Page 24 of Flog Me, Sir

I wanted to lash her—have her cries caress my ears and make me hard again—but I didn’t want to take things too deep, too quickly. The idea of the St. Andrew’s Cross had seemed to turn her on, so when I finally tore my mouth from feasting on hers, I motioned across the room.

“Stand in front of the cross. Face me.”

She did as told, a little shaky, her breath coming fast.

I clasped her arms to the overhead shackles, every brush of my fingertips on her skin hitching her breath.

“Okay?” I asked, holding her gaze as it skewered up into me as I towered over her.

She stared, eyes already glazed as though half-way to subspace and I’d done nothing more than give her a belly full of cum and kiss her. “Yes,” she whispered her answer.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I knelt before her, her pussy in front of my face, the sight of wetness on her inner thighs and the scent of her musk tempting me to lean in and feast on those lips. That reward—for both of us—needed to wait.

Ankles shackled to the cross’s base, Lissa stood bound for me, my pleasure, and hers. I hoped to accomplish both. “Okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low while scanning over her body, watching for discomfort.

“Yes, Sir.”

Her whispered reply offered verbal truth to what her body told me. The pulse in her neck ran rapid, her nipples hard points, smeared thighs quivering.

“Don’t lock your knees,” I said, returning my focus to her face. “I don’t want you passing out.”

The black of her pupils dominated all trace of greenish-brown, and satisfaction that I would send her soaring before long tightened my groin. A deep shuddering breath relaxed her, and I nodded and turned away. The bench and peg wall above offered everything a Dom could want, but I had decided on my toys of torture earlier and quickly retrieved them.

Returning with a silk scarf and riding crop in hand, I took Lissa in once more, from hands grasping at air, to parted lips, down her rapidly heaving breasts. She eyed the crop, but I set it aside to wrap the scarf around her head, shutting off distraction since she seemed awfully fond of looking at me. Not that I minded the attention. Not one fucking bit.

“Okay?” I murmured against her ear once I tied the knot tight behind her head.

“Mmm.”

“Words, Lissa.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

I picked the crop back up and snapped it in my hand a few times. She flinched at the sound, and I found myself frowning. Had I made a mistake? Praying like fuck I hadn’t, I moved close enough the heat of my body would caress her pebbled skin.

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