Page 63 of Red Velvet

Epilogue I

Lila

My lips barely connect with the cane, leaving more of a gentle caress than an actual kiss as I show my appreciation for the tool I've come to love and fear the most.

"Tell me, Lila," he whispers, withdrawing the cane and holding it above me. "Why nine lashes?"

I tilt my head back, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my mouth when our eyes meet and I see the beautiful prospect in his gaze.

"Nine for each month I’ve loved you," I respond, my voice soft and loving. "Nine for each month I've had the pleasure to be with you, to grow with you, to learn with you, and to share my life with you."

The expression on his face changes, losing the tense focus that's usually prevalent when we’re playing and making room for a smile I've rarely seen in here, in our room. Our very own refuge dipped in red, just like the room that brought us together.

But this one isn’t part of The Velvet Rooms. We haven't left that place behind us—and I hope we never will—but we've reached a point where a semipublic playroom is no longer enough for us. It's still there, always ready for us to use if we find ourselves in a more adventurous mood, one that would allow for others to hear us, to see us, and to share that very special moment of bliss with us.

But more often than not, it has to be just the two of us.

Just us, in our home.

I moved in with him last month, and when he said he wanted to celebrate tonight, I thought he was talking about our one-month anniversary of living together. He bought the house for us, just a little outside the city, not too far from where my sister settled with her husband.

Living so close to them not only strengthened our sisterly bond, it also comes in handy for our husbands and their joint business. As successful as they are with it, their endeavor also comes with a lot disagreements, born from different characters that share similar goals. I don’t know if Kade will ever fully embrace his new role and this new way of dealing with his ideas, but it’s safe to say that he’s good at what he’s doing, and he’s growing with it.

I'm met with surprise when he drops to his knees in front of me so we're at eye level.

"The pleasure is all mine," he says solemnly. "I must thank you for the trust you've shown in me, the commitment you were ready to give, even when I didn't know whether I wanted it, or even deserved it."

The smile on his face widens as he shakes his head slowly. "I still don't know how you do it. How you manage to keep me on my toes like that, how you created something I deemed impossible for myself. You're so effortlessly perfect for me, Lila."

I don't know how to reply, struck by this honest and fond admission of feelings that I fail to comprehend myself.

Why is he being so overly sweet today? Is it because he knows how scared I am? How much the thought of receiving nine burning strikes with the cane intimidates me? I asked for the cane when he made me choose, but that doesn't mean I'm looking forward to the agony I'm about to receive.

The cane provides a challenge that’s more demanding than being kissed with strings of leather. I've grown used to the feel of a flogger on my skin, and the whip, or his belt. The affliction is still very real, very painful and robs me off my sanity anew every time, but it doesn't compare to the sizzling heights I experience with the cane.

I asked for a challenge tonight, and I'm ready to accept it.

If only he would get on with it.

He reads the expression on my face just as I want him to, nodding with understanding as he rises to his feet and towers before me like he did before.

"Nine lashes, then," he announces. "Remember your safe word."

"I won't need it."

He chuckles at my sassy response and moves behind me while I lean forward as well as I can with my hands tied behind my back. I hollow on instinct, my bare ass serving as a blank canvas for him to paint his picture.

He waits until I've found a good position, weighing the cane against my back as if he’s trying to hold me in place with it. I stiffen at the touch, already tasting the pain I'll have to endure in just a few moments.

"Nine strikes," he says. "Nine for each month of our joint past."

I remain silent, already retreating inside my head, where I'm about to find solace in my thoughts while the cane bites into my skin.

He doesn't hold back when he lashes out for the first time, the stick connecting with my body right below my lower back. The second strike leaves its mark right beneath, teasing the soft curves of my ass, before the third blow lands right on top of them. He moves down with every hit, painting red stripes all across my ass. Even though they come in close succession, each and every single one of them grants me its own impression, hurting so much that my eyes are filled with tears before we're even halfway done.

The agony is excruciating, a thin line burning into me with ferocious intensity, stealing my breath and pushing me further into that abyss inside my head. There's a calling coming from there, a promise to rescue me from the torture that I asked for.

Sweet vertigo takes a hold of me when I'm about to reach that special place, inviting me with open arms that close around me in a warming hug. My elysium is red and filled with hummed melodies that not only soothe the ache my body is going through but turn it into something so much more, something so great I will forever lack the words to describe it.

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