Page 40 of Ryker

“Red.” Part of me feels like it’s an abusive way to use my safe word, but it has the outcome I need. Sir pulls away from me immediately. His gaze searches mine, likely seeking an answer for why I’d call Red when all he’s doing is giving me much wanted pleasure. “You’re hurt, Sir.”

“I’m fine.”

He’s far from it.

“Your knuckles,” I say quietly.

Looking down, it’s as if he’s just noticed how busted they are. Maybe his anger made him numb earlier. Maybe using my body as a sexual distraction dulled his senses, too. But I’m not about to let him pretend he didn’t just have a major tantrum outside, and then come back in here to play mind games with me.

“Come into the bathroom so I can clean you up.” I slink off the bed, hoping he’ll follow me, which he doesn’t do until I call for him again from the bathroom.

Mr. Hudson enters cautiously, confusion making his mouth turn down.

“Sit.” I get the first aid kit from the cupboard.

He plops down on the edge of the massive tub. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Neither is making me come until I pass out, but here we are.” I get on my knees between his legs and grab his right hand first. “Looks like we both go the extra mile for each other.”

His hand is rougher than I thought it would be. I’m used to being with men who sit behind a desk all day. It makes me wonder what Ryker does when he’s not pleasuring a woman, running a sex club, or beating the shit out of his friends.

He inhales sharply through clenched teeth when I dab a soapy washcloth to his cut knuckles.

“Sorry.” I make sure to be as gentle as possible.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that out there.”

“I think that apology should go to Dmitri, not me.” Looking up at him, I tack on, “Sir.”

Mr. Hudson takes his hand back before I’m finished cleaning it. Shoving up to his feet, he storms out of my bathroom without saying a word, leaving me on my knees in front of the bathtub, gawking after him. Part of me fears if he walks out my suite door right now, he won’t come back.

I’m not willing to risk that.

“Ryker!” I scamper to my feet and dash out of the bathroom, only to find him digging around the trunk behind the chaise.

His gaze snaps to mine and his eyes narrow. “What did you just call me, Butterfly?”

This man’s mood shifts are giving me whiplash. Instead of answering him like a good little submissive, I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the doorjamb. “You heard me.”

He walks over, carrying a flogger that has red and black leather tassels, and a smirk creeps across his handsome face. “Are you familiar with a flogger, Butterfly?”

Yes, but I’ve never used one of those before. And in his current state of mind, I sure as shit don’t want him using it on me right now. “I don’t want that.”

“That’s not what I asked, Tara.”

Again, the way he says my name makes my pussy clench. It’s like the word itself is something he wants to spit out yet savor on his tongue at the same time. Or at least that’s what my overactive imagination thinks. “Only a little.”

“Give me more than that. Have you been flogged before?”

“No.” My cheeks heat. “I did use a riding crop once, though.”

“That’s not the same as this.” He swishes the tassels. “But did you like the crop when you used it?”

“No.” My heart pounds in my chest. “It stung too much and left big welts.”

He combs his fingers through the tassels and approaches slowly. “It only hurts if you want to make it hurt.”

Shaking my head, I’m not sure I believe that. Getting flogged isn’t something on my bucket list, but I also didn’t come here for vanilla sex. I wanted to be the Butterfly so I can experience things no one else will share with me. Still, Mr. Hudson isn’t in the headspace for happy fun times with a whip. Unless…

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