Page 55 of Dare to Love Again

Lightly, he flicked the tails over her backside. Through her dress, it made an unsatisfying dull sound. Wanting more, he bunched the material at her waist. Now the suede thwapped crisply against her skin.

As a hum rose from Esme’s closed lips, a murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. He repeated the strokes for a ten count then released his hold and moved around her. As the material slithered back down to cover her ass, the murmur turned to disappointment from the growing group of spectators.

Word was out the ice princess was in chains. The fools didn’t understand how hot Esme burned. They soon would.

Coming to a stop in front of her, he sent the tails across her thighs. With three subsequent blows, he introduced pinkness as he increased the intensity, moving higher each time. He skipped the obvious next step and applied the flogger to her hips, up her belly, and below the curves of her upraised breasts, watching as her body swayed, leaning into each stroke, not shying away.

Damn, she was exquisite, and her dress was remarkable because, through all of this, it stayed in place.

“Half turn.”

As she moved, she bit her lip, and he could tell she was holding back.

He caught her chin in his hand. “No, Esme,” he commanded. “I want to hear the sounds of both your pleasure and pain. Honest responses. Like the other night, you’ll give it all to me.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice ragged, along with her breathing.

He gave her a moment.

“No, please,” she cried. “Don’t stop. I can take more.”

“Good to know, but the decision isn’t yours. It ends when I decide unless you say the word. What’s your safeword, Esme?”

“Red, sir, but I don’t want to use it.”

“For both our sakes, I sure as hell hope not. You’re beautiful under the lash. But I hadn’t planned to stop, only to give you a moment to catch your breath.” He leaned in, brushing a kiss over her shoulder then licking up the side of her neck until his lips were close to her ear. “Guess what?”

“What, Master Finn?” she asked in a broken whisper.

“Your moment’s up.”

Sending his lash into motion again, he circled her rather than making her turn. The suede tails swiped over what little her dress covered, except her bottom. There, the exhibitionist in him couldn’t resist teasing her and the audience by lifting the fabric and applying the lash repeatedly. Soon her skin matched the pale-pink fabric, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

After about fifteen minutes of this sensual torture, he stopped, tucked the flogger handle into his back pocket, and slid an arm around her waist. He pulled up her dress again, this time in front, and slipped his hand between her thighs. She was slick with desire, allowing his fingers to slide easily through her folds even with her ankle restraints linked and her thighs pressed together. He had no trouble locating her clit, which was standing up in front, as though begging for his touch.

His lovely submissive let him know he’d hit the spot by releasing a low throaty moan. He was happy to give her more, playing there for several moments while she leaned into him. Fingers wet with her juices, he delved deeper and felt the warm grip of her pussy when he slid two fingers up inside her. The chains overhead clanked as she arched forward, seeking more of his intimate touch.

A low moan rose from her throat as her head rolled to the side, falling heavy against her raised arms. Her muscles rippled around his fingers, signaling her impending climax.

“Not yet, baby.”

“Please, master, it’s been so long.”

“Soon, Esme. When I say.”

She whimpered when he withdrew his hand but nodded, fucking gorgeous in her submission. He ached to have her, his dick wedged so hard against his fly, he expected the buttons to pop off at any moment. He tormented himself as much as he did his submissive, but she had to learn to trust him, as much as obey.

Circling her once again, he resumed with the flogger, applying the suede tails both in the front and in the back. With the next stroke on her belly, the stubborn dress finally moved, slipping down her breast, but the miracle fabric stopped at the edge of her areola.

A hum of frustration rippled through the crowd. He didn’t blame them. He laid the threads lightly across her mound and she arched sharply forward, hips thrusting, but the damn dress didn’t budge, clinging with a will of its own.

Angling his flogger upward with a circular sweep, he teased her breasts with just the ends. No way would it come out the victor with that maneuver.

He was wrong.

Enough was enough.

Keiran reversed his motion and brought the lash down with a slow drag down her chest. The eighteen-inch threads trailing over her quivering breast finally prevailed, exposing a tempting pink tip atop a ripe, milky mound.

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