Page 13 of Flog Me, Sir

“Share away,” I told her, squeezing her fingers, “because I want to know all about you.”

I sat and listened for almost an hour, the bench going hard enough beneath me that I moved to the bed, lounging against the headboard—after I’d helped Lissa strip and remake it.

Lissa had gotten attention I didn’t as a child, I realized, but it wasn’t the type I had longed for. While my parents were often inebriated, they never once became violent with me or my sister. Indifference, however, often felt like a fist, and I still sometimes felt the lingering ache of those memories.

Lissa moved around the church, talking and setting the various toys and other instruments on the walls in perfect symmetry, lightly touching corners or handles to ensure things hung evenly. Eventually, the church sat in perfect order.

“You crave control,” I said as her nervous ticks came to light in my mind as I eyed the spotless interior. “Especially over your environment.”

“I enjoy cleaning, keeping things straight,” she admitted, casting a glance my way, her cheeks flushed, “because it was the one thing I was able to control as a child. The state of our house.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, worrying at a hangnail while I considered all she’d told me.

Ripe for the plucking, she needed to be beneath my hands, my body, to realize she didn’t have a damn thing to fear. I wanted to rip control from her small yet capable hands, free her of the oppression in her mind.

“I’m a sorry mess,” she finally said with a forced laugh, once more finding the peg board more interesting to look at than a half-naked Garret Edwards.

“I can help you heal, Lissa,” I said quietly, drawing her toward me once more. “I can take it all away—if you’ll let me.”

Her focus dropped to that damn hangnail again, long enough I shifted, loosening the towel a bit from my waist. My cock swelled at the thought of her crawling toward me and straddling my thighs, begging me to use my hands or my favorite flogger to set her free.

“You would enjoy our time together. I promise,” I murmured as she hesitated, knowing like fuck I could keep that damn promise.

Still, she didn’t speak, and hoping to persuade her, I decided to lay it all out. “I would strip you down, Lissa, feast on the sight of your body. Kiss and suck every inch before tying you to that cross.”

She gasped, her focus jerking to the one across the room, but quickly averting to the floor. Her shoulders tensed, but she held silent, the throbbing in her pulse telling me all I needed to know.

“I would put my hands on you first—leave prints behind for you to remember me by. Or perhaps I’d take a crop to your breasts, snapping at your hard nipples.” I licked my lip while gaze at the nubs straining against her shirt. “Or maybe you’d prefer my favorite—a flogger. Stinging strips of leather, lashing and dripping arousal down your spread thighs.”

I sat forward, the towel gaping around my throbbing dick—but she took no notice. “I’ll make you crave things you never knew you wanted—”

Lissa stood, cutting off my words, but kept her gaze on the floor. “Thank you for listening, Garret. Thank you for being a friend,” she rushed to say—and rushed out the door.

She left me alone—wanting—before I could blink, the church’s door clicking shut behind her.

In two days, I headed back to Boston, so I needed to up my game and weasel my way into her head, same as she’d gotten into mine.

I would show her an addiction to me and my desires for her wasn’t—wouldn’t—become a sickness, wasn’t something to be feared. I planned on setting her free exactly as I’d offered. I just needed to figure out a way to get her to agree to submit to what we both wanted.

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