Page 75 of Redemption

“No biting,” he admonishes sternly. “I’ll tame you again, Abigail. It will be my pleasure.”

Wanton arousal wets my thighs, and my clit pulses madly against his erection. It takes all my willpower to prevent myself from rubbing against him like a needy kitten.

He plucks at my nipples, drawing a reluctant moan from my chest. His deft fingers feel so decadent, tormenting the tight peaks with pain that blossoms into forbidden pleasure.

I throw my head back on a sharp cry when he captures them in the clamps. They bite down on my sensitive nipples, and I squirm in the dirt. I must be getting filthy, but he wants me this way: dirty and degraded. I never knew how the humiliation could make me burn for him.

He stares down into my eyes and twists the screws on the clamps, adjusting them until they’re tiny vises on my throbbing nipples.

When he’s satisfied with my squeak of discomfort, he relents and flicks the bells that are draped between my breasts on the leather cord. The melodic jingle mingles with his cruel laugh.

His hands close around my shoulders, and he drags me upright. With my hands bound behind me, I have to rely on his support to get to my feet. My torn dress slides down my body, pooling on the ground and leaving me bare before him. A scrap of black lace is my only bit of modesty, and judging by his possessive gaze, the lingerie only entices him more.

I glower at him, allowing the full force of my defiance to pierce him like a knife.

He simply smiles and caresses my cheek. “So beautiful. My pretty pet.”

“Stop calling me that,” I seethe.

He cocks his head at me, and midnight hair tumbles over the black skull mask. “Say the word, and this will end. You do have a choice, Abigail. Always. I’ll never take that from you again.”

My ire melts away. He’s asking for my trust.

He said that he brought me here for a reason. He wants me to remember how good it can be between us when we both indulge in our mutual darkness. My soul matches his in so many ways.

My heart tugs toward his, stronger this time. I yearn for him, for us. I want to engage in this twisted game, but I’m frightened.

“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice small.

His jaw firms, but his hand on my cheek remains achingly gentle. “I never want you to be scared of me.”

“I’m scared ofme. I shouldn’t want this. It’s sick and wrong.”

“Nothing about you could ever be wrong. You’re perfect, Abigail.”

He tips my chin back so that he can stare down into my soul. “Do you want to stop?”

That question makes all the difference. I settle into my decision, accepting everything that we are. Acceptinghim.

And myself.

“No,” I breathe. “I don’t want to stop.”

He leans in close, and his lips brush the shell of my ear when he commands, “Then run, little dove.”

He steps back, watching me with open curiosity for my next move.

I straighten my shoulders and kick off my high heels. The dirt path is cool beneath my feet. The earth is hardpacked; it won’t hurt my bare soles.

His tilted grin is pure, maniacal pleasure. “You have thirty seconds, and then I come after you.”

“Aren’t you going to untie my hands?”

“And let you pluck off those lovely bells? I don’t think so.”

I hesitate, torn between denying him his fun and wanting to unleash my most primal urges. This is a battle of wills, and even though there’s no way I will win, I’m determined to engage in the fight. The struggle. The inevitable, ecstatic defeat.

“Twenty seconds now,” he warns.

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