Page 14 of Betrayed

His hand wrapped around her neck and with slight but insistent pressure, drew her nearer. “French lesson number one, embrasse-moi, which means kiss me. Lesson number two—baise-moi, or fuck me—which is what you’ll be screaming before the night is out.”

He lowered his mouth, but at the last moment, she turned her face away. “Please, sir. I prefer not to kiss on the mouth. It’s too...intimate.”

Shocked, he raised his head. What the fuck?

Pulling her face around, he searched her troubled blue eyes. A range of emotions flickered through him, first, anger then, annoyance, taking serious offense, but when he looked deeper and saw the shadow in her eyes, he remembered her loss and, from what Dex had said, her ongoing distress.

“It’s to be cold and impersonal, then? That is how you want it?”

“Not cold, sir.”

With a faint smile, he searched her face for a moment before inclining his head. “So at odds with yourself, aren’t you? So be it.” He turned her to face the cross. “Strip for me, Mari.J’ai hâte de baiser ton corps charmant jusqu’à ce que tu tiennes ma promesse.

“Translation, sir. My French is extremely rusty.

“Je regrette.I’m sorry, Mari. Sometimes in the heat of the moment I forget.” He smiled down at her and repeated as frankly as he’d said,en Francais, “I’m eager to fuck your lovely body until you keep my promise.”

* * *

THE SILICONE LASHEScut through the air with awhooshthen connected with a resoundingthwapas they struck bare skin. A hot sizzle of fire flared out across both of her cheeks as she arched in reaction. Her head flew back, hands fisted as her nails dug into her palms. Drawing up tight like a bow, her legs tensed, and her toes curled inward. Her pelvis arced forward, bringing her hip bones into contact with the hard, unyielding wood of the cross allowing no retreat.

Mari remained that way, poised tense and quivering, but only for an instant before unbelievably, against all semblance of self-preservation, she relaxed and presented her ass, back, and thighs for more.

It had been the same through at least two dozen lashes.

“Ma belle fille courageuse. Tu es magnifique!”Although the deep voice murmured incomprehensible words, his tone was unmistakably approving. “I believe you can take more.”

Breathing deeply, Mari opened her half-lidded eyes. Although he hadn’t posed a question, a definitive yes echoed in her head. Being the good submissive that she was, she remained silent, savoring the exhilarating sensations coursing through her body.

There was a pause as he walked away for a moment. When he returned and the next stroke fell, she sucked in a breath as a delicious wave of pain washed over her body. True to his word, the bite was different, sharper, and much, much...more.

She twisted her head, trying to see what had replaced the silicone flogger.

“Eyes front.” The quiet command in his low, throaty voice compelled her to turn around as more delicious heat exploded across the lower curves of her cheeks.

With a carnal groan from deep in her chest, she rested her forehead against the cross as her body processed the intensified sensation. Behind her, he waited, allowing time for her to assimilate each exquisite nuance before whipping her again.

Master Arturo was good, as skilled as the whispered rumors had implied, for he didn’t rush the next lash, knowing too soon wouldn’t allow her already excited nerve endings to respond quite yet. Instead, when the ache reached a stunning plateau, then gradually receded to the point where she craved more, only then did he strike again. A novice would not know that he must wait in order for her to experience it to the fullest; only a skilled master would. What’s more, he would crave it himself.

Three more lashes with pauses in between. Then she heard him cross to her other side. She angled her head enough to catch a glimpse as he took his stance, pulled back his left hand, and let loose. She gasped as the twin tails of what she recognized now as a leather quirt landed across both cheeks with the same searing force and intensity as it had with his right. He was ambidextrous, equally skilled with both hands.

Her heart thrilled at the possibilities. This was a very unique dom—

No, she should call him what he was, a unique sadist, unrivaled by any other she’d been with, even Derek.

She sucked in another breath as her mind rebelled. How could she even think it? This was the exact reason she had sought to avoid him.

Damn, Master Dex, for putting her in this position.

For as long as she’d been aware of her unusual desire for pain, it had been this way. She wanted more, another bite of harsh leather, another slap of rigid wood, a sharp smack, slap or spank of a hard hand, a rigid cane, or a cutting whip on her quivering flesh. Others would have pleaded for mercy by now, but not her. A true masochist needed the tactile intensity beyond that of what others found acceptable to truly find satiation.

Her master had known that about her and was always the one to say when enough was enough. Random players at a club, strangers, wouldn’t know that. In part, this was the reason she restricted her play to moderate pain. Too much with someone who didn’t know that about her, who didn’t know she was unable to shut it down when she slid into subspace, could be dangerous.

The other part was the danger to her fragile heart. She couldn’t live through the agony of losing another master. It would kill her. The last time almost had, so she vowed to satisfy herself, as best she could, with random partners, but no sadists like Arturo Durand.

After tonight, no more. He was too damn dangerous. But, as long as she was here, strung up and under his masterful lash, she could enjoy what he was dishing out, couldn’t she?

For tonight only; just this one time, she told herself then took more. Savoring the bite as the twelve-inch twin tails descended again, and again, and again.

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