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Excerpt

He took her hand, the strength of his grip making it clear she had no choice in the matter.

“I know just the place for you. This way.”

Her heart raced as he led her across the dungeon, past endless types of spanking benches and bondage tables, stockades and pillories to twist subs into a myriad of positions, and cages of different sizes. Various tables and cabinets filled each section of the dungeon, stocked with every size, shape, color, and type of spanking, penetrating, restraining, and vibrating implement imaginable. Good God, this place had more toys than even the best sex stores.

When Rafe finally came to a halt, they stood in front of a black metal Saint Andrew’s cross with matching padding. It towered over both of them, with deep crimson nylon cuffs dangling from four metal rings screwed into the beams. Rafe got to work moving the top two rings, screwing them back in at the highest possible position.

“Let’s see if this is tall enough to stretch you out,” he said, giving her long legs an appreciative leer.

Blushing with pleasure, Nell stepped forward, letting him guide her into position facing the cross. It stood at a slight angle, so she had no choice but to lean all her weight against it.

Rafe strapped her arms in first, letting loose a low growl of pleasure when she had to fully extend them to reach the wrist cuffs. He hurried to cuff her ankles to the lower corners, then stepped back to survey his work. “Perfect. This cross was made for you.”

Another blush heating her skin, Nell closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Sir.” She couldn’t imagine Micah or Brian ever saying something so kind to her. It made her feel more beautiful than she had in years.

Rafe moved up behind her, close enough for his breath to tickle the side of her neck. He gripped her ass, kneading it with his fingers, spreading her cheeks wide. “How long has it been since your last real spanking?” he asked, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Almost thirteen months, Sir.” That’s when she finally did it—packed her single bag and escaped from Micah for good.

“Mmm,” he said, his fingers digging even harder into her flesh. “Such a long time. Your ass is going to be so soft and supple under my belt.”

Nell’s breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. She fucking loved the feel of leather biting into her skin. His T-shirt had hidden his belt from her view thus far, but she imagined what it would look like in his hand—a wide strip of worn leather with a gleaming silver buckle, doubled over in his fist. A moan slipped out before she could stop it.

“Does that excite you?” Rafe asked, one hand sliding lower, slipping into her wet folds. He pumped two fingers into her, then stopped. “That wasn’t rhetorical, little girl.”

“Yes.” The single word rushed out on a harsh exhale.

His fingers resumed their pumping motion. “What about it?”

“The pain,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “But not only that. It’s also that you want to give it to me. That it excites you when I’m a good girl and let you hurt me.”

Rafe’s other hand slipped around to her front, sliding between her pelvis and the Saint Andrew’s cross. It was only a moment before he found her clit again, rubbing it with more pressure than he had upstairs.

“Please, Sir,” she said, her breaths coming faster and faster with each passing moment, every muscle in her body taut. “Please, please, please.”

Both hands sped up, rubbing and finger fucking her until she couldn’t think straight, until she was about to tumble off the edge. Any . . . second . . .

That’s when he pulled away.

Nell’s cry was more than a little indignant.

“Don’t worry.” She didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking. “I’ll let you come before the night is out.”

Before the night is out? It was six thirty, if that. How long was he going to keep her on edge like this?

But she knew for sure it would only take longer if she voiced her objection. Hoping for a point or two in her favor, she forced out a polite, “Thank you, Sir,” instead.

Chuckling darkly, he ran fingertips slick with her own moisture down her sides. The wet trails cooled as he gripped her hips, making her shiver. “Don’t think you can sweet talk me into letting you come sooner. You’ll get your pleasure when and only when I choose to give it to you, understand?”

God-fucking-damn, she hadn’t been this turned on in years. Not since early in her relationship with Micah—before he’d let her see the real him. But there was also a fear that hadn’t existed twelve years ago.

She found herself pulling on the cuffs, checking them for possible weaknesses. It took every bit of self-control she had to be still again. He’s not Micah. Mistress Freya trusts him. He’s not Micah. “Yes, Sir.” Her voice shook. She couldn’t help it. “I understand.”

“Good girl.” He stepped away from her, leaving her feeling deserted and exposed. Her heart pounded so hard, she could feel her blood rushing through her veins, making her a little lightheaded.

Butterfly.

The safeword fluttered right there on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t fucking ready for this. Maybe she’d never be ready again.

But then the belt cracked against her skin, the sound so loud she jolted more from that than the pain. The initial burn dulled into a delicious throb after only a few seconds.

Tears sprang to her eyes—not because it hurt too much, but from sheer relief. It had been so fucking long since someone hurt her with her needs in mind instead of his, and by God it felt good.

The belt came down again, even harder this time, and her cry was one of ecstasy. This wasn’t Micah. Everything felt different this time. All the scenes she loved between Jasper and Penny in Valhalla flashed through her mind. She could do this. She relaxed against the Saint Andrew’s cross as she waited for the next stroke.

“That’s my girl,” Rafe murmured in her ear, his voice low and rough. Only then did the spanking begin properly.

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About the Author

Bay Sinclair is the author of ultra high-heat romance with broken girls, sexy Doms, and lots of heart. She writes contemporary romance —though she was one credit away from a history minor in college, and historical romances hold a special place in her heart. When she isn’t writing, she’s an avid foodie in search of the next great culinary adventure, and she drinks entirely too much green tea.

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