Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
She drops it back down to her side.
“Stay still,” I command. “And stay quiet, as well. The only thing you’re allowed to say is your safe word, if you need it.”
She nods.
She understands.
And so do I.
I understand Skye so much better than the last time we were here together.
I understand myself much better as well.
What goes on in this room is my choice, not hers. Her choice is whether to consent.
I move away from the table. When I return, I pick up the flogger once more and whip it across her breasts.
She gasps.
I gasp as well, and my cock strains. “I brought a blush to your tits. So beautiful.”
Her nipples are straining, having grown even harder from the flogger.
I bring it across her breasts again, and then once more.
Then I whip her abdomen softly. Then harder. Harder still.
Until I come to her clit.
It’s hard and straining. I can tell she wants to lift her hips.
But she’s bound.
Bound only by my command, but my will is stronger than the mightiest rope in Skye’s mind.
What a fucking turn-on.
I’m so hard. So ready.
I hold the flogger in my hand—an extension of myself. The leather strands weave their way into my blood and breath. A weapon of pleasure, not pain.
I tease her with the flogger, trailing it ever so lightly over her clit.
She’s ready to explode. I can tell by the way her body tenses, the slight quiver in her legs. Her breath has grown shallow and quick, trembling as it leaves her parted lips. I can almost taste her anticipation, thick in the air between us.
I tease her slowly. Each stroke is deliberate, leather on bare skin as we both teeter on the edge. The rustic scent of leather and raw desire fills the room.
I inhale deeply. Savor the fragrance of Skye and what I’m doing to her.
She jerks under the flogger. With each whip her body becomes more flushed and beautiful.
Yes. She’s ready. Ready for something special. Something she asked for.
And this time, despite my past, I can give it to her.
I turn from her for a moment and grab a red taper candle out of a drawer. Then I turn back her.
“Soy wax,” I say. “It burns cooler than paraffin. I can’t risk burning your beautiful skin.”
I hand the candle to her then. She grasps it tightly.
I pull out a match. “I could use a lighter, but I prefer matches.”
It’s the wood. Part of nature, rather than a manmade lighter. I strike it and then light the candle.
“Watch the flame,” I say. “Let it hypnotize you as you hold it.”
She brings the candle in front of her and inhales the aroma of the lit match, the sweetness of the burning wax. The small flame grows, flickering in a discordant rhythm. She stares at its orange warmth, at the red wax beginning to melt.
And I watch as she relaxes, her body still rosy from the flogging.
After a few minutes, I take the candle from her and tip it, so a drop of wax hits the inside of my forearm. It’s warm. Hot even. But not scalding. It’s perfect.
She opens her mouth, but I regard her sternly.
“I’m testing the wax, Skye. I’ll never put something on your body that I wouldn’t put on my own. It’s my duty to protect you. Always.”
Always.
Her safe word.
Except it’s so much more than a safe word to me.
I was so distraught when I couldn’t protect her from the Reardons. So upset that I was ready to leave her rather than have her in harm’s way.
Does she now understand my need to protect her? To never let her down? To keep her safe? Always?
I test the wax once more, watching it harden on my forearm. I nod. “It’s ready.”
Her body beckons like an artist’s canvas.
What shall I paint first?
I hold the candle over her, knowing the anticipation is driving her wild.
I tilt the candle and let the wax drip on the top of one breast. She gasps at the burn but then softens. The wax meanders for a few seconds before beginning to harden.
I tip the candle once more, and another drop drizzles onto her areola.
Her nipple hardens as the areola shrinks around it. The red hue of the wax makes her nipple look painted.
Painted red.
And it’s fucking hot, in more ways than one.
My cock is ready to explode as her hips rise.
Yes, I told her to stay still, but I don’t admonish her.
Instead, I groan.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say as I drip more wax over her breasts and nipples. “God, I didn’t know how hot this would be.”
She sighs.
More drips, the flaming hotness melting against her and then cooling quickly into abstract shapes, not one the same.
I trail the candle lower.
Her hard clit is so tempting. So beautiful.
I could easily pour hot wax onto it. And she’ll let me. She trusts me.