Page 8 of Flog Me, Sir

Chapter Three

Lissa

Rather than send me back up to Garret’s guest room, Mrs. Hummel sent me to clean up the church—the off-limits building, the secretive interior that prompted boundless hushed rumors. The trust she and the Laurents showed me by doing so warmed me through.

Code keyed into the lock, I stood on the threshold of a world I’d read about but never once considered for myself, while breathing in the scent of roses and leather. Having endured my share of abuse as a child, I didn’t need a man laying a finger on me, promising pleasure with the pain he wanted to inflict.

Even though heat flushed through me at the memory of Garret’s flirting, his insinuation over wanting to watch me clean on my hands and knees like a servant—and knowing he enjoyed the lifestyle laid out before me—I pushed away the desire wanting to flood my panties.

While reading, I’d had fantasies aplenty regarding the items in the church, but I didn’t dare consider seeking such relief. Padded altar. St. Andrew’s cross. A peg wall and table lined with instruments to tease and torture...

Swallowing, I moved my jelly-like leg forward, keeping my focus averted from the sights sending shivers down my spine.

Start in the bathroom,I told myself, but the massive tub with all its jets sent my mind straight to sharing a bubble bath, Garret’s hands on me. His fingers in me.

“Stop,” I whispered to myself and turned toward the shower stall instead. Various shower heads poked from the tile at all angles, and I wondered at the seat, the hand holds, and rings anchored to the walls.

Grumbling under my breath over the orders to clean the church, I set to work, trying to ignore the memory of Garret heading there the night before with two women.

I emptied the trash can without curiosity over its contents, not wanting to see a tied off condom or three. God knew that virility oozed off the man...

Hot once more, I wiped down the floor—on my hands and knees—a scene playing out in my mind of Garret watching me. Stroking what had tented his sheet an hour earlier.

He would tell me how to move. To arch, lifting my ass for a better angled view. Purr his approval of my being a good little girl.

Shame flooded my face. Such a thing shouldn’t turn me on, but—

A slight rustle jerked my head around.

Garret stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the jamb, his arms crossed. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, his stare on my ass.

I froze. Tongue-tied.

Pinch, pinch.I gulped, sure I was dreaming. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I heard myself whisper.

“Left my wallet.” He held up the leather wallet, wiggling it back and forth. “Tillie girl knew right where it was, too.”

He moved toward me on silent feet, and I sat back, my ass resting on my ankles as I peered up at him, my heart pounding.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, looming over me, over six feet of raw masculinity, heat and hunger in his dark eyes.

The reality of my siting in such a way at his feet rolled over me, and fire licked at my skin as adrenaline kicked in. I hopped up and backward, struggling to snap off my rubber gloves, needing space and oxygen for my starved lungs.

“Lissa.” His low tone stopped my frantic movements as the second glove fluttered to the floor.

I met his gaze, frozen once more.

A corner of his lip curled, a mischievous glint lighting the lust in his eyes.

I licked my lip. “What?” I rasped.

He moved in on me, and my legs stumbled me backward until I hit the shower door—but he didn’t stop until a mere hair’s breadth separated us, every sharp inhale lifting my breasts to caress his upper abs.

The top of my head barely reached his chin, and I crooked my neck to hold his stare, refusing to cower beneath the electric power emanating off him and snapping every wire inside my body.

He lifted a hand and tucked hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear. “You look ravishing on your knees before me.”

Panties soaked.

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