Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland

tense. It took effort, but he forced his fists to unclench.
    Until that time, she was his. Enjoy the moment . “Time for your punishment, Anelda.”
    She sat up straight, her gaze narrowed on his face. He raised his eyebrows, and she caught the hint, dropping her focus to her bare feet.
    “I’ll let you choose the instrument of your punishment.”
    “But—” She rattled the cuffs. He gave her a wicked smile and reveled in the way her hazel eyes darkened.
    She tightened her lips and rose unsteadily to her feet. When she approached the coffee table, he suppressed a grin as she made her choice slowly, with purpose. She chose the leather flogger, not realizing, perhaps, that it was vastly different and maybe more painful than the other two.
    Gracefully, she bit the handle and straightened up. With a little flourish, she stuck her chin out until he took the flogger, then glared at him briefly before she dropped her gaze to the floor.
    “Why did you pick this one, Anelda?” he asked her.
    When she shrugged, he used his open hand to swat her ass. She jerked and then froze. “I-I thought it would…give me the right sensation.”
    “And what sensation is that?” he asked. Had she thought about it? Had she fantasized?
    “The rubber strands would be too stingy. My butt is sore.” She cleared her throat and shot a nervous glance at his face. “The suede would be too soft. The leather, I thought, would be in between.”
    “Very good.” He pulled out one of the chairs from the table by the window. Then he unlocked the cuffs. “Bend over the chair.”
    She rubbed her wrists and frowned. “How?”
    “I want your breasts to hang over the edge. I want your knees on the floor. I want your ass in the air.” He tried to breathe normally, afraid he’d lose control just from describing the position he wanted.
    And he required her to do it all willingly. He wasn’t interested in a partner he could manhandle and force into his will. He wanted her eager, hungry. As he waited, he noted that she became more agitated.
    “Well?” He put a sharp edge on his tone, and she jumped.
    She met his gaze, her eyes wide. “Will you catch me if I fall?”
    There was more to that question than the words, and he knew it. She wanted to know if he was going to keep her safe, if she was more than a body with a blank canvas on which he would paint his own desires. Could he address both the spoken and unspoken question she asked? He wanted to write off his need to possess her as a trick of sexual arousal, but he didn’t seem to be able to do it. He needed more from her, something that was permanent, involving a collar and late dinners and talking.
    Where the fuck did that come from?
    It should be just sex, just kinky, mindless sex, not this deluge of his emotional shit.
    To answer her, he moved behind her, put his hands on her hips, and placed his lips on the back of her neck. He used his weight to bend her over the chair, and the handle of the flogger dug into his palm as he pressed her down. She wobbled, unable to keep her balance, and he steadied her. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she twisted slightly to increase their closeness, to slide her body against him.
    When she was in position, he gently backed away and flicked the flogger out. “I like when you count. Count them, Anelda.”
    He swung his arm, not giving her full power but making those strands spread over her ass. She jerked forward, and her voice was hoarse. “One.”
    Though he wanted to see the marks on her skin, he refrained from lifting her dress. She liked it when her ass was bare. There was plenty of time for that later. His next strike was harder. She’d have to learn to breathe. “Two,” she choked out.
    “Breathe through it, Anelda.”
    “How many, Sir?” she finally asked. He’d wondered why she hadn’t questioned him sooner.
    “As many as I want,” he answered in a hard tone.
    When he struck her again, she cried out, and it took her a minute to