Page 43 of Flog Me, Sir

Chapter Fifteen

Lissa

Garret fell asleep in my arms, his head on my chest, as we faced one another. His soft, even breathing soothed my mind to quietness over my addiction to him, but it was a long time before I slept.

He woke me with his face between my thighs, licking me, and I came without penetration, my thighs grasping the sides of his head, my fingers tangled in his hair.

Same as the night before, he tended me, carrying me into the shower where I returned the favor while hot water shot against my sore ass. The tile dug into my knees while I fought to swallow his length, and adding in the lingering sting of my pussy—I had a whole new outlook on the word addiction.

“That was the best birthday present ever,” he said, pulling me up off the shower floor and into his arms, the taste of his cum still rich on my tongue. “Goddamn, Lissa.”

I found myself laughing lightly—something it seemed Garret easily pulled out of me since his return. “It’s not your birthday anymore.”

“I take that back.” He nuzzled my neck, teeth nipping before tipping his head back to peer at my face. “You’re knowing—remembering—it was my birthday was the best gift I’ve ever received.”

I ran my fingers through his soaked hair, my insides all squishy over the droplets clinging to his long lashes even though I expected he teased me. “I doubt it.”

“I’m serious.” His downturned lips agreed with his words. “I can’t even remember the last time my parents or sister called me to wish me a happy birthday.”

My hands stilled in his hair. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

My mom, in all her shittiness, at least remembered the day I was born. Of course, she wasn’t always happy in reminding me of that fact, but still.

Throat tightening, I realized my heart fell hard and fast for a man just as abused as I’d been—not with words, but the neglect he’d told me about had hurt him just as deeply as my mom’s words and hands.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

A lopsided smile didn’t ease the pain lingering in his eyes. “So, you understand why I say that was my best present ever.”

Unable to make a peep that wouldn’t lead to tears, I nodded and laid my cheek against his chest, my arms wrapping around him. Garret was a good man—damn near perfect. His heart, his desire to please others, a rare commodity in a man as far as I was concerned.

And his body...the way he moved against me. His hands.

A heavy sigh escaped me, but my brow furrowed.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured against my hair.

“About how much I like you.”

“Mmm. I like you, too.”

“How much I love having your hands on me.”

He tipped my head back with a slight touch to my chin. “And my handprints?”

“That, too.” I swallowed against that snaking fear wanting to rise up and choke off my happiness.

“I’d like to have you strapped to the cross again, Lissa.”

His confession sent a shot of lust straight between my thighs, and I pressed them together.

“But rather than a crop,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my parted lips, “I’d like to mark you with my favorite flogger.”

My backside clenched at the thought of the stinging lashes I’d read about.

“I want to mark you, Lissa.” He lifted his focus to my eyes. “I want to give you pain. Give you pleasure.”

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