Page 165 of Bound By Her

He barely had time to react before her knee came down hard between his shoulder blades. The knife back at his throat, pressing just hard enough to make his pulse jump beneath the blade.

“Say the word, and we’re done. But know this—if you choose to stay, if you choose to trust…”

The tip of the blade shifted, hovering dangerously close to the hollow of his throat. A place where even the smallest mistake could mean death.

“Then you’re choosing to stay in a room with a woman who is completely unhinged. Who was just brutally attacked by a core family member. Who has told you she doesn’t want to play. Who hates men, right? Who shouldn’t be Dom’ing anyone.”

Her voice was poison-laced silk, wrapping around him, suffocating him in choices.

“That’s who you’re choosing to stay with.”

Bryson squeezed his eyes shut. Praying he wasn’t making a mistake.

“I trust you,” he whispered.

And to his surprise, he meant it.

His body responding before his mind could catch up. A slow exhale slipped from his lips. His muscles relaxed beneath her.

She wasn’t going to hurt him.

She’d had ample opportunities. Kaydon was right. With her, they usually left more satisfied.

She hissed above him.

The first blow stole his breath, the leather biting into his ass with a sting that sent a shockwave of heat through him. Bryson bit down hard, tasting blood. The next strike came faster. And the next. And the next.

She didn’t hold back.

Floggers were deceiving. They could be soft, sensual, teasing. This was not that.

His ass, his thighs, his shoulders—each blow adding to the fire. The sharp sting of each strike faded into something worse—a slow, pulsing ache that settled deep in his bones.

His body fought to protect itself, but his mind…

His mind begged for more.

A muffled groan slipped from his lips, a battle cry against the pleasure creeping into the pain.

And fuck, he hated that he couldn’t see her.

That was the real torture.

The rhythm found them both.

His body pushed back into the strikes, unbidden, needing. His cock screamed for relief, humping against the mattress with no shame. He barely recognized himself.

But he recognized her.

She was freeing herself.

And he wanted to give it to her.

Wanted her to take all of it.

Leather rained down on his skin, the bite sharper, deeper. He knew she’d broken skin. And still—he arched into it, silently pleading for more.

His ankle restraints clinked, and the room spun as he was flipped onto his back.

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