Page 47 of Ward

He hit me again, and again. I closed my eyes and used the techniques Aidan had been teaching me. Allowing the cuffs to support me, relaxing further and further into myself. When I began to get used to the rhythm he was using, he’d switch it up, swiping the tips of the flogger upward against the bottom curve of my ass. The sting woke me up, pulling me back into the moment.

Tears escaped my eyes and trailed down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I’d gone my whole life without this feeling. This total letting go. This surrendering. I’d only ever felt a similar release when I was dancing.

But this was different. I wasn’t in control; Aidan was. He decided how hard the next blow would be, if he would go easy or kick like a horse.

And when it was over, he laid the flogger on the bed and ran his palms up and down my burning backside. He pulled me against him, and his chest felt cool in comparison to my own flushed skin.

“You took that beating beautifully, little one.”

He kissed my neck gently, and I melted into his arms.

He uncuffed my wrists and guided my front half onto the bed, with my feet still planted on the floor.

Bent over with my ass in the air, I felt something hard between us, and realized it had to be Aidan’s erection, still trapped in his sweatpants. My racing pulse broke into a sprint. His grip on my hips tightened as he angled his bulge ever so slightly toward the crux of my legs.

He wanted me. I didn’t care how many times he’d insisted that he never fucks his subs.

Right then, Aidan wanted to fuck me. And I—

The sound of an unfamiliar man’s voice saying, “Excuse me,” wrenches me out of the memory and back to the terrace outside Aidan’s home.

I feel the weight of someone’s gaze on my back. Turning, I jump to my feet the instant I spot the stranger: a boy around my age, or slightly older, with deep-set, tired-looking eyes. He waves to me from the bottom step leading up to the patio.

“Excuse me,” he says again. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is this the Fletcher estate?”

“No, it isn’t.” I look toward the French doors, hoping to find Mrs. Cline in the living room. But she’s not there. I’m alone with the stranger. “This is Aidan O’Rourke’s house.”

“Shit,” the boy mutters to himself. “Do you know where I can find the Fletcher estate? I’m supposed to do some yard work for them.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I moved in pretty recently, so I don’t really know the neighborhood.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles, though the gesture doesn’t feel as friendly as it should. “I’m really sorry for startling you. My name’s Sam.”

He climbs the two remaining steps up to the terrace and holds out his hand. I stare at it for a moment before my manners kick in.

“Grace,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Good to meet you, Grace O’Rourke.”

“It’s Whittaker, actually.”

“My bad.” He nods to my pointe shoes on the ground. “You a dancer?”

“I am, yes.”

“You dance professionally?”

“Not yet.” I can’t help smiling at the thought. “One day, hopefully. If I do well enough in college to make it into a professional dance company.”

“You’re going to college for dancing?” he asks, sounding shocked.

I nod. “In the fall.”

“That’s cool,” he says. I’m honestly not sure what to make of this guy. He seems nice enough; maybe a little awkward, but some people can’t help that. I wish I knew more about the area so I could point him in the right direction.

“I can ask someone inside if they know where the Fletcher estate is,” I say.

“Nah.” He waves his hand. “I’ll just keep wandering into backyards ‘til I find a guy who’s pissed at me for being late.”

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