Page 48 of Hunting Harbor

"Two," I gasp, already feeling heat bloom across my skin.

The third slap makes me jerk forward, the rope around my wrists pulling taut as I instinctively try to escape the sting. "Three!"

He establishes a rhythm—strike, count, a moment to process before the next. By ten, my ass is burning, the pain transforming into something else, something that makes me arch my back, seeking more rather than less. Each slap sends a pulse of pleasure between my legs, building a pressure that makes me squirm.

"You're soaked, baby," Kairo observes, his finger trailing through the evidence of my arousal. I should be embarrassed, but I'm too far gone to care. "You like the pain."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes," I breathe, my voice hardly recognizable to my own ears.

The bed shifts again, and I hear the soft sound of leather sliding against fabric. My body tenses in anticipation.

"We're going to try something else now," he says, his voice deceptively casual. "I think you've been holding back on me, Harbor. I think you want more than you're letting on."

The first strike of the leather belt is a shock that steals the breath from my lungs. It's a different kind of pain. It’s sharper, more focused, cutting across both cheeks in a line of fire. I cry out, my body jerking involuntarily.

"One," I manage after a moment, remembering to count without being told.

"Good girl," he praises, and the words send a flush of pleasure through me that rivals the physical sensations.

By the fifth strike, tears are soaking into my blindfold. By the tenth, I'm floating somewhere outside myself, the pain transmuting into a kind of ecstasy I've never experienced before. My skin feels aflame, hypersensitive to even the lightest touch. When Kairo's fingers trace the raised welts, I moan like he's touching me deep inside.

"You take it so beautifully," he murmurs, his voice thick with something that might be admiration or desire or both. "I knew you would."

His hand slides between my thighs, finding me slick and swollen. Two fingers push inside me without preamble, and I cry out at the sudden fullness, my hips bucking against his hand.

"So responsive," he says, almost to himself. "So perfect."

His fingers withdraw, and I whine at the loss until I feel them again, slick with my own wetness, pressing against a place I wasn't expecting. I tense immediately.

"Relax," Kairo whispers, his other hand stroking soothingly down my spine. "Trust me."

It's not something I've done before and the anxiety must show in my body because he leans close, his chest against my back, his lips at my ear.

"I'll stop if you say so. Just say red when it gets to be too much," he promises, though something in his tone suggests he doesn't believe I'll want him to. "But I think you'll like it. I think you want to be taken in every way possible."

His words send a shameful thrill through me. He's right, of course. I want everything he has to give, every new sensation, every boundary pushed. I take a deep breath and consciously relax my muscles.

"That's it," he encourages as one finger breaches me slowly, carefully. The feeling is strange, intrusive, illicit, but not painful. As he works the digit in deeper, a pressure builds that makes me tremble. "So tight," he murmurs. "So perfect for me."

By the time he adds a second finger, I'm panting, rocking back against his hand, chasing the strange new pleasure that's building with each careful thrust. The dual stimulation when his other hand finds my clit nearly undoes me.

"Not yet," he warns, sensing my approach to the edge. "I'm not done with you."

He withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. I hear the sound of a cap opening, then the cool sensation of lubricant being applied where his fingers just were. Something larger andfirmer than his fingers presses against me—a toy of some kind—and I tense again involuntarily.

"Breathe," Kairo reminds me, his voice soothing despite the commanding edge. "Let it happen. You can take it."

I focus on my breathing, on the feeling of his other hand still working between my legs, and gradually the pressure increases as the toy slides inside me. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on too much, but then he moves it slightly and hits a spot that makes me cry out in shocked pleasure.

"There it is," he says, satisfaction evident in his voice.

What follows is an orchestrated assault on my senses, the toy moving in careful thrusts while his fingers work my clit, occasional sharp slaps to my already tender ass, his teeth nipping at my shoulder, my neck, my ear. I'm reduced to incoherent moans and pleas, my body no longer my own but an instrument he plays with masterful precision.

The blindfold is soaked with my tears, not from pain but from the overwhelming intensity of sensation. Pain and pleasure blur together until I can no longer distinguish between them. My bound wrists strain against the rope as I twist and arch, simultaneously trying to escape and get closer to the sensations he's creating.

"Please," I sob, not even sure what I'm asking for. "Please, please, please."

"Tell me what you need," Kairo demands, his voice rough with his own desire.

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