Page 60 of Callback
“Sort of. But sharing you with another Dom? That’s a hard limit for Jude. And you made it pretty clear last night—this isn’t real. He’s not your Dominant. You’re not his submissive. This is research.” Ash paused so long, I turned to look at him, making sure he was still beside me. He arched his brow. “Right?”
“Right,” I repeated, but my voice was hollow. My answer was simply a reflex. Because itwasn’tright. Nothing about being in this room with Ash felt right.
“So,” Ash cleared his throat and set his nearly empty scotch on the table, lifting the riding crop once more. “Ready?” He tapped the edge against his palm, like a Catholic school teacher.
I stared into my half empty bourbon. “Is this the only drink I get for the night?” I asked Ash.
His eyes fell to my glass and a smile twitched at his lips. Then, grabbing the bottle of Woodford’s he tipped it over the edge, topping off my drink. “Yes, but I’ll give you a tad extra. Seems like you could use it.”
“Thank you.”
I took another long sip, the alcohol buzzing through me. In theory, it should have eased my nerves, but it had the opposite effect, leaving me more jittery than before.
“So… where do you want to feel this?” he asked, waving the riding crop. “You mentioned your wrist, but that could be more painful than, um, well, a fleshier area of your body.”
“Fleshier?”
His grin widened and he shrugged. “There’s a reason the doctor gives you shots in your ass, not your wrist.”
Oh, God. I felt my face drain of color and my stomach tightened, twisting like wringing laundry. “Can you… I don’t know… hit something else first? Like, that chair or something?”
“You want me to strike a chair?”
I nodded, swallowing more of my drink. It should have warmed me—but I still felt cold. So damn cold.
Ash shrugged. “It’s your learning experience.” He walked over to the leather arm chair, spinning it so I could see. “Usually, I start by dragging my hand over the area I will hit,” he explained and slowly, he slid his fingers over the leather, grinning. “I have to admit… it feels ridiculous doing this to a chair.”
I gave him a wobbled smile. “I know… but I think it’ll help me.”
He shrugged and continued. “So, next… if it was my submissive’s ass I was striking—I would have her bend at the waist. I might put clamps on choice areas of her body, too. To really enhance the sting. Then… I wait.” He stepped away from the armchair, circling to its other side. “I don’t touch her. I don’t move. I hardly breathe. I stand there and admire her beauty. I watch as her tight, little body trembles in anticipation. I make her wait. Wonder when it’s going to happen. Most of my submissives love this moment. They writhe in excitement for it. Their little thighs wiggle together and I yell at them when they squirm.”
My breath deepened, my chest heaving with the inhalation. My pulse was thunderous in my ears. He wasn’t even hitting me yet and I was petrified. He was so different than Jude. So much more… threatening. Was that the difference between a sadist Dom and Jude? “How long will you wait before you… strike?”
“As long or as short as I want,” Ash answered. “Sometimes I make them wait a couple minutes. Sometimes I’ll give it longer.”
“What was the longest you’ve made a sub wait?”
“Twenty-seven minutes.”
My mouth fell open. Holy shit.
“And that was only because I was so turned on, I couldn’t wait anymore.”
He took another sip of his scotch, then pulled the riding crop back and whipped it toward the chair. The slap of leather on leather was so loud, it made me jump. My heart plummeted to my stomach. That hit washard. That wasn’t a playful spank. That was legitimately forceful. The sort of hit that a passerby would call the cops about if they didn’t know any better. He did it again. This time, the sound didn’t startle me, but it was just as loud. He hit the chair four more times and when he spun to face me, his face was flushed red. Little specs of perspiration pushed out of his pores along his forehead and his breath heaved, pushing oxygen in and out of his lungs violently.
“You don’t hold back, do you?”
“No.” One simple word. One simple answer. But God, it held so much intensity. “Well?” he asked, walking toward me. “You sure you want that sort of force on your wrist?”
I shook my head no. I wasn’t sure I wanted that sort of forceanywhereon my body. That kind of hit? It would leave welts on my skin for days. Maybe even weeks.
“We could do the backs of your thighs. Not quite so intimate.”
I nodded, looking out the window at Jude. His eyes were on me. Almost like he could see me, even though I knew that was impossible. It was a mirror on that side… he had no way of knowing I was standing against it looking right back at him. I heard Ash’s approach. Heard his deep, heavy breaths. Saw his shadowed silhouette behind me in the reflection of the window.
That sick feeling twisting in my stomach deepened. No, I couldn’t do this. Not to Jude. And not to myself. It just felt… wrong. “Planner,” I whispered.
Ash froze behind me. Then, he backed away. I could feel the space he put between us. Feel it in my gut… in my bones. I stared at Jude in the other room. His tightened brow. His down-turned mouth. His white knuckled grip on the martini. This wasn’t right. I didn’t want Ash. I didn’t want to feel his force. I didn’t want to be sharing a drink with him. That chilled nervousness that plagued me for the last few minutes lifted and warmth filled my cheeks. “This isn’t right,” I said. “The very first time Jude and I talked, my gut told me that this would be one of my hard limits and I didn’t listen to it… I-I would never do this. And Holly would never do this. Neither of us would share ourselves with someone other than the man we love.” I placed a hand on the cool window, dragging my finger down Jude’s cheek on the other side.
