Unbound Surrender (3 page)

He crouched behind her, making her dizzy. He ran a hand across her bare mound. Her eyes closed. She dreamt of this, fantasised about it. She never dared hope his fingers would be on her, and she was oh-so-grateful they were.

“You’re properly shaved.”

She hadn’t dared not be.

“So tell me again you weren’t expecting me to dominate you this evening. In fact you were hoping I would.”

She couldn’t admit the truth, and he would know if she lied. She remained silent, desperate for more of his touch.

She was aware of him pushing to his feet.

“Why are you being punished?” he asked.

She’d always hated this part. He’d always talked to her before spanking her. He wanted to be sure she got the full impact of the lesson. She’d prefer to go someplace deep inside her head, but he rarely allowed that. He wanted her fully present, understanding what he was doing and why he was doing it. But this time, she was not sure she understood his motivation. “Sir,” she said. “I am not certain.”

“Try.” He touched the small of her back, a silent reminder to dip her back.

She was aware, again, of how lewd her position was. All her intimate parts were exposed.

He ran a finger between her labia. She knew he felt her dampness, but he said nothing.

“For running away?”

“Keep going.”

“Uhm…”

He pushed his thumb against her clitoris. She wanted to grind backward, seeking the orgasm that was
just there
… “For coming back unannounced.”

“Anything else?”

“Because you want to?” If he would just move his thumb a bit, maybe back and forth, even in a circle, she could…

He pulled his hand away.

She moaned. She dug her fingers into the upholstery to prevent herself from wantonly thrusting her hips towards him.

“Any other reason?” he asked.

“For always holding back.”

“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“You want…” She bit her lower lip. “You want to break me. I asked you to break me,” she said with realisation. “This is part of it.”

“Good girl.”

Without warning, his belt fell. She cried out. She hadn’t been aware of him taking a step back, hadn’t been prepared for the debilitating sting.

“How many do you deserve?”

One
. One was enough. After being away for so long, not engaging in a scene with anyone in years, she was unprepared for the emotional and physical devastation.

“Jessica?”

Tears stung her eyes. “As many as you determine, Sir.” She remembered that response, at least.

“How many, Jessica?”

She thought backwards. She’d received eight for standard punishment, and once she’d been subject to ten strokes from a cane for being deliberately disobedient. Running away, coming back, surely was much more punishable. “Twelve?” But even as she said it, she doubted she could take anything close to that. Part of her was tempted to push away from the chair, head for the door. She’d wanted him to break her, no doubt he was the only man who could.

He hit her a second time.

She moved her hips from side to side, trying to dissipate the pain.

He landed a third solidly in the exact spot where the first two had fallen. She tightened her buttocks, but before she could force herself to relax, he’d added a fourth and fifth in the same spot.

She knew a huge welt would form there, making it impossible to sit for a few days.

And she also realised he wasn’t exploiting the punishment. He hadn’t varied the distance or the force of the impact.

She was taking his beating because he was pacing it, allowing her to take it.

Without being coached, she dipped her back, held onto the chair again, and turned her toes slightly inward.

“That’s a girl.”

The sixth lash fell on top of the others. She breathed in and then blew out the breath, surrendering by measures.

With the next one, he caught the tender flesh beneath her arse cheeks. The tip of the belt caught her upper thigh in a deliberate sting. She whimpered.

He was punishing her now, in earnest. He’d warmed her up, allowed her to feel some confidence, and now he was undoing it.

She could not endure twelve, if, indeed, that was where he intended to stop.

His next one had an upward motion, and when it landed beneath her buttocks again, she broke position.

Angry, hurting, she ignored all her training. Pushing against the chair for leverage, she stood and whirled to face him.

The implacable set of his body and face made her tremble.

“Your choice,” he said. “You know where the door is. If you stay, your defiance will negate the last stroke, and I’ll add another for good measure.”

“I…”

He didn’t respond. The horrible length of leather dangled from his right hand. He’d rolled back the sleeves of his T-shirt. She saw the tendons and sinew of his forearms, and she knew he was just as capable, or had been at one time, of using that strength for tenderness.

So what was she going to do? Submit? Or flee?

He drummed the fingers of his left hand against his jean-clad thigh. The clock above the mantel ticked ominously.

His midnight-coloured eyes were unreadable, as if he didn’t care one way or the other whether she stayed or went.

Damn it! Why hadn’t she remembered how bad his beatings hurt?

Then she recalled how much his aftercare had soothed everything that ailed her, mentally, as well as physically. That had always made everything worthwhile. She knew there was no guarantee of being back in his arms tonight. In fact, he may very well make her sleep at the foot of his bed, rather than beside him, and she’d deserve it. But even the thought of him placing a kiss on the top her head was enough to compel her to lower her head. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

That sounded more like a threat than a promise. “Will you restrain me?”

“No. You can choose to accept my punishment, or not. I won’t make taking it easier for you.”

She’d expected no less.

Slowly, she resumed her position, fighting the instinct to rub her posterior.

He continued the punishment where he’d left off, landing the next blow precisely on top of the previous one.

“How many is that, Jessica?”

She tried to recount. He knew how much easier it was for her to zone out, and he was having none of it. “Eight.” She thought. “Nine. No. Wait. We had to repeat one.” She swallowed. “Eight?”

           
“And this next one, that will circle your right thigh…?”

           
Dear God. Knowing what to expect was no blessing. “Nine, sir.”

           
When he delivered, she shrieked.

           
“And the next, around your left thigh?”

           
She forced down the lump in her throat. “Ten.” At least she was getting closer.

           
Oh my God!
The tenth wrapped around her thigh and stole her breath.

           
He gave her no warning for the eleventh, hitting both of her thighs simultaneously, on top of the two previous ones.

           
Tears shimmered, but they didn’t fall, and she gnawed on her lower lip, anything to distract herself from the agonising pain.

           
“Put your head on the seat cushion.”

           
Her breath threatened to strangle her. She knew what to expect, and it terrified her.

           
“Do you need me to repeat my order?”

           
“No.”

“No?”

“No, Sir. You don’t need to repeat your order.” She moved slowly, delaying the inevitable.

           
“Now spread your arse cheeks.”

           
This was her biggest test, and they both knew it. As she reached back, then changed her mind and dropped her hands, she knew that he realised what he was demanding of her. He’d never offered the easy way out, and this was no different.

           
Determinedly she pushed her forehead deeper into the cushion, spread her legs a bit wider, then brought her hands behind her to part her buttocks for him.

           
She was tense, nearly on the balls of her feet, in anticipation.

           
Instead of getting it over with, he parted her labia with his thumb and forefinger. “Your clit is swollen.”

           
“Yes, Sir.”

           
“And your pussy is wet.”

           
He slipped a finger inside her. Her internal muscles clenched deliciously. She was seconds away from an orgasm, despite, or maybe because of, her punishment.

           
She pushed back against him, silently begging for more.

           
Her Dom, her ex-husband, her Master, knew what she needed. He inserted a second finger and fucked her hard and deep.

           
“Keep your arse spread,” he said softly, like a lover might.

           
She was delirious. She lost all shame and thrust back as he found her G-spot. “Stephen!”

           
He pulled away his hand.

           
She’d been so close to a climax, to coming hard, coming fast.

           
Before she could fully comprehend, he’d taken a step or two back and he landed a devastating lash straight to her pussy, searing her vulva and swollen clit.

           
She screamed as holy blackness shot through her mind.

           
Then he was there, gathering her close, turning her, lifting her, sweeping her into his arms and holding her close. The pain receded by measures, becoming a dull ache. She leant into him, resting her head on his shoulder, exhausted emotionally and spent physically.

           
Odd, this BDSM stuff. She’d never fully gotten used to it. You intuitively turned towards the one who inflicted the punishment, and there was a connection that transcended anything else.

She realised that as far as beatings went, this one had been fairly mild. It was probably closer to discipline than something truly corrective, but he’d read her perfectly. It had been exactly what she needed. Not too light that she hadn’t been aware of it, and not too intense that she truly couldn’t bear it.

Why had she ever run from him?

Could she truly make amends?

Until now, she hadn’t been aware that she’d even wanted that. But now that she was back in the security of his arms, she didn’t want to leave. “Fuck me?” she asked.

“Jessica. Not now. Not—”

She looked up at him. As always, his eyes were unreadable. “I need you to fuck me.”

Chapter Three

This woman was going to be the death of him.

It had taken him months to accept the reality that she was truly gone. Part of him had expected, irrationally hoped, that she’d come back when he filed the divorce papers. But he hadn’t heard from her.

He’d had other, short-term relationships in the interim, even had a live-in sub for a few weeks. He wouldn’t say he was still hung up on Jessica, but no other woman made his dick take the same notice that she did.

And now that she was back, he realised he had to be very careful to keep himself distant. While he demanded her emotional surrender, he couldn’t, wouldn’t offer his own. Having his heart trampled by the lovely and appealing sub had been more than enough for him.

He carried her from the parlour.

She wanted to be fucked?

Fine.

He wanted to fuck. His cock was hard as a rock. He’d pound her, then chain her to the foot of his bed.

Mrs. Boxley was coming out of the kitchen as he headed for the stairs.

“Are you retiring for the night, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She was grinning. He knew she’d like to see Jessica back in their lives. The older woman had gently chastised him for letting Jessica get away. She didn’t understand that the blonde snuggled against him had cut his heart into neat little slivers. Instead, Mrs. Boxley had told him to travel to Manchester and fetch her back home, bind her, gag her and drag her, if necessary.

Pride would have never permitted that.

He would have expected the protective housekeeper to be glad he’d moved past Jessica, farewell to bad rubbish. But the smile on her face told another story. He’d see to Mrs. Boxley in the morning.

After shooting her a dark glance that only made her grin wider, he carried Jessica up the stairs to the bedroom they’d once shared. He’d carried her over the threshold on the day he’d collared her, then again on their wedding night.