Page 54 of Trussed In Hope
He varied the rhythm, sometimes quick and light, a cascade of sensation that made me gasp. Other times, he drew it out—one heavy fall, then silence, leaving me suspended in the ache until the next landed. My body danced to his pattern, anticipation becoming its own form of torture.
The flogger kissed my thighs, calves, and the tops of my shoulders. He painted me with touch, every strike a declaration:mine, mine, mine.I whimpered, not from hurt but from beingso open, so raw. I could feel my body rocking forward into the leather instead of away.
“That’s it, Queen.” His tone sharpened, commanding. “Lean into it. Give me everything.”
And I did.
The flogger wrapped around my hip, snapping a gasp from me. Then softer, repeatedly until the sting melted into fire that spread through my veins. My mind scattered, untethered. Every thought that didn’t include him dissolved.
“Hardison…” My voice cracked, thin and needy.
“I’ve got you.” The flogger landed again, his words grounding me even as the strikes carried me higher. “Fly, baby. I’ll hold you.”
The world tilted. My limbs went heavy, my head light. I was floating, drifting into that hazy place where time didn’t exist and my body wasn’t mine—it was his. I was safe. I was seen. I was loved. Every fall of leather, every sound of his voice, drove me deeper. Until there was nothing but the flogger, Hardison, and the steady drumbeat of surrender.
HARDISON
The flogger kept its rhythm, but inside me, everything shifted. Every cry, every tremor of her body beneath my hand wasn’t just submission—it was trust. Emberlynn wasn’t giving me her skin. She was giving meherself.
I felt it like a fist to the chest.
Her blindfold dampened with her tears, damp at the edges. She couldn’t see me, but God, I saw her. Saw her surrender, her courage, the way she leaned into each strike instead of pulling away. It gutted me.
My grip on the flogger tightened, not from control but from emotion, raw and unexpected. This wasn’t about leather or rhythm anymore. It was about the woman in front of me trusting me to take her apart and piece her back together without breaking her.
“Good girl,” I said again, though my throat went thick around the words. “You’re so goddamn perfect for me.”
The flogger landed across her back. The strands spread like fire. She moaned—broken, needy—and it undid me. My hand faltered for half a breath before I forced myself steady. She needed the rhythm. She needed me strong.
But inside, I wasn’t strong. I was undone.
How the hell did I deserve this? A woman who looked at the darkest corners of me—the need to control, to command, to mark—and saidyes, please.A woman who took everything I gave her and still reached for more.
She sagged against the bonds, her body limp, her breath shallow but steady. Subspace. I knew it as sure as I knew my name. The endgame was always to get here, but I didn’t expect her to succumb so quickly. I stopped and stepped in close. My hand pressed flat against her spine. Warmth still radiated from her skin.
“You with me, Queen?” My voice was softer now, the Dom stripped away until it was just me—Hardison, the man who loved her.
“Yes…” she whispered, voice slurred but sure. “With you.”
Relief hit me so hard my dick twitched. I leaned my forehead against her shoulder, taking a breath that shook more than I wanted to admit. She trusted me this much. She loved me this much. And God help me, I was terrified of ever failing her.
“Well then, kitten, let me help you fly.”
I let the flogger slide across her skin again, watching her shiver under each strike. The sound of leather hitting flesh was sharp, and yet she didn’t flinch away. She didn’t resist. She didn’t pull back. Shegaveherself to me completely, and the weight of that trust pressed deep into my chest.
“You’re doing so well, Queen,” I murmured, letting my voice carry the warmth I couldn’t hide. Each flick of the leather was precise, measured, but my mind kept wandering to the way she leaned into it, the way her body moved for me alone.
I pushed her just a little more, teasing the edge of what I knew she could handle. Her breath hitched, ragged and soft, and my heart slammed against my ribs. Every strike, every whispered word, felt like a declaration:Hers. Mine.
Her skin glowed under the dim lights, each mark a testament to our connection. I pressed closer, letting the flogger rest momentarily, just to feel the warmth of her against me. She was trembling, floating, and I felt a raw vulnerability of my own—seeing her so open, so exposed, and knowing I was the only one keeping her safe.
Her body went still, pliant, suspended on the fragile thread between surrender and release. I let the flogger find her again, slow, deliberate strokes, each one carrying my care, my control, my love. When she gasped, I turned up the heat. Each swing moved faster, a little higher, harder, like a constant drum across her body. She pushed up on her toes, following the strands as they landed.
Losing myself in the moment, I kept up with the tempo I’d created. Letting it drive her further and further into this scene. I followed her breathing, her movements, her arousal, her submission until we hit a very important instruction to note in this song of ours–legato. My movements slowed. Her breathing followed, connected to each downward swing. Connected in a way that made me the reason she felt anything.
She turned her head, and I could see it in her eyes when she broke—sob after sob, but not of pain. Release. Freedom. Pure, unfiltered trust. I felt it too. That wild, soaring connection that left us both shaking. My job wasn’t over yet. I continued bringing her down, letting each swing gently pull her back into the moment. She calmed, sagging against the cross as if it were her refuge.
Finally, letting the flogger fall to the floor. My arms circled her, holding her upright, steadying her trembling body. “I’ve got you. Always,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her hair.
