Cupping her chin with one hand, his eyes trapped hers. “Jessica, this is going to hurt. It’s punishment, not pleasure. I want you to accept the pain silently.”

Her eyes filled with tears—and relief. No anger showed in his expression, just determination. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything break what they had together.

If he’d let her provoke him into behaving as she wanted, she’d be in control. And she didn’t want that any more than he did. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know, little one. As am I.” After kissing her tenderly, he stepped back.

When he lifted the flogger, she saw the welts she’d left on him. She gritted her teeth. She’d be silent and take her part of the punishment that they both shared.

And then, he continued. With infinite care, he flogged her inner thighs, moving in painful increments from above the knee straps toward her groin.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

He’d pause long enough for the sting to register, for her to pull in a breath through her nose, and…for her to anticipate the next blow.

Her hands were clenched and a few tears slid down her cheeks. But she hadn’t made a sound.

He set the flogger down. “You did very well, kitten, for this part. I’m proud of you.” The approval in his voice started to loosen the knot of guilt.

As he sat on the end of the bed between her burning thighs, he examined the marks. “Nice and pink. We should make sure your * matches your legs, shouldn’t we?”

“God, no. No, no, no.” Her throat clogged with a mix of lust and utter fear. Her legs tried to close—but no one did bondage better than Master Z. She couldn’t move an inch.

The bone-deep knowledge that he could do what he wanted turned her to jelly.

The finger exploring her folds slid inside with a betrayingly wet sound. The sheer pleasure of his intimate touch made her moan.

He didn’t smile—but the corners of his eyes crinkled. Then, oh God, he bent and he teased his tongue over her clit. Already sensitive, the nub of nerves flared to life as his tongue flicked it, then rubbed lightly…in direct contrast to how he’d wielded the flogger.

His finger inside her increased to two, moving in slowly rotating thrusts.

Her muscles started to tighten as the need to come amplified. She whimpered, tried to move, couldn’t.