Page 104 of At Her Pleasure

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cyn knew the moment the sensation moved from heat to burn, and watched his muscles tighten against the very strong desire to pull away. Only to find he couldn’t. The straps wouldn’t let him. That awareness would combine with the pain, adding fight-or-flight adrenaline.

He wasn’t a runner. The initial flinching turned into an embrace of the pain, him pushing against it, lips curled back against his teeth, daring it to make him reject his Mistress’s desire.

Her body was damp, tight as a cable, quivering.

The shudder through his body became more tectonic, and the first gasp escaped his lips. His teeth clamped down on the bit. Though he’d tried to reject it, she’d been warned some subs could bite down on their tongues during this. He’d already proven there was a reason for her to protect his tongue. She would be using it again before long.

She didn’t move the pipe, holding it as the brain became convinced she was burning him to the bone, his skin on fire. She saw the knowledge in his eyes, he knew that wasn’t happening, but the pain…

Oh, how it felt to watch the pain, feel it channel out of her and into him, sharing it like the same closed system that was keeping the water hot.

He groaned, body rocking what little it was allowed. She leaned forward and started playing her mouth over his. Teasing little licks around the bit, a nip of the top lip, then the bottom. She wanted his mouth free, but she wasn’t risking his tongue. Or him biting her and drawing blood.

That was her job.

As the groan became a curse, then a cry, she absorbed the heat of that erratic breath, the sound into herself, and fed on it. “It hurts so much, baby,” she breathed against him. “I love how much it hurts you. I want to fuck you one day while doing this.”

The hoarse scream erupted against her lips and tongue, the moistness of her mouth. And still she held the pipe in place. He wouldn’t plead, wouldn’t tell her to stop. She knew he wouldn’t, which was why this worked, because the darkness couldn’t have her, couldn’t take her past what his body could physically endure.

People could be broken by mindfucks, which was why she’d told him upfront he wasn’t being catastrophically burned, even as it felt exactly like he was. If she fucked with his head, it would be for different reasons. Not that. As she’d told him, this was about pain, not fear.

At last she lifted the copper tube, noting the U-shaped angry red mark on his flesh before she threaded the pipe beneath the bench and laid it against his upper abdomen, a diagonal line a few inches over his cock.

His eyes snapped up to her. He hadn’t realized she’d do it again, in a different place. “I might do this all night,” she told him.

That was a mind fuck, a card she played at the right time, because now he broke her heart, drawing her in, winning her over completely. The wildness in his eyes, the curl in his lips, the mix of oh fucking hell and oh God and whatever she wants, that’s what I want, came together in one delicious storm in his expression.

She cupped the back of his head, made a calculated choice and unlatched the bit, letting it drop away. He knew what to expect now. He might bite his own tongue, but not enough to impede what could serve her. She was equally certain he’d use his formidable will to override any reaction that would damage her mouth, lips or tongue.

She kissed him as he groaned, snarled, cursed and then screamed again when the heat reached that searing level. As she stroked his hair, she kept telling him, against his lips, “Give me what I want, Mick.”

He was nodding, accepting the pain, fighting his mind, giving it all to her. When she once again lifted it, she stood up and laid the pipe on his back, on the inside of his right shoulder blade, parallel to the X mark. As she did, she bent close enough to bring her nipple to his mouth.

“Kiss it,” she whispered. “Gently.”

He obeyed, dialing back his frenzied reaction. The teasing tickle of his lips was marked by a strained tremble that sent a thrill through her. She kissed the crown of his head, telling him he belonged to her. She had him.

She was his Mistress.

She brought him once again to where he lost the battle to roar out from the pain, then she lifted the pipe away. This time she dropped it into the metal bucket she’d put next to the bench. She unbuckled the strap holding his legs, and moved to his side. Putting her other arm around him, she freed the straps holding him to the bench one-handed, preparing to control his slump away from it.

Instead he half-lunged at her. His knees hit the floor as he wrapped one arm around her hips, the other around her back. He bit her breast and the skin over her rib, like Adam paying homage to the part of him that had been given to Eve, connecting them forever. He licked it, kissed her, held her in arms so strong the grip hurt.

His teeth left marks on her breast, his fingers bruising her flesh. But she could handle pain as well as he could. There was a reason they mashed up the terms like a celebrity couple. Sadomasochist.

“Baby, it’s all right. Level out. You’re a little crazy. Don’t make me regret freeing you. You’re a guest in my home. Don’t be impolite.”

That stream of quiet nonsense was intended to bring him back to himself. She was still digesting what he’d told her about his life, but one thing was clear. He’d developed a phenomenal degree of self-control to neutralize his reactions to the horrible things he saw.

On the flip side, extremes in a secure BDSM session could unlock things he didn’t trust himself to let loose in any other part of his life. He’d proven that in the Pit, but this time she was more prepared for it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know that.

Mick shoved away from her, backpedaled to the wall and hit it hard. The wall shuddered, the tools on the back of the door vibrating.

“Don’t come close. Don’t.”