Fuck.

Then he moved behind me and cupped my ass. “Have you been using your plug?”

I waited.

“You may answer.”

“Yes, Master.”

His finger made its way back to the front of me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning.

“I won’t ask you that again,” he said. “From now on, it is your responsibility to prepare your body to accept my cock in any manner I decide to give it to you.” He ran a finger around the rim of my ear. “If I want to fuck your ear, I expect your ear to be ready.” He hooked his finger in my ear and pulled. I kept my head down. “Do you understand? Answer me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He lifted my arms above my head, buckling first one wrist and then the other to the chains at my side. “Do you remember this?” he asked, his warm breath tickling my hair. “From our first weekend?”

Again, I said nothing.

“Very nice, Abigail,” he said. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, for the rest of the evening, or until I tell you differently, you may not speak or vocalize in any way. There are two exceptions—the first being the use of your safe words. You are to use them at any point you feel the need. No repercussions or consequences will ever follow the use of your safe words. Second, when I ask if you are okay, I expect an immediate and honest answer.”

He didn’t wait for a response, of course. I wasn’t to give one. Without warning, his hands slipped back down to where I ached for him. Since my head was lowered, I watched one of his fingers slide inside me, and I bit the inside of my cheek again to keep from moaning.

Shit, his hands felt good.

“How wet you are already.” He pushed deeper and twisted his wrist. Fuck. “Usually, I would taste you myself, but tonight, I feel like sharing.”

He removed himself, and the emptiness was immediate. Before I could think much about it, I felt his slippery finger at my mouth. “Open, Abigail, and taste how ready you are for me.” He trailed his finger around my open lips before easing it inside my mouth.

I’d tasted myself before, out of curiosity, but never so much at one time and never off of Nathaniel’s finger. It felt so depraved, so feral.

Damn, it turned me on.

“Taste how sweet you are,” he said as I licked myself off his finger.

I treated his finger as if it were his cock—running my tongue along it, sucking gently at first. I wanted him. Wanted him inside me. I sucked harder, imagining his cock in my mouth.

You will not release until I give you permission, and I will be very stingy with my permission. His words from the office floated through my mind, and I choked back a moan before it left my mouth. It would be a long night.

“I changed my mind,” he said when I finished cleaning his finger. “I want a taste after all.” He crushed his lips to mine and forced my mouth open. His lips were brutal—powerful and demanding in their quest to taste me.

Damn, I’d have a stroke if he kept that up.

He pulled back and lifted my chin. “Look at me.”

For the first time since he entered the room, I met his eyes—they were steady and green. His tongue ran over his lips, and he smiled. “Every time sweeter than the last.”

I forced my eyes to remain on his even though I wanted to see his chest, to enjoy the sight of his perfect body. But his body was not mine to enjoy, so I kept my eyes locked with his.

He broke our connection first by turning and walking to the table. He put something in his pocket, and I dropped my head as he turned around.

He walked five steps to me; then darkness cloaked my vision.

“Totally at my mercy,” he said in a voice as smooth as the silk scarf covering my eyes.

He stroked my breasts. Long fingers took my nipples and rolled them, pulling and twisting.

Fuck.

“I thought about bringing out the clamps tonight,” he said, flicking the tip of a nipple.

Double fuck.

We had talked about the clamps, though I’d never felt or used them. A small bubble of anticipation swelled in my belly. Nathaniel promised I would like the clamps, that the brief pain would be worth the pleasure they brought.

“Thought about it,” he continued, “but decided on something else.”

Cold metal made its way across my chest. It felt like a prickly pizza cutter. He ran it slowly around one breast and then the other. The sensation felt incredible. He didn’t go near either nipple. Instead he rolled the wheel closer and closer before moving away. Then there were two, each one mirroring the other in its movements. Teasing and taunting, but never hitting exactly where I needed. Closer and closer they went, then retreated once again. They went even closer on the next pass, and I knew I’d combust if he didn’t touch me soon.

And then he did—the wheels ran over my nipples right where I needed relief. It felt so good, I forgot where I was, what we were doing, and I moaned out in pleasure.

“Ahhh.”

He immediately pulled back. “Damn it, Abigail,” he said, taking the scarf from around my eyes. “That’s twice in less than two hours. Now and earlier in my office.” He pulled my hair back so hard I had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You’re making me believe you don’t really want this.”

Tears prickled my eyes. I’d wanted so badly to do everything perfectly this weekend. Instead, I’d already messed up twice—once in his office and once again in his playroom. But the worst, the absolute worst, was knowing I’d disappointed Nathaniel.

I wanted to apologize. To tell him I was sorry and I’d do better. But he’d told me not to speak, and the best thing I could do was obey that command.

“Let’s see,” he said, still looking me in the eyes. “What was the penalty for disobedience during a scene?”

He knew the penalty as well as I did. Probably better. He dragged it out only to make me sweat.

“Ah, yes,” he said, as if remembering. “Number of strokes for disobedience during a scene is at dom’s discretion.”

Dom’s discretion.

Fuck.

What would he decide?

“I could give you twenty.” He ran his hands over my backside. “But that would end all play for tonight, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Hell, no.

He wouldn’t do twenty, would he?

I dropped my eyes and tried hard not to give in to the temptation to look at the whipping bench.

“I gave you three earlier in my office, though,” he mused, “and they obviously did no good.”

My heart beat through the skin of my chest. I felt certain he saw it as well.

“Eight,” he finally said. “I’ll redo the prior three and add five.” He leaned over and whispered, “Next time, I’ll add five more for a total of thirteen. After that it goes to eighteen.” He gave my hair a hard tug. “Trust me. You don’t want eighteen.”

Hell, no, I didn’t want eighteen. I didn’t want the eight I had coming.

He unbuckled my wrists. The tin of salve on the table, ignored. There would be no soothing rubdown for now. “To the bench, Abigail.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I could do this, I told myself as I walked to the bench. We could do this. This was nothing like the last time. He’d explained his negligence in the lack of aftercare last time. And there would be only eight strokes tonight.

I’d make damn sure there weren’t any more.

But as bad as last time had been, it wasn’t the thought of pain that made my steps slow. It was disappointment in myself. Disappointment in my disobedience, but even more so, guilt that my actions forced him to punish me on our first weekend of play. The very first hour of our first weekend.

I settled my body into the smooth groove of the bench, wanting it to be over so we could continue on to more enjoyable pursuits.

He didn’t make me wait. Almost immediately after I dropped into position, he started spanking me with his hand.

Warm-up.

He swiftly smacked my backside with slaps that were harder than his erotic spankings.

“How very disappointed I am to be doing this so soon,” he said.

Yes. That was what hurt the most.

“I had you count in my office.” He picked something up from beside the bench. “But since I told you not to speak or vocalize, I’ll have to count this time.”

The sting of the leather strap came down across my backside.

“One,” he said, voice strong and firm.

Again it came.

“Two.”

Ow.

By five, silent tears ran down my face. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from saying anything.

“Three more,” he said, rubbing where he struck.

“Six,” he said after the next one. I could tell he wasn’t putting as much strength behind the strokes.

Two more. Only two more and we could move on.

“Seven.”

And finally, “Eight.”

I heard him breathing hard behind me, and I blinked furiously to get the tears out of my eyes. He set the strap down, and I listened to his footsteps as he walked away.

Moments later, his hands came back, rubbing something cool and wet over me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

I let out my breath in a shuddering sigh of relief. “Yes, Master.”

His hands continued caressing as he talked. “We discussed this. I hate having to punish you, but I can’t let broken commands slide. You know that.”

Yes, I did. I’d try harder next time.

He moved to the side of the bench and leaned down so his face was level with mine. Ever so gently, he kissed first one cheek and then the other. My heart pounded frantically as his lips drew closer to mine. And then, finally, he kissed my mouth—slow and soft and long.