The windows are covered with blackout drapes. The walls are black. The bed is ebony and dressed in black satin. It’s about the least fun playroom ever, but I’ve never had a reason to make it more interesting. I find that all the darkness limits distractions.

“I mentioned I’ve done this before.”

“I didn’t realize this was here the whole time.”

“Would you like music?”

“Sure.”

I reach into my pocket, take out my phone, and connect it to the bluetooth. “Preferences?”

“No,” he says, still eyeing the bent board.

“If you leave it to me, it’ll be maudlin piano.”

“That sounds perfect.” He takes a few steps closer to the bed.

Moonlight Sonata it is. It’s the first of many melancholy songs on a depressing playlist I like to listen to when it rains at night, and I’m in bed alone wishing for my wife. Might as well put it to good use.

As the first notes fill the space, Christian glances at me. “I might not recognize a single piece of art in this town, but that’s Beethoven, right?”

“Yes,” I say. Then I point to the board. “Head here. Knees here.”

He takes a deep breath and climbs on, moving into position so smoothly, it’s like his body is made of liquid. The moment his ass is posed, I get a sharp twinge in my groin. Licking my lips, I gather myself and lock him into place. I’d hazard a guess that he’s never looked as sexy as he does bent over black leather with his ass high and his cheeks pink.

I’m so grateful he chose to keep his clothes on. I’d be a mess otherwise. I’ve only gotten more attracted to him as the days have passed, which means the alcohol was an innocent bystander. His long, slim, tight body is purely wicked.

He’s been a slap in the face, waking up something inside me that wants to take and stroke and bite and hit. Something that wants to kiss and suck and thrash. Do I want to fuck him?

Yes.

So badly I can barely see straight.

I clear my throat. “There will be moments I ask you whether you want more or less. Be honest.”

“I will.”

“Your safe word is?” I ask.

“Sacrifice.”

I lick my dry lips and stare down at the sliver of exposed skin at his lower back. “There will also be moments where I’m very soft. The contrast makes the experience…brighter.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, and my cock swells. I thought it would sound silly, stupid. But it’s so right, so perfect, I pick up the flogger,place my left hand on his neck to hold down his head, and strike his ass with the leather straps.

He exhales, and his body loses all its tension at once, his elbows and knees sliding on the board. Immediately he tries to right himself, his neck pressing into my hand.

“My hand is here,” I say, giving his nape a firm squeeze, “To remind you to relax and let this be. You’ll get something out of fighting it, but it won’t be what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“You’ve been telling me for five days.” I press harder with my hand and whip him again. “Now relax or safe word. Your choice.”

He lets his head rest, and I run my fingers through his hair, petting him like a good boy. “That’s right, Christian. More or less?”

“More.”

I don’t go harder, but I do go faster, lashing him twenty times across his ass and thighs. He takes it well—panting without whining. His body remains stiff with resistance. On the twentieth strike, I run the flogger’s straps up his crotch, over his crack and back down again. He’s shaking, still fighting to let his thoughts go.