Bind by Sierra Cartwright Page B

stared, fascinated. “Do you carry it when you go looking for the Holy Grail?”
    “This whip does know how to get to the bottom of things. It’s particularly attracted to smart-asses.”
    She hadn’t seen this side of him, a ferocious scowl softened by an easy tone. It made him more complex, more real, approachable. “You know, I kind of like that image,” she teased. Maybe a little too much. “I can see you as a dashing moving hero. Sir Indiana Jones, perhaps?” Damn if all of this didn’t add to his appeal, not that she needed any more reasons to be attracted to him.
    “Let’s see if I can be as accurate with it as Indy was, shall we?” He shook out the single tail.
    She took a step back, her laughter dying. He still looked dashing, but more than a smidgeon of intimidation had been mixed in. The whip portion had to be several feet long. “I promise to behave.”
    “Like most things, it can be gentle or it can sting, depending. This one in particular is meant for beginners. For you.”
    “It never occurred to me that there would be different kinds.”
    “Some I would probably never use on you. I’d enjoy it if you asked for a session with it.”
    “Until you, Mr. Donovan, I had thought I was at least a little adventurous.”
    “Your choice.”
    She was curious. Very much. And scared.
    He waited.
    “One?” she suggested.
    “How would you like it?”
    “I feel like I’m at a bar ordering a drink.”
    “A brush of the tip? A crack?”
    That suggestion made her clench her buttocks. “The first. Just a brush.”
    “Let’s go over there, where there’s more room.”
    Nerves and a swarm of excitement collided in her belly.
    “I’m going to have a couple of practice strokes. Go ahead and sit on the spanking bench and watch.”
    Lara recognized how smart he was. Letting her be a voyeur, getting her accustomed to his space in a nonthreatening way.
    Since she wasn’t sure exactly sure how to sit on the thing, she chose the lower platform. The padding was surprisingly thick and firm. As she got comfortable, she couldn’t banish images of herself over it, face up, face down. In all her wild scenarios he’d immobilized her. Even though she’d had an orgasm a few minutes ago, she started to get aroused again.
    He brought out a towel from one of the drawers and hung it from a hook secured to the wall, presumably as a target. Then he turned his body at a slight angle, put one foot forward, held the whip over his shoulder. A moment later, he brought it forward in a single gentle motion. The stroke landed right in the middle of the towel.
    She stared, fascinated.
    He turned and repeated the process, using his backhand.
    “That sounded…quiet.” Not what she expected.
    “You wanted the Hollywood version?”
    Imagining him as the rakish hero, she said, “Yes.”
    He turned to use his forehand again. This time, he cracked the whip.
    She gasped, even though it had been nowhere near her. “Okay. That was scary.”
    “It’s all in the touch, the force. Precision. Control.”
    “That’s a word that suits you. Is that the way you run your life?”
    “You could say that. Now bring that sweet rear of yours over here.”
    “I might have changed my mind.”
    He lowered his head a little and regarded her. With the look and using no words, he called her out as a coward, someone who wouldn’t do more than put a little toe into the water.
    “Okay,” she said. “But just the brush part.” She stood. “You promise?”
    “Lara.”
    That uncompromising note galvanized her and she moved into the middle of the room.
    “Your choice. You can get on all fours or lean up against the wall with your hands above you. Or you can bend over. I recommend one of the first two options because you’re more likely to stay in place. And I want your dress out of the way.”
    “All fours,” she said.
    She got into position and pulled up her dress. She felt scandalously exposed with her bare rear and still-damp