Page 30 of His Dark Cravings

He bends my leg so that my calf kisses the back of my thigh and uses the rope to secure my limb in that position. I can't help the small noise that escapes my throat as the rough fiber scrapes my skin. I close my eyes, not wanting to see myself in such a humiliating position. By the time he gets started on securing my other leg in the same way, I'm starting to tremble.

“Shh, you’re doing well,” he soothes, his fingers gentle as they brush a stray lock of hair from my face. “Just relax and feel.”

I can’t relax. My body is taut as a bowstring, every nerve ending screaming for release. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and it only gets worse as he keeps going. Now he's taking a thinner, shorter rope and using it to attach the bindings on my upper arm to the bindings around my lower limb, left matched with left, right matched with right. When the rope is as taut as I feel, my legs are propped open, unable to close, and my arms are bound tightly behind my back. The position is uncomfortable, my muscles protesting. Xavier looks down at me as he stands and admires his work.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Everly,” he murmurs, his hand roaming over my chest, over the curve of my breasts. “So open, so willing.”

I want to protest that I’m not willing, that this isn’t what I agreed to, but the words die in my throat as his fingers close around my nipple, giving it a gentle tug. A bolt of pleasure shoots straight between my legs, and I have to bite my lip to suppress a moan.

“That’s it, let go,” he says, his voice a low purr. “Feel how your body responds. There’s no shame in it.”

I can’t help but feel shame. This is so far beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, so far beyond what I’d imagined. I’m tied up like some sort of gift, presented for his pleasure, and I can’t deny that I want to know what comes next, even as a part of me rebels against it.

“Lila,” he says, his voice suddenly hard, “the flogger.”

My eyes fly open, my heart pounding. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Lila moves into my field of vision. She’s holding a flogger, the tails hanging limply.

“Sir?” she asks coyly.

“Five strokes,” he says, his eyes fixed on me. “Hard enough to sting, but not to mark.”

My breath catches in my throat. Why is Lila the one to do it? Lila steps closer, and the first stroke falls.

It’s a sharp crack, and I feel the bite of the tails against my skin, a searing line of fire across my chest. I cry out, the sound torn from my throat, and I can’t help the way my body jerks, straining against the ropes.

“Hold still,” Xavier commands. “You can take it.”

The second stroke falls, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out again. The pain is intense, but it’s quickly followed by a rush of pleasure, a wave of heat that spreads through my body. I’m aware of every inch of my skin, every place where the rope touches me.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re doing so well.”

The next three strokes fall in quick succession, a blur of pain and pleasure that leaves me breathless, my body trembling. I’m dimly aware of Lila’s eyes on me, of Xavier’s hand on my thigh, but I can’t focus on anything except the feeling.

It’s too much—and not nearly enough.

“That's it, Everly,” Xavier says, his voice hoarse. “You're so beautiful like this.”

I want to respond, to tell him how I’m feeling, but I can’t find the words. My body is on fire, every nerve ending alight, and I’m dimly aware that I’m dripping wet, my core throbbing with need. Is it because I'm spread open so widely?

“Now,” he says, his voice hard again, “the crop.”

This time I gasp. The crop. I’ve seen it hanging up, the thin cruel-looking instrument, and I know it’s going to hurt. Am I being punished? Why am I being made to endure this?

And why the fuck does Lila have to be the one to see me like this?

Lila moves again, the flogger discarded, and now she’s holding the crop, the leather handle dark against her pale skin.

“Five strokes,” Xavier says, his eyes fixed on me. “Harder this time. I want to see marks.”

My breath comes in short gasps as Lila raises the crop, her eyes locked on mine. I can see the concentration on her face, the way she’s focusing, and I know this is going to hurt like hell.

The first stroke falls, a sharp crack that makes me cry out. It’s a searing shock of pain, and I can feel the burn, the way the skin is already angry and raised.

“Hold still,” Xavier barks. “You can take more.”

Each strike lands squarely on my skin. The first two land on my clothed breasts, the leather biting through the thin cotton of my tank top. I gasp, sharp intakes of breath that catch in my throat alongside strangled whimpers. My nipples are already sensitive from the flogger, but now this new sensation sends jolts of agony through me.

Then the crop finds its mark on my inner thighs—bare thin skin. The pain is intense, a searing fire that makes me arch my back, my hips bucking involuntarily against the ropes. Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. My breath is coming in a ragged rhythm that mirrors the frantic beat of my heart. But I can’t do anything to stop it. My muscles are bunching, every fiber screaming in protest. The pain is utterly terrifying—and exquisite.

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