Page 11 of Redbird

Her tongue darts out to wet her mouth. “Over your lap, sir.”

Her cheeks are rosy pink. Her eyes glitter like she’s burning with fever. I trail the crop over her clit, making close circles. Her hips quiver and I know how badly she wants to grind up against the leather.

But she won’t without permission. She’s too well trained for that.

I flick my wrist. The whip cracks over the entrance of her pussy and she cries out softly as it stings her sensitive sex. Her hands clench and fall open again. Fingertips quivering.

“Let’s talk,” I say.

She swallows. This is the part she struggles with most. I sit in my leather armchair in the far corner. The crop goes on the table beside me and I spread my knees, giving her enough space to kneel between them.

“Unhook your collar,” I say. “Crawl to me.”

She obeys, shaking fingers disconnecting the leash. Then she leans down onto her hands and knees, big eyes fixed on me, and moves across the bedroom floor. Round ass and perfect hips swaying.

I point at the ground. She settles herself between my knees and lays her cheek against my thigh.

“Talk to me,” I say.

Her lids flutter when I stroke through her hair and I see her focus waver. This is the part I love most—watching her struggle to be patient and obey when all she wants is to be filled. She’s so ready to be fucked, but we have to move through each step before our ritual is complete.

It’s an exercise in denial for us both.

“What do I say?” she murmurs.

“How did you feel about this week?” I press. “Just about the parts between us.”

She sighs. “I loved it, sir.”

“That’s all.”

She nods. “You know me before I even know myself.”

I tilt her chin up and her eyes are hazy. “And you feel safe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the other night?”

I see her mind flit back. The other night, I was out late checking the fences. When I returned, she was already asleep. Curled up on her side of the bed, nothing showing but her red hair. I pulled the covers back and it hit me that this was my wife. The way it sometimes does when she’s doing ordinary things.

Suddenly I saw every inch of her in detail. Her soft, curvy body. The delicate marks across her lower stomach from her pregnancy. Narrow waist, full hips and thighs.

She’s so soft and sweet.

My wife. My woman.

And it roused a feral part of me I couldn’t hold back.

She woke with a gasp as I sank between her thighs and into her soft pussy. Not giving her time to adjust, forcing her to take the pleasure and pain all at once, like a shot of neat whiskey. She gave in, because of course she did. And I fucked her like it was the first time we touched all over again.

Bed striking the wall. Floor shaking.

Leaving us battered and bruised when the storm was over.

I pull myself back from that memory. She’s blushing, pressing her forehead into my thigh to hide her face.

“Answer me, redbird,” I order.

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