Page 22 of Paid to the Pirate

Her squeal morphed into a groan.

A small part of me thought she’d start talking when I bared her breasts. A larger part thought it would be from the first kiss of the crop. Seeing as how neither had the necessary effect, I began whipping her in earnest -- licks to the underside of her breasts, lighter slaps against her stomach, cruel snaps to the area nearest her nipples.

The stubborn wench didn’t talk. She gritted her teeth and determination, if not outright defiance, blazed in her eyes when she met my stare.

Eyes blazing right back, I tapped directly the tip of one nipple, letting her know where my next stroke would fall.

“No, please, no!” She wailed and jerked as far as the ropes would allow.

Charlotte squealed when the pain registered. Her face flushed with a sheen of sweat.

“Keep screaming. I’ll have your screams or I’ll have your confession. Both delight me.”

“Nooo…” she pled, rocking her head back and forth as I aimed the leather at her other nipple.

I grinned and cocked one eyebrow. A question.

She clamped her lips. An answer.

I brought down the crop, hard.

Charlotte shrieked even louder this time, twisting and writhing in a most erotic dance of pain.

After pausing to see if she changed her mind, I shrugged and I resumed striking her vulnerable breasts, then moved on to her sides and low on her belly.

Charlotte panted and sweated… and so did I. The only difference was I controlled my labored breathing, my movements. Charlotte’s motions were erratic, guided by the sting of the crop.Guided by me.I was so transfixed with a heady sense of power that for a few moments I didn’t notice a change in her expression. When I took better stock of her face, she seemed in a daze of some kind, and I cursed myself for not paying better attention.

It was almost as if the blows didn’t hurt her as much. I paused, brow furrowed. She seemed distanced from the crop, from even the ship.

“Charlotte? Charlotte, can you hear me?”

Her only reply was the lolling of her head to one side as she moaned softly.

I gently-but-firmly grabbed her chin, the pads of my fingertips digging into her flesh to hold her head straight. I expected the usual flash of annoyance or defiance, but she barely reacted to my manhandling, save the fluttering of her eyes. Charlotte allowed herself to be guided forward, but as soon as I released her, her head fell back to the side.

Her eyes were hooded as her head tilted back. Her breasts were high, full.With desire?I shook my head. Could she fake such a reaction? How?

Frowning, I studied her. She seemed far away, as if in a state of rapture. I looked down at the menacing implement in my hands.From my crop?

It couldn’t be. Even though I’d had similar evidence from the night before, I couldn’t believe it. It had to be an act, I thought, blinking. But why, to what end? If she was playing the lady, what lady would so wantonly grind herself to orgasm before the man standing above her, belt in hand?

None of this made any sense. Her games were always… I cursed under my breath, hating to admit it. Her games were always one step ahead of me. She was always one step ahead of me.

But this didn’t feel like a game.

Testing, I touched the tip of the crop to her nipples, caressing gently.

Eyes still shut, Charlotte moaned softly and arched into the leather.

With the flick of my hand, I gave her one sharp smack directly beneath her nipple.

Throwing her head back, she cried out her pleasure.

I licked my lips.Unmistakably,that was pleasure. A rush of power and euphoria raced through my brain.

What had changed in the past two years? Red threatened the edges of my vision. Had some other man touched her? Taught her the ways of passion?

Charlotte-the-traitor I wanted to strip bare and punish before a tavern full of drunk men.

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