Page 131 of Beneath the Burn

“Yes, Sir.”

Was that what she wanted? To address him as some superior asshole while they played? He wasn’t a sexed-up Sir or Master, and he most definitely wasn’t Roy. But he’d read up on all the lingo and knew the designation was part of the atmosphere.

Her eyes dropped and flew back up. Good girl.

“One more thing. What’s your safe word?” He knew what it was, needed her to say it so they were both clear.

“Huntress. Not that it matters.” An angry fire lit up her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seeing how you ignored it last time, not sure why we’re even discussing it.”

Last time…last time….When did he ignore— His equilibrium abandoned him, and he grabbed the edge of the desk. “Oh no, oh God. Please tell me I—”

“Didn’t shoot your doped-up come inside me after I used my safe word?”

His stomach dropped, and he scrambled for the right words. He couldn’t find any, because they didn’t exist.

“Forget it.” She pushed back her shoulders and thrust out her tits. Facing the world’s biggest douche-bag while nude would’ve made a common person cringe. Not this amazing woman.

“You were high, and while it’s a sad excuse, here I am.” She waved a hand at the rope stretched over the mattress. “I either trust you with this on some subconscious level or I’m recklessly vindictive.”

“You’re not vindictive or reckless.”

“Really? Because I know you don’t want to do this, and, for whatever fucked-up reason, that just turns me on more. Even if it’s just a two-second moment of escape, I want my damn orgasm. Don’t make me regret it.”

There it was. An opportunity he didn’t deserve and one muddied with all kinds of bitterness. But he’d take it. “I’ll earn back your trust, Charlee.”

He loosened out his arms, legs, and chest, spreading out to fill the space he occupied. Face muscles slack. Steady gaze. Deep breath all the way down to his balls. “Get on the bed.”

67

Long, toned limbs stretched in anXon Jay’s bed, his most perverted fantasy come to life. Even face down, Charlee made a picture that inspired men to fight, live, and write music. And he was about to mark it up. His mind revolted against the idea, but his cock throbbed in readiness.

Metal guitar picks tipped his fingers. Dragging his eyes away from the mouth-watering apex of her legs, he crawled up her legs and straddled her hips. Leaning over her back, he dug the tapered ends into her shoulder.

She arched as much as the rope allowed and released a soundless gasp. He raked the points down her back, not breaking skin but hard enough to leave four grooved trails. Over and over, he etched red lines on her back and sides.

When she wiggled her ass, his dick jerked. He frustrated them both and skipped over her bottom, knelt beside her, and scratched her thighs and calves.

Once her lower half was as drawn up as her back, he sat on his heels and admired his work. Blistered lines crisscrossed her body from neck to feet, leaving the globes of her ass as white as the sheets. Perspiration dotted her arms and spine. Fiery hair cascaded in shiny waves from her profile, her mouth open but silent.

“Fucking beautiful.”

She closed her eyes and her mouth, and smiled. Rosy lips and glowing cheeks, her contentment was blinding.

He climbed up her body, pushed his metal-tipped fingers through her thick mane, and dug them into her scalp. “I see your light.” He brushed his lips over the healing gash in her earlobe. “Let it burn bright, Charlee.”

“Mmm.” Her eyes cracked open. “Tease.”

“Complaining already?

Another smile. Hell yeah, his kinky girl liked it. He fastened his mouth over the welts on her shoulder, sucking and flicking with his tongue. Then he moved to the other scratches, giving them the same attention.

“Ah God, that feels good.” She lifted her torso and pressed it against his mouth.

He grabbed her ass with the metal claws and squeezed. Her gasp had voice that time. A breathy grunt.

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