the other. Then he buckled it so my knees were spread, my feet resting on the floor.
I squirmed.
Not so obvious punishments? What did he mean by that?
After securing my other ankle, pulling it farther from the first so my legs were spread wider, he climbed onto the bench with me, arms and legs straddling my naked body. “There. Are we comfortable?” Dark flames danced in his eyes and he stared down at me, making me most definitely uncomfortable, though in a good way. The tip of his tongue swiped across his lower lip and my breath caught in my throat.
What did he mean by less obvious ways of punishment? Did he mean seduction? Was that the punishment he had in mind? Because right now he was the picture of seductive.
Bending his arms, he lowered his head slowly, one inch at a time. “Have you ever burned with pleasure, esclavo? Pleasure so intense it was painful?”
My heart rate kicked up to the stratosphere. “N-no,” I stuttered. His mouth was so close his sweet breath gusted over mine. A little whimper slipped up my throat, but I swallowed it back down.
Warm. I was getting so warm. Everywhere. Especially down there , between my legs. My breathing rasped as he moved closer. What would he do now? With what pleasures would he torment me? I curled my hands into fists. My body tensed.
He caught my head between his hands, holding it in place. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth. I opened to him.
He tasted sweet, decadent. His kiss scrambled my brains and ignited blazes through my whole body. Huge, raging infernos. Within seconds I was burning, from the inside out. I was scorching. My blood was boiling.
Too hot.
He was right. Pleasure was torment. The worst kind.
I whimpered again. I moaned. I fought the restraints binding my arms and legs. And I struggled to break the kiss. But he wouldn’t stop. His lips, tongue and teeth tortured me. The aching was agonizing, far worse than any beating. It had to stop. I couldn’t take another second.
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. He licked it away. “Mmmm. I see you are learning.”
Cruel bastard.
“Please,” I muttered.
“Ah, so already you beg.” His gaze raked down my body and my breathing grew shallow and fast.
I was learning—quickly. This man was the master of torture. Both the pleasure kind. And the pain.
Wearing a crooked smile, he lifted one index finger. “Perhaps you aren’t as strong as you thought.” He placed that finger on my lip. Then, slowly dragging it down my neck, he added, “How I love to hear your pleas for mercy. They are like the sweetest music in my ears.” Down that finger wandered. I followed it with my eyes as it climbed to the top of my breastbone. Then it inched lower, trailing a path between my breasts before stopping at the base of my breastbone. Because I was breathing so quickly, my chest rose and fell violently. “What do you fear most, esclavo?” That finger took a sudden right and headed straight for my aching nipple. With a flick, he amplified the agony. With a pinch he intensified it even more. And with a slight twist, he made me cry out. It felt like a lightning bolt blasted through me. I was completely at his mercy. And there was nowhere I would rather be. “Your response to my touch is like no aphrodisiac I have ever tasted.”
Powerful, overwhelming need slammed through me. My spine arched, pushing my breast up. Throbbing heat pounded between my legs. I was desperate. For a touch, only one. No, more. Many more. Down there , where the heat was the worst. I needed him to stop this torture before I died.
I whimpered. My fingers unfurled. I pulled at the bindings, wishing I could touch him, wishing I could punish him like he was punishing me.
He angled upright, gazed down at me with those wicked dark eyes. His mouth curved into a naughty grin. “Have you had enough already, esclavo? I haven’t. I warned you. My hunger is unquenchable, especially for you.” He pulled his shirt off, revealing
I squirmed.
Not so obvious punishments? What did he mean by that?
After securing my other ankle, pulling it farther from the first so my legs were spread wider, he climbed onto the bench with me, arms and legs straddling my naked body. “There. Are we comfortable?” Dark flames danced in his eyes and he stared down at me, making me most definitely uncomfortable, though in a good way. The tip of his tongue swiped across his lower lip and my breath caught in my throat.
What did he mean by less obvious ways of punishment? Did he mean seduction? Was that the punishment he had in mind? Because right now he was the picture of seductive.
Bending his arms, he lowered his head slowly, one inch at a time. “Have you ever burned with pleasure, esclavo? Pleasure so intense it was painful?”
My heart rate kicked up to the stratosphere. “N-no,” I stuttered. His mouth was so close his sweet breath gusted over mine. A little whimper slipped up my throat, but I swallowed it back down.
Warm. I was getting so warm. Everywhere. Especially down there , between my legs. My breathing rasped as he moved closer. What would he do now? With what pleasures would he torment me? I curled my hands into fists. My body tensed.
He caught my head between his hands, holding it in place. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth. I opened to him.
He tasted sweet, decadent. His kiss scrambled my brains and ignited blazes through my whole body. Huge, raging infernos. Within seconds I was burning, from the inside out. I was scorching. My blood was boiling.
Too hot.
He was right. Pleasure was torment. The worst kind.
I whimpered again. I moaned. I fought the restraints binding my arms and legs. And I struggled to break the kiss. But he wouldn’t stop. His lips, tongue and teeth tortured me. The aching was agonizing, far worse than any beating. It had to stop. I couldn’t take another second.
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. He licked it away. “Mmmm. I see you are learning.”
Cruel bastard.
“Please,” I muttered.
“Ah, so already you beg.” His gaze raked down my body and my breathing grew shallow and fast.
I was learning—quickly. This man was the master of torture. Both the pleasure kind. And the pain.
Wearing a crooked smile, he lifted one index finger. “Perhaps you aren’t as strong as you thought.” He placed that finger on my lip. Then, slowly dragging it down my neck, he added, “How I love to hear your pleas for mercy. They are like the sweetest music in my ears.” Down that finger wandered. I followed it with my eyes as it climbed to the top of my breastbone. Then it inched lower, trailing a path between my breasts before stopping at the base of my breastbone. Because I was breathing so quickly, my chest rose and fell violently. “What do you fear most, esclavo?” That finger took a sudden right and headed straight for my aching nipple. With a flick, he amplified the agony. With a pinch he intensified it even more. And with a slight twist, he made me cry out. It felt like a lightning bolt blasted through me. I was completely at his mercy. And there was nowhere I would rather be. “Your response to my touch is like no aphrodisiac I have ever tasted.”
Powerful, overwhelming need slammed through me. My spine arched, pushing my breast up. Throbbing heat pounded between my legs. I was desperate. For a touch, only one. No, more. Many more. Down there , where the heat was the worst. I needed him to stop this torture before I died.
I whimpered. My fingers unfurled. I pulled at the bindings, wishing I could touch him, wishing I could punish him like he was punishing me.
He angled upright, gazed down at me with those wicked dark eyes. His mouth curved into a naughty grin. “Have you had enough already, esclavo? I haven’t. I warned you. My hunger is unquenchable, especially for you.” He pulled his shirt off, revealing
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