I thought this was going to be a sex session. One that would end with cuddled kisses.
Then, we would talk.
Instead, I’m bound up, longing for him, wet for him, and I’m his prisoner.
And now he’s going to interrogate me.
He taps the crop gently against my inner thigh. A soft nudge. A reminder of who’s in charge.
I don’t need a reminder. He’s always had control over me.
“Bambi’s brother,” I whisper. “I didn’t know who he was when I met him.”
The crop slides up, between my thighs, drawing circles over my tender flesh.
His eyes are dangerous. “And after you found out?”
“I didn’t stop,” I admit. “I should have. But I didn’t.”
The first flick comes, light and sharp against my skin. I cry out, not from pain but from surprise. He leans in, words thick with hunger. “I don’t mind that you knew him, Erin. But I do mind that you didn’t tell me.”
“I was scared,” I whisper.
“Of me?”
Some truth seeps out. “Of losing what this could be.”
The crop presses down again, a little firmer—one breast, then the other. My nipples harden under the teasing licks of leather, my body revealing every secret my mind tries to hide.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
“I told you I wouldn’t run, but I need your complete honesty.”
I nod. “You have it.” I lie.
“And your trust?” he asks.
I nod again. “Yes.”
The crop lowers. Slides between my legs again, gathering moisture and promise. “Then let me have the rest of you, too.”
The tip of the riding crop lingers between my thighs, lazy and cruel in its patience. Each pass fans the flames already licking at my skin, my nerves sparking like frayed wires.
Lucian watches me, predator-still, his jaw ticking as he reads every stuttered breath I take.
“You're wet,” he murmurs.
I nod, shame and arousal burning in tandem.
"For me?"
“Yes,” I whisper, throat dry. “Always for you.”
His lips twitch but do not quite form a smile, more like a sign of approval. The dark, feral glint in his eyes deepens.
Then, the crop snaps across my inner thigh with just enough bite to make me jolt and cry out. My breath holds, and my nipples harden as I strain against the rope that binds me.