It's the desire you've never voiced.
Because you wonder if it really is.... BETTER WHEN IT HURTS.
Feel the tease, in another excerpt from Skye Warren.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The whistle of a belt coming off
follows me into Blue’s bedroom. My breath stutters in my chest. I hear the
threat of the movement, the speed and power behind it. It’s more than a man
getting undressed.
There’s a hundred ways a belt can
be used to hurt me. I know them well.
I turn my head to the side,
addressing him but showing deference too. It’s an instinct now. It’s survival.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“I’d rather show you,” he says,
approaching me, prowling around me.
I don’t want him to hit me with
that belt. Not because I can’t take the pain. I know I can, because I’ve done
it before. I don’t want him to hit me because I might start hating him.
“Wait,” I say.
He doesn’t wait. One hand takes
my wrist. Standing behind me, he leans close. “What do you think I’ll do with
this? Make your pretty skin all red? Make you cry?”
I tense, twisting my arm. It only
hurts me, and I’m still held tight. “Don’t.”
“I’m going to do both of those
things before we’re done here, Lola.” He pauses, loosening his grip slightly.
“But I’m not going to whip you with this.”
There’s only a second where I can
feel relieved before I feel him drawing my other hand behind me. It’s a mistake
to relax around him. Whatever I’m thinking, he’s doing something different.
However much I brace myself, it’s still going to hurt.
He wraps the soft leather around
my wrists, binding them together behind my back. It pushes my breasts out in
front of me. Cool air brushes over my skin, tightening my nipples.
There’s weakness in this pose,
being held, being open.
And there’s strength too, the
pride of being wanted, the power of desire.
“On your knees,” he says so
softly I almost don’t hear him.
I don’t know what he’s thinking.
Whether he sees me as an object he can use or as an enemy he can conquer. I’m a
little off balance, lilting to the side as I sink to the carpet. His hands cup
my arms, helping me down, guiding my gently. It feels more like worship than
anger, more like kindness than cruelty.
At least until the sharp sound of
his zipper rips through the air.
His voice follows. “Candy doesn’t
think I’ll hurt you.”
I shiver at the foreboding
underneath the words. “Yes.”
He undresses slowly,
methodically, exposing rough skin and dark hair and a thick, jutting cock.
I have seen his cock before, but
only in the dark, holding it in my fist while I jerked him off, shadows and
motion. Now I see the skin like the dark side of a peach, almost the color of a
bruise. I see the curve of a vein underneath. I see the head of his cock, fat
and proud and already glistening at the tip.
I see everything clearly because
the saturated late-afternoon light still streams through his window. Our hours
are all backward and twisted. Where another woman would do this at midnight,
would expose her shame to the moon, mine comes open at five o’clock.
“She thinks you’re safe with me
because I protect the other girls.” He approaches me, his cock near my face,
his eyes looking down on me. “I even protect you.”
I choke out the words. “Because
only you get to touch me.”
He nods approvingly. Candy
doesn’t understand, he means. I understand. He’s showing me that we’re together
on this, like some perverted joint mission where I agree to be hurt. And
haven’t I? I showed up here of my own free will. Maybe I do want what’s coming
to me.
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