Page 9 of Destined By Dragonblood
I hoped he could handle everything I had in me, because he’d woken a beastly aspect to my sadist side I’d never experienced before.
“Are you ready, Dolyn?” I asked quietly, my body vibrating, needing to let loose.
“Yes, Sir.”
Go easy, I reminded myself while pulling my arm back and setting my sights on the thickest part of those round globes I wanted to bury my face between.
The first crack of my cane against his flesh made both of us flinch, but we remained silent.
“Color?” I asked, shifting my feet slightly while eyeing where I would land the next stripe given the go-ahead.
“Green, Sir.”
Grinning, I hit his ass twice in a row, one lash right beneath the other, earning delicious grunts from the pain I’d gifted him. “Color?”
“Green,” he stated through gritted teeth. “Now quit asking, stop holding back, and give me what I want, Sir.”
The petulant brat didn’t know who he messed with. I let a chuckle loose along with a fourth swing across his upper thighs.
“Fuck,” he muttered beneath his breath, his head finally tipping forward to hang.
Two more gorgeous red lines decorated his golden skin before sweat beaded his shoulders.
“Please,” he whispered, and I knew without question he asked for more strength behind my hits rather than mercy.
Dolyn was a perfect fit for my sadistic side.
Time to give this boy what he begged for.
Chapter 3
Dolyn
My backside stung with a luscious burn, but I wanted to snort at the man’s insistence he ought to be called my master.
Crack!
Another hit landed on my lower thighs, and I groaned, the power of his swings weakening my human form and loosening my tensed muscles.
While sceneing with Elijah, I’d never had issues keeping my beast’s voice and natural inclinations to submit shackled up tight. I had always been in charge of our responses so I could control the outcome, something Father had taught me to do.
But this dominant called to my dragon, and the beast prowled beneath my skin with ravenous hunger, desperate to consume my human half. He fought for freedom the second my Sir for the evening had stepped into the private room one of his employees had shown me to.
Please.
An echo rather than a shriek broke through the muzzle, and I clenched my eyes shut, my mouth repeating the word aloud.
I didn’t beg.
Ever.
But the deep impact, the thumps that reached beneath the surface of my skin were more intense than anything I had experienced beneath Elijah’s hand.
Vanni DiLoreto, self-proclaimed Master and owner of this club, gave me exactly what I craved.
Hyperaware of his movements, I sensed and tracked his arm drawing back.
Crack!
