Page 22 of A Dead Man's Pulse
The auburn-haired Roxy stopped in front of him, her expression soft with understanding. “We don’t have to do it today. You can practice with the whip some more if you’re not ready to experience it.”
“And waste a sleepless night trying to psych myself up for it? Nope, let’s get this over with, so I can eat something without throwing up.”
The women laughed at his words even though they knew he was only half joking. Logan followed them down the wide staircase to the pit and over to the stage. He lifted the chair Donovan had sat in the day before back up onto the raised platform as the two Dommes put down their purses and prepared everything else.
He’d been doing tons of research on the BDSM lifestyle, since being assigned to the case—some of it on the computer, but a lot of it had been during the long stakeout shifts he’d been working with Dakota. She had been great, answering all his questions. And, damn, just the thought of her had his dick stirring again . . . not something he’d expect to happen moments before he’d be getting whipped, but the female cop did something for him he couldn’t explain. As much as he wanted her in his bed, he’d enjoyed getting to know her on a professional and personal level. The latter wasn’t as personal as he hoped, but she’d opened up to him about her background and family a little bit, after he’d offered some of his own history, sans his last tour in the sandbox.
Next week, things would change between them again as they entered Heat together as a D/s couple—there would be intimate touching going on as part of their cover.
As Roxy and Charlotte climbed the two steps to the stage, Logan’s heart began to pound and he began to sweat, even though the temperature in the club was at a comfortable level . . . cool, even.
The two women had agreed Charlotte would man the whip while Roxy would observe his responses. He knew all he had to do was shout the word “red,” and they’d immediately stop the scene and begin aftercare, but his legs still shook.
“Cowboy.” He turned toward Charlotte when she said his name in a tender, yet firm voice. “What you’re feeling is normal . . .”
Damn, I must have wimp written across my forehead.
“. . . and it doesn’t mean you’re a wimp or anything. Far from it.”
What the fuck? She can read my mind?
“Go to your happy place and start singing ‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer,’ either out loud or in your head. Channel Clutch and the others. They’re double-dog-daring you to do this, and you’ll be damned if you lose a bet to them.”
During their earlier sessions, he’d told them about his teammates, but not about how they’d been murdered. No. Instead, he’d told them what a great bunch of guys his friends had been, all the practical jokes they played on each other, and the mudslinging that always happened when they were busting each other’s chops over one thing or another. He’d also mentioned how he’d sung that ridiculous song to screw with his captors.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded at the dark-haired woman, then did as she’d suggested. He didn’t want to subject them to his horrible singing voice, so instead, he counted down those beer bottles in his head while sitting on the beach with Dakota. At least in his mind, she enjoyed his singing.
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.
Removing his T-shirt, he draped it over the arm of the chair then stepped toward the leather-covered St. Andrew’s cross. Roxy positioned herself behind it, so she could see his face between the upper parts of the large letter “X.” Goose bumps pebbled his skin. His jeans sat low on his hips, so his entire back was exposed.
Ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-six bottles of beer . . .
He reached up and grabbed hold of the straps.
Ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-five bottles of beer . . .
“I’m going to snap it a few times without striking you,” Charlotte assured him. “First within view and then behind you. After that, I’ll switch to a soft flogger to warm up your skin and bring the blood to the surface, just like I did with Jake yesterday.” She moved to his side and held up the nine-tailed leather instrument for him to see, before letting it fall against his arm in a gentle caress. “That’s exactly what it will feel like, no harder than that. And I won’t hit you with this or the single tail without warning, okay?”
Logan swallowed a lump of fear blocking his throat. After surviving SERE training in the military, he could do this, he tried to convince himself. “Yeah, okay. I’m good.”
Ninety-one bottles of beer . . .
She brought the two ends of the whip together and doubled over the length, holding it up in her hands for him to see. “I’m going to snap it. Watch the leather and listen to the sound it makes. It’s an inanimate object. You have full control here—we just have to convince your internal fight or flight system of that fact.”
When she yanked it taut, the two parts slapped together, the sound not as loud as it would be when the whip cracked at full-length. She repeated it several times, her gaze never leaving his face. “Good. Your muscles relaxed after the first few times. We’re ready to move on.” She hung the whip around her neck. “I’m going to do some joint compression next. Since you’re so much taller than me, I need you to kneel. I’d have you lay down, but the cleaning crew hasn’t been here this morning, yet, and God knows what’s on the floor.”
Letting go of the restraints, Logan lowered himself to his knees. He bowed his head when Charlotte’s strong, yet baby-soft, hands caressed his upper arms and shoulders. Using the heels of her palms, she pressed down, forcing the tension from his muscles and joints. Her hands never left his skin as they moved and pressed in an intermittent pattern. After about thirty of them, she then kneaded the surrounding flesh. If he wasn’t anticipating what was coming next, he might have closed his eyes and fallen into a coma.
Giving his shoulders a final squeeze, Charlotte stepped back. “Stand and grab the restraints again. Keep your eyes on Roxy’s. Try to stay here with us.”
His gaze met the doctor’s, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “No worries if you freak. I’ve already seen you do that, and we got through it just fine. And what happens here, stays here, Logan. Neither of us have talked to anyone else about this other than Ian, Jake, and Trudy, and that was with your permission.” Her eyes shifted behind him, and she gave her fellow Domme a nod.
“All right, Cowboy.” Charlotte sounded much further away than he’d expected. “I’m down on the play floor by the stairs— far enough away that I can’t reach you at all. After each crack, I’m going to take a few steps closer. If you need me to slow down or stop, say yellow or red. Here comes the first one.”
Even though he’d been warned and knew the whip couldn’t hit him from that distance, he still startled when the loud crack split the air. His muscles seized briefly, his fists tightening on the restraints that he could release at any time.
“Breathe, Logan. You’re holding your breath. Breathe.”
