Page 42 of Cherry Auction

Thewhat? I can’t imagine there being any sort of cross in this unholy place. But Domhnall drops a hand down to help me up. Ever the gentleman. I’d roll my eyes again, except now I’m half up from my hands and knees and he or one of the many cameras might catch me at it.

Soon I’m all the way on my feet and can’t help swallowing hard because I see exactly what he intends.

In front of me stands a six-foot tall wooden X with hand and ankle restraints, like some medieval interrogation device. Istart to turn around for him to strap me to the damn thing, but his deep voice reminds me, “No. Facing the cross. Ass out.”

Jesus Christ, I don’t know why that makes me all but start to hyperventilate. If I’m strapped with my headfacingthe cross, and essentially, the wall, I’ll have no idea what the hell he’s up to behind me.

But I suppose that’s the point. If I start looking over my shoulder too much, he’ll just put a blindfold on, anyway. He likes it when I don’t know what’s coming. Sadistic bastard. Because with my ass and back to him like this, it has to mean there’s going to be more flogging.

My traitorous body is the only one that thinks that’s a good idea, all my muscles going suddenly tense in anticipation, including my clenching sex.

Domhnall obviously sees it because he runs a hand down my back. “Relax,” he murmurs. “We’re just going to play a little game.”

I let out a disbelieving huff of air.

“You may say red at any point, and I’ll release you,” he says as he cuffs my ankle securely to the bottom left of the X. The cuff is lined with some sort of soft fur, so there’s no chafing. I bite my bottom lip.

The scaredy cat in me wants to shoutredright now. The chess player in me stays silent. If I say, “red,” he might do something really dastardly like the last few nights and play my own body against me again. I’d prefer a little pain to that,thank you very much. There’s got to be things harsher than that massaging flogger he used on me the first night and surely that’s what we’re graduating too, right?

I need him to finallyhurtme so I can hate him like I’m supposed to.

His hands slide up my arm, caressing as he lifts it up to the cuff at the top right of the X. My heart starts to speed up, both at his nearness at my back and at being constrained again. Stark naked like this, I feel exposed except for where his closeness covers me.

But then, as soon as he’s cuffed my left wrist, he pulls back and I’m left there, spread-eagled and completely vulnerable. My instinct is to draw my limbs into myself and ball up when I feel like this—hide away, hide away!seems to call some voice from deep inside me—but I quite literally can’t, cuffed in this position. A small whine I can’t help escapes my throat.

“What, my pet?” Domhn says, his heat and the comfort of his weight at my back again. His breath is warm in my ear, and I sink back against him as far as the restraints will allow. “What are you feeling? Tell me.”

It’s only because I’m playing along that I actually respond honestly. Or so I tell myself. “I- I feel exposed.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs in my ear. “What else?”

“I want to curl in a ball and hide. I’d rather be in the cage. This is too exposed.”

He nods and for a second, just a second, I feel his forehead drop against the back of my neck.

“Thank you for telling me something real.” His voice is rough and intimate.

Then his weight disappears and again I’m left cold and clinging to a hard piece of polished wood.

There’s a long moment of silence before his voice comes back, and when it does, all the warmth is gone. “Our game will be one of impact play. There will be ten strikes, ten being the highest in intensity and one being the lightest.”

I blink at the wall, feeling like crying suddenly at the withdrawal of his intimacy. Which is stupid. This whole thing is just an emotional mind-fuck. He’s toying with me. Of course my emotions are all over the place and he knows it. He’s trying to throw me off-kilter. The fucking cunty bastard.

“You must take one strike of each intensity level, but you get to decide what order you take them in,” he continues in his instructional monotone. “You must ask for each blow, stating which number you want. Afterwards, say thank you, Sir, and ask for the next. But remember, you must take all ten.”

I breathe out, full of rage, grit my teeth, and say, “Ten.”

“Yes, there will be ten.”

“No, Sir,” I correct him. “I want number ten.”

He’s silent a moment. “You’re getting it backwards. One is the least intensity and ten is the?—”

“I want ten.Sir. You said it was my choice.”

He can’t see my face but if he can feel any of the furious energy radiating off me, I’m not exactly playing a good little pawn. But fuck it. I have a feeling I’m about to go through athing. I can worry about all my big plans ten strikes from now.

I can’t see him, either, but it’s as if I canfeelhim bristling as he walks towards the wall. I try not to picture the implement he’s picking up. I spent too much time the other day examining each one of them in detail. There were some vicious-looking rubber whips. What would that feel like biting against my flesh?

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