Page 30 of Black Light: The Crossover
Wood, on the other hand, she hated.
He was careful not to let her feel the paddle in advance, wanting to surprise her with the intensity of the punishment.
The loud crack that filled the loft confirmed he wasn’t wimping out. He waited for her long howl of pain to die down before adding, “No need to count for me, baby, since we won’t be stopping until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson, no matter how long that may take.”
His next swat landed a bit lower, covering a few inch swath across both asscheeks. His shaft was straining to get released from his jeans almost as hard as Tiff was straining to be free of the cuffs holding her in place.
A long spray of apologies and begging started after the next hard swat. He was a bastard for enjoying how she wiggled and whined.
It was true they hadn’t had sex in a few days, but it had been even longer since he’d got to let this side of himself out to play. Another crack of the paddle across her sweet ass and he let the reverb of it roll up into his arm just as her wail found a new pitch and a much higher volume.
He expected more pleas for mercy, which he had no plans of providing just yet, but Tiff finally melted over the back of the couch, her ribs shuddering with the firstrealtears. For someone as mouthy as she could be, when it came time to pay the piper she always got so damn quiet. Maybe that’s why he liked these moments so much? Years with overdramatic scenes on the stage of The Punishment Pit where subs who had clamored to suffer under his hands would scream and holler and moan like cameras were rolling on some cheap porn set.
Not Tiffany though.
“Stop fighting it, baby.” He punctuated the gentle command with a sharp smack of the paddle right at her sitspot, and she arched up off the couch with a keening, desperate cry… and then he heard it.
A howl that he could have heard at the other end of the loft, and then his sweet, completely-not-a-masochist wife was crying. Loudly. But it was real, and unlike all those subs in the past, Tiffany’s whimpers and sobs actually made him question whether she deserved another with the paddle.
Hecoulduse his belt.
That would be the nice thing to do… but then he’d have to tell Derek and that would just be irritating. One more good one just to drive the point home.
“Almost done,” he warned and waited for her breathing to hitch before he laid the thick wood of the paddle across her perfectly rounded ass one more time.
“Dammit!” she shouted, the word shuddering with more sniffling sobs, and he was glad he was standing behind her as he let himself smile.
Tiffany really did have the prettiest ass when it was bright red.
“Let it out, Tiff. You’ll feel better.” Spinning the paddle in his hand, he dropped it on the couch cushion where she could see it, like raising a white flag on the battlefield. Only Tiff could make the Master’s Master give in after a few swats of a paddle, but he loved her more than any of those fleeting moments in his past — which was why he walked over to the end table and snagged a handful of tissues before walking around to where her tear-streaked face was flushed and scrunched up with tears.
“I-I-I really am s-sorry.” Another loud whimper and he bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smile.
“I know, baby. Time to blow your nose,” he commanded, holding the tissue in place for her to clear away the mess he’d made by getting her to cry.
Completely worth it.
There was a lingering silence between them as he swiped the tears away and lifted her chin, checking in with her ocean blue eyes to make sure she was really okay.
“Is it January yet?”
Lukus rolled his eyes. His wife was just fine. “No, baby. It’s not. But do you really want to miss our anniversary?”
“Well… no.” Tiff tried to wipe her nose and eyes on her shoulder, but he grabbed her chin before she could get away with it.
“Stop trying to do my job.” Grabbing a handful of fresh tissues, he wiped her tears while she wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re really lucky I didn’t drag you downstairs for a center stage show.”
“You told me you wouldn’t make me do a show our first year of marriage,” she retorted, and he pinched her chin a little harder.
“I think you’re feeling better now.” When he stood up from the couch, he heard the way the couch cushions shifted with her renewed struggles, her quiet pants of effort picking up once more as she stuttered over her words.
“Lukus! I seriously need to pee, you can’t leave me like this.”
“Who’s Lukus?” he asked from the edge of the kitchen, grinning where she couldn’t see him.
“Sir!” she shouted. “Please let me up!”
“Hmmm.” Grabbing a glass, he turned on the faucet, drowning out her next plea for release with the water. When he turned it off, he called toward the living room, “What was that, baby?”
