Page 22 of Currency in Flesh

“Highness.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” My voice came out husky, though I couldn’t have explained why. I felt my nipples tighten as her gaze scanned up and down my body.

“Turn,” she said. “Let me see you.” I spun in a slow circle, and she made a low sound of appreciation. “You look good in leather.”

“Thank you, Highness,” I rasped. My skin felt electric, like every inch of me skittered with static. I was equally terrified and intrigued. Is this what she meant when she asked me if I’d ever been submissive?

She wrapped the leash around her palm with a flick of her wrist and snapped her arm back down, pulling me another foot closer to her. The large X was directly behind, and the glint of candlelight caught on metal rings which hung from the ends of each beam.

“This,” she said, waving the whip toward the structure, “is a Saint Andrew’s cross, crux decussata, or saltire. It has been used for centuries for both crucifixion and pleasure.” When I said nothing in response, she continued. “Were you here by your own request, I would give you a safe word to use if things should become too much. However, you have lost that privilege. Face the cross and raise your arms above your head.”

Still silent, I did, and she secured a leather cuff around each wrist, fastening them to the rings of the cross. She kicked my legs apart, and did the same with my ankles. I was exposed, bound, stretched out, and filled with a tumultuous, roiling sense of anxiety and anticipation. She gave no warning as she struck me, the many braided, knotted strands of leather colliding with my ass in a sharpcrack.I cried out, more from surprise than from pain, and she did it again in precisely the same spot. By the fifth strike, the pain was more than I could brave in silence and I let out a noise which might have been a sob. It felt like my skin was about to split, and my breathing had grown rough and jerky—alternating between shallow pants and deep, gulping breaths.

I could see the distorted reflection of my eyes in the metal ring when I allowed my head to fall forward. It looked like melted chocolate, swirling behind unshed tears, and I let myself tumble into the distraction. My body continued to bounce with each hit Her Highness landed against my skin, but I could nolonger determine where the impact was happening. The feeling of gravity which had pulled on my arms and shoulders so heavily had eased, and a strange sense of floating washed over me. My lips drifted apart and I let out a light giggle carried on a soft breath. It was as though every anxious thought or painful memory had turned to smoke. Again, I laughed, delirious with the sensation of peace.

Peace.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Belatedly, I realized Her Highness had ceased her assault. I couldn’t turn my head far enough to see her, and I was still too fuzzy to say anything useful, so I let my head tip to the side to rest on my shoulder, closing my eyes.

“Look at me, Grace,” I heard her whisper just beside my ear. I could feel the heat of her breath on my skin and I sank into it. The urge to curl up in this warm safety was too much to ignore, and for the first time, I willingly disobeyed her. I just couldn’t do it.

Her fingers smacked my cheek gently. “Still with me, daffodil?”

I hummed a reply that came out asMhmmmmm, and pried my heavy eyelids apart. She stood on the other side of the device, peering through the center crossbeams. A faint sheen of sweat made her flawless face look dewy in the ambient candlelight.

“How are you feeling right now?” she asked.

My lashes fluttered as I struggled to maintain her gaze. “Good, Your Highness?” I answered,voice thready.

“Lady Cora, please,” she murmured. “I am going to release your ankles and then your wrists. Will you be able to stand on your own?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

She knelt, and I felt the cuffs loosen and unclasp. My eyes had closed again when she began to undo my wrists, and I sagged against the wood, my fingers curling around the beams but barely keeping me upright. A gentle hand unlatched the collar at my throat, and slid to my back, guiding me away from the cross. I was leaning on her more than I wanted to, but I felt almost drunk and I needed the help. She didn’t chastise me, if anything, she pulled me closer.

A twin to the chair in my room sat a few paces away and she helped ease me into it. I hissed in pain as my ass met the smooth velvet, but the relief of no longer supporting my own weight overtook the flash of pain. I melted into the seat, a puddle of a woman with buzzing skin and a head full of cotton. Lady Cora lowered herself beside me carefully, her lithe, cool fingers settling onto my bare leg.

“What you are experiencing right now is something many refer to as ‘subspace.’ It is not an abnormal reaction to restraint and physical punishment, and is a result of the many chemicals your brain released during that time.” Her hand traced soft circles over the skin of my thigh, and I focused on the repetitive motion as I attempted to regain some coherency.

Ice took hold of my bones, and all the comfortable warmth I had been basking in vanished, leaving me shaking uncontrollably. In an instant, a plush blanket wrapped around my bare body, and I felt the weight of Lady Cora’s arms. “It may happen every time, it may never happen again, but the after-effects can be hard at the beginning. Think of it as a strong endorphin crash. Here.” I smelled something sweet and spicy and cracked my eyes just open enough to see the mug she held to my lips. I reached for it with quivering hands, and her fingerswrapped around mine to keep them steady as I sipped some kind of tea.

A chocolate chip cookie was next, warm enough to leave streaks of melted chocolate on Lady Cora’s perfectly manicured nails, and flecked with just the right amount of flaky salt. I continued to nibble and sip until my shivering had ceased and I was able to sit up and think clearly. Pulling the blanket tightly around my shoulders, I raised my eyes to hers. Had I not known her, I’d have thought the tight lines at the corners of her lips to be concern. I didn’t know what they meant. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked, worry wriggling its way into my thoughts.

She softened, lifting her palm to cup my cheek. “No, pet. You did beautifully.”

“I thought—” I tried to swallow the sob, but failed. Once, twice, I tried to speak but only embarrassing blubbering sounds filled the air. Her thumb slid over my cheekbone and I took a deep breath, beginning again. “I-I thought I was supposed to be punished. Why are you tak-taking care of me?”

“Because you require care,” she answered. “A consequence is not always abuse, marigold. You were not being punished, you were being trained.”

“I don’t understand.”

She leaned forward and drew my face to hers. “I know, pet. I know.”

When she brought her lips to mine, the contact was feather-light, gentle. I opened to her, lifting my chin to chase the contact, longing for the comfort of her. She met my need with passion of her own, but it didn’t carry the searing desperation I expected. It was intimate, gentle. She kissed me like?—

No, she kissed me like she wanted me to feel safe. And I did. I tasted salt and knew I had begun to cry again, but she kissed me back anyway. My heart hammered behind my ribs, what if my nose got drippy and I got snot on her? What if I tried tosniff or wipe my face and made a gross sound or accidentally knocked her face with my hand? I started to pull away, but she held tight. “Everything is all right, pet,” she whispered against my mouth.

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