Page 37 of Target Me
“Wrists.”
I held my hands out and watched quietly as he looped the cable around my wrists, just tight enough that movement was restrained.
“I don’t want to go too tight with this. The last thing we want is to hurt you because of unreliable equipment. Feel free to pretend it hurts, though.” He winked at me, and I grinned back.
“Okay, Daddy.”
Logan sighed. “Ready for a spanking already, huh? Such a brat.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment, but the spark in his eyes told me he was already playing with me. “Over there, nose to the wall and hands over your head.”
I assumed the position quickly, forcing my mind away from what-ifs to the far more delicious present question ofwhat next?
Measured footsteps approached, thumping like a bass drum, counting time to who knew what.
“Keep your nose on the wall,” he ordered, grasping my hips and nudging my feet out.
My wrists slid down the wall a little, and he adjusted me so that my upper body pressed into the wall, with my back bowed and my ass sticking out. The position made it a little difficult to breathe with how my face pressed into the wall. Logan slid my panties to my ankles and coaxed my feet out of them one by one, encouraging me to take a wider stance.
“Beautiful.” He checked the restraints on my wrists hadn’t tightened and slid his hand down my arm, tracing the slope of my spine, then flipped my skirt up onto my lower back.
“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked.
“Yep, it’s—”
“Don’t say it unless you’re using it, hen. I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He ran his hand over my flank like he was petting a favorite animal.
I flushed, the words burrowing under my skin with little bursts of pleasure. I guessed he’d noticed the double ticks next to praise kink.
His hand disappeared, and I strained to see where he’d gone as his footsteps moved slowly away from me. There was a grunt and a crash, followed by, “Don’t move.” I hadn’t even noticed I’d tensed, ready to turn around and help.
“What’s going on?” I asked instead, settling back into position.
“I’m improvising.”
I grinned, hearing the gentle brush of fabric as his footsteps came nearer. A cool, silky something creeped across my lower back. It felt almost like water. What was that? The sensation came again, an almost tickle as he ran the object over my shoulder blade, down my spine, and over my ass. It lifted away, and I braced myself for the tickle, trying to anticipate where it would fall next.
I sucked in a breath as it lashed across my hip in a stinging blow, followed by the soft tickling sensation soothing the skin. He repeated the action on the other side before working up my ribs, alternating stinging blows with gentle caresses until my skin felt hypersensitive. I anticipated the sting just as much as the soothing. More so.
“I’d ask if this is making you wet, hen, but I can see it dripping down your leg.”
He was right. The sting on my skin didn’t feel like enough anymore. I wanted it harder.
“Please,” I begged, wanting him to take the hint.
“What are you asking for, hen? My hand? My tongue? Maybe my cock?”
Any of it. All of it. I just knew it wasn’t enough.
“More,” I said, unable to quantify what I was asking for.
The next blow came from underneath, lashing at my clit. I cried out. Logan hummed, running the soft fibers up my slit, getting it wet before he lashed out again.
The sting was sharper now.
“As you please, hen.” Leaning over my body, he slipped the object down the wall in front of my face. A curtain tassel. Damn, the man was resourceful. It felt wicked using my father’s upholstery for sexual games. The idea made me burn with arousal.
