Page 13 of His to Explore
Once he’s done, he comes back to me. He walks around me a few times, looking me over like I’m a sports car he’s thinking of buying. I shudder, feeling so very objectified in this moment, and loving it.
“This is going to be fun,” he murmurs, running a finger over my throat. But then he comes to stand in front of me and something in his face shifts. He looks worried.
Grant peers into my eyes, and I have to fight not to flinch away. To keep my expression even.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course.” I manage a smile, batting my eyelashes. “Excited to get started, of course.”
He doesn’t say anything, just studies my face for far longer than I’m comfortable with. My stomach starts to feel tight. What if he refuses to play tonight? What if he sends me home, desperate and unsatisfied? I don’t think I can handle that. I’d have to go back to the lounge, see if I could find someone else to?—
The very thought of seeking out another Dom makes the clenching in my stomach ten times more painful. I don’t want some stranger. I want Grant.
And that should probably scare me more than it does. The last thing I want is to get attached to him. This is supposed to be physical, nothing else.
It’s just because he knows what you like,I tell myself.You’re just comfortable with him. Of course, it would suck to try and start over with a stranger.
But the ache in my chest feels like it might be a lot more than that.
Thank fuck I don’t have to worry about it. After what feels like an endless appraisal, Grant nods his head, taking a step back.
“Dress off. Underwear and bra, too. Leave the shoes on and kneel in the center of the room.
Immediately my body floods with warmth, relief rushing through me. He’s going to make it better.
I hurry to follow his instructions, acutely aware of the sounds of him opening and closing drawers in the cabinet behind me. I shiver a little as I slide my panties down, wondering what tools and toys and he might be gathering. The possibilities are endless.
My heart is pounding as I take the position he directed. A moment later he joins me, running a hand over my bowed head. “Good girl. You look beautiful like this. So submissive for me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He hums in approval at my use of that word, then holds a hand to help me up. “I think I’d like to see you bent over tonight,” he says easily. “I want a good view of that ass while I turn it red.”
I want to whimper at his words, but I keep myself silent and still. Submissive, the way he said he likes.
He leads me over to a leather bench. I’m very aware of how naked I am right now, with him still fully dressed. It adds to the power imbalance, making heat flow to my core.
That heat increases dramatically when he presses my back, forcing me to bend over the bench. Now I’m naked and exposed, with my ass on display. I’m completely at his mercy and that soothes something deep inside me—and turns me on like crazy.
He adjusts the legs of the bench, raising it slightly. “You look so good stretched out like this,” he murmurs. “Those heels are killing me, kitten.”
He’s killingme. Why can’t he go faster?
He moves with painful slowness, pulling my hands behind my back then slipping leather cuffs over my wrists. He securesthem together, then pulls a leather strap from the bottom of the bench, fastening it around my middle.
“I should restrain you like this more often,” he says. “Knowing you can’t move makes my dick hard.”
“I can take care of that for you,” I mutter, peevish that we haven’t started yet. He responds with a sharp smack to my ass.
“Don’t sass me,” he barks. “And what do you call me in this room?”
“Sir,” I say, gasping as he smacks me again. He’s not gentle about it, his palm stinging when it makes contact. But I only feel warmth and relief. This is what I want.
“Let’s see how you do with a crop,” he says. “I think you get ten for that little remark.” There’s a nearly silent whistle in the air before I feel a different kind of sting on my skin. It has more of a bite, but he doesn’t use as much force as he did with his hand.
“Count,” he barks, and I manage to gasp out the word one.
He uses the crop again, on my other cheek, then a third time, on my upper thighs. I whimper as I count out the strikes. He’s consistent with his force, controlled. I know he could be using that crop way harder.
