mind fuzzy to the point he could almost envision Eve in his mind’s eye. The woman in front of him had inky-black hair, but at this point in the evening it started to look red to him.
They all looked like Eve when he hit this place, the wall where pain and pleasure blended perfectly, making him completely euphoric. He closed his eyes, feeling himself sink deeper into the headspace, the fantasy etching itself more clearly in his mind.
If only he had known how much he enjoyed leather and high heels before Eve left. He was certain she would have worn them for him. God, the thought made him harder and he moaned audibly.
“Safe word for me,” she coaxed, the sear of pain tearing over Paul’s shoulder as she whispered in his ear. “You know you want to.”
“No.” Paul groaned, wishing for just a moment his hands weren’t cuffed behind his back because he’d really like to be jerking off right now. “God no,” he whispered, the unwanted image of his childhood popping up without his permission. Eighteen years of pretending and groveling to be released from pain just to please a father who would never be happy with him.
He opened his eyes, seeing Eve again, speaking to her with the voice of a man who trusted and loved her completely. “Please don’t make me safe word. I hate it. I hate it more than anything.”
“What do you want, baby?” Her dark eyes glazed over as she studied him. Crimson lips glistened under the flicker of candlelight as she licked them. Her breath was raspy with desire when she whispered, “You tell me and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Hurt me,” he pleaded, staring at her in desperation, knowing the lust and pleasure were shining in his eyes, as was the promise that he would do anything to please her if she just played along. “Go to the edge.”
She laughed, the sound a little manic. “We’re already at the edge. We go any further and we’ll fall off it.”
“Let’s do that then.” He licked his lips, making his voice seductive on purpose. His gaze was soft, submissive, which appealed to any Domme as aggressive as the one in front of him. “Go over the edge with me. Please, I’m begging you.”
She glanced toward the open door, hesitance showing on her face. “I dunno, I cut you any deeper and—”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m tough, a lot tougher than all those other pussies out there.”
“Yeah, you are,” she said breathily as her gaze ran over him once more. “You are so sexy, do you know that? So fucking sexy. I get wet just thinking about playing with you.”
“I’ll be sexy for you.” He started to reach for her when the sharp stab between his shoulders reminded Paul his hands were bound behind his back. “Please.”
“Okay,” she said, her smile bright, her eyes heavy with lust as she turned to go close the door.
Paul dropped his head when she came back to him, staring down at the expensive Italian tile in one of Arty’s many guest rooms. It was hard enough to sink in past the leather pants he was wearing and he loved it for the unforgiving impressions it dug into his knees.
He loved the fiery sear of pain even more and he dropped his head lower, his chin touching his chest in a show of deep submission. His groan was guttural when she started hurting him in earnest, the cool, smooth feeling of steel mixing with the warm slide of blood as she cut him. He waited all week for this. He was responsible and worked hard with the promise of an escape, something to ease the tension and stress his life heaped on him. Starting lineup was a huge accomplishment, mix that with steady straight A’s and he deserved the indulgence.
He didn’t give a shit about hiding wounds. He’d been doing that his entire life. He didn’t even care that Danny was starting to suspect something. The subspace claimed every worry, every fear. It let him exist on a plain where it was okay to enjoy the pain. He didn’t have to hide a pain tolerance that had yet to
They all looked like Eve when he hit this place, the wall where pain and pleasure blended perfectly, making him completely euphoric. He closed his eyes, feeling himself sink deeper into the headspace, the fantasy etching itself more clearly in his mind.
If only he had known how much he enjoyed leather and high heels before Eve left. He was certain she would have worn them for him. God, the thought made him harder and he moaned audibly.
“Safe word for me,” she coaxed, the sear of pain tearing over Paul’s shoulder as she whispered in his ear. “You know you want to.”
“No.” Paul groaned, wishing for just a moment his hands weren’t cuffed behind his back because he’d really like to be jerking off right now. “God no,” he whispered, the unwanted image of his childhood popping up without his permission. Eighteen years of pretending and groveling to be released from pain just to please a father who would never be happy with him.
He opened his eyes, seeing Eve again, speaking to her with the voice of a man who trusted and loved her completely. “Please don’t make me safe word. I hate it. I hate it more than anything.”
“What do you want, baby?” Her dark eyes glazed over as she studied him. Crimson lips glistened under the flicker of candlelight as she licked them. Her breath was raspy with desire when she whispered, “You tell me and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Hurt me,” he pleaded, staring at her in desperation, knowing the lust and pleasure were shining in his eyes, as was the promise that he would do anything to please her if she just played along. “Go to the edge.”
She laughed, the sound a little manic. “We’re already at the edge. We go any further and we’ll fall off it.”
“Let’s do that then.” He licked his lips, making his voice seductive on purpose. His gaze was soft, submissive, which appealed to any Domme as aggressive as the one in front of him. “Go over the edge with me. Please, I’m begging you.”
She glanced toward the open door, hesitance showing on her face. “I dunno, I cut you any deeper and—”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m tough, a lot tougher than all those other pussies out there.”
“Yeah, you are,” she said breathily as her gaze ran over him once more. “You are so sexy, do you know that? So fucking sexy. I get wet just thinking about playing with you.”
“I’ll be sexy for you.” He started to reach for her when the sharp stab between his shoulders reminded Paul his hands were bound behind his back. “Please.”
“Okay,” she said, her smile bright, her eyes heavy with lust as she turned to go close the door.
Paul dropped his head when she came back to him, staring down at the expensive Italian tile in one of Arty’s many guest rooms. It was hard enough to sink in past the leather pants he was wearing and he loved it for the unforgiving impressions it dug into his knees.
He loved the fiery sear of pain even more and he dropped his head lower, his chin touching his chest in a show of deep submission. His groan was guttural when she started hurting him in earnest, the cool, smooth feeling of steel mixing with the warm slide of blood as she cut him. He waited all week for this. He was responsible and worked hard with the promise of an escape, something to ease the tension and stress his life heaped on him. Starting lineup was a huge accomplishment, mix that with steady straight A’s and he deserved the indulgence.
He didn’t give a shit about hiding wounds. He’d been doing that his entire life. He didn’t even care that Danny was starting to suspect something. The subspace claimed every worry, every fear. It let him exist on a plain where it was okay to enjoy the pain. He didn’t have to hide a pain tolerance that had yet to
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