Page 71 of Their Master

The perverseness of his reactions did not elude him. He had just dismissed a man who might very well love him while keeping a woman who might not evenlikehim.

Smith snorted and hefted the whip. “Ready, darling?”

∞∞∞

Moira had been flogged many times, both by skilled and unskilled hands, but Smith—not surprisingly—was different than anyone who’d come before.

She had wondered if she’d ever enjoy the experience again after what Mr. Brown had done to her. She needn’t have worried.

What Brown had done was brutal abuse.

What Smith did to her was… well, it was sublime.

In the past, the whippings had been for her clients’ pleasure. Smith being Smith—which was to say singular—the experience was all for her.

First, he took the time to bring her along almost agonizingly slowly, his strokes like caresses… until they weren’t, until her nipples and the thin skin of her breasts were on fire.

Until she was floating above her body, watching the scene with a sort of dreamy detachment.

Then he tossed aside the flogger and dropped to his haunches in front of her spread sex, using his tongue as deliberately as he’d just used the whip, licking and sucking and teasing until she came back to herself with a vengeance, occupying every inch of her body with an awareness that was almost painful.

And still he teased.

“Please,” she gasped, when he’d brought her to the brink yet again and then left her there.

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips closed around her bud and tugged, stretching her almost painfully before releasing her.

“Mmmm, I do like it when you beg.”

“Smith.”

He chuckled, lowered his skillful lips and tongue, and proceeded to give her what she’d begged for—three times in rapid, euphoric succession.

She was still reeling from her third climax—too sensitive for anything more—when Smith sat back on his heels, unfastened the thong that bound him, and closed his eyes as he gently stroked his freed cock.

He was, quite honestly, the most erotic sight Moira had ever seen: his face covered with her juices, his lips swollen, and that ridiculously big prick in his slim, elegant hand.

“I love watching you,” she said hoarsely, the words escaping before she knew what she’d said.

His heavy lids lifted and a lazy smile curved his lips. “You please me, Moira,” he said, the simple praise strangely intoxicating.

She almost retorted:not as often as you please mebut was—thankfully—coming out of her sex-induced stupor.

Smith stood and then disappeared behind her. A moment later she felt oil drizzle onto her lower back. He used his hands to coat her cheeks, kneading the muscle with brutal fingers, until only her bonds held her upright.

He used one, two, and finally three fingers to stretch her, opening her gradually and gently while his other hand reached around her to the front of her body, his thumb pressing against her pulsing core.

“Come once more for me, darling,” he whispered, his magical hands working her front and back, driving her toward bliss yet again.

She was still floating when he positioned his cock at her well stretched hole and entered her slowly, deeply, until she felt sure he must be encountering some vital organ.

He licked and bit and sucked her neck hard enough to mark her, his body shaking with the effort of entering her so carefully.

“So good, Moira.” His words were slurred, as if he’d been drinking for the prior hour rather than servicing her every need.

He’d taken great care preparing her, but it still hurt, and tears squeezed from beneath her eyelids as he held her full, his chest pressed against her back, the pounding of his heart thudding through her body. Never had she felt so … enveloped, so possessed, soowned.

And then he began to move, giving her every inch with each stroke, faster, deeper, harder with each thrust, until the slap of skin on skin and grunting filled the room.

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