Page 37 of Carrick
I kept going.
Each impact rolled through her body, the weight of it driving her deeper, loosening the tension in her shoulders, her neck, her hands. Her cries came softer now, rhythmic, matched to the cadence of my swings.
I gave her time between each one. Space to process. Space to want.
She did. I couldfeelher wanting.
After a dozen more strokes, I switched. I dropped the thuddy flogger and picked up the lighter one. Stingy. Fast. I gave her no warning. The first strike landed across her lower back, a kiss of fire.
Shearched, a cry bursting from her lips, more ragged this time. Her body jolted, fists clenching against the bench’s frame. But she didn’t stop me. She didn’t hesitate. Shetook it.
And I knew—right then—that she didn’t justwantmore. She was begging for it with every breath in her lungs, with every tremble in her thighs, with the way she pushed her hips up again and again like she was offering herself to the pain and the praise that followed.
This girl didn’t want mercy. She wanted toburn.
And I was going to make herglow.
I gave her the cane next. Fast. Brutal. One, two, three sharp strokes across her ass and thighs. She shouted—wordless—but pushed her hips up toinvitethe next.
My heart pounded. Blood rushed to my cock, hard and straining against my zipper. She was past pain now. This was submission in its purest form.
When I raked my nails gently across the lines I’d left, she sobbed—notfrom pain, but from release.
From surrender. And I wasn’t done.
I dropped the cane. It was time. I picked up the dragon’s tongue.
Red leather. Thin. Sharp. The kind of pain that lingered like a lover’s bite—seductive and cruel in equal measure. I let the end trail over her shoulder, down her spine, across the curve of her ass. She shivered violently. “You know what this one does,” I said.
“Yes, Sir.”
I took two steps back, holding the tip of the whip between two fingers, the handle in the other hand. And I struck.
The whip snapped through the air and kissed the same spot I’d touched seconds ago. A raised, burning welt bloomed across her skin like a brand.
She cried out, her voice full of desperate need.
My strikes landed across her body like rain. Each blow painted her in crimson. Each one coaxed something raw and beautiful from her throat. Her body trembled, but not from retreat.
Her moans turned to pleas—wordless and cracked. Her thighs clenched uncontrollably. Her head dropped lower.
She was close.
I let the whip fall from my hand and crossed the room in two strides. I grabbed her hips, pulled her back against me. My cock pressed hard against her heat, and shegasped.
She was dripping. Open. Undone.
I lifted her like she weighed nothing and threw her on the bed.
She landed on her back, hair wild, face flushed, lips parted in a look of complete surrender. Her eyes met mine—glassy, half-lost—and yet sopresent.
I dropped to my knees between her thighs and didn’t hesitate.
My mouth found her instantly, and I devoured her like a man starving. She arched off the mattress with a cry, her hands fisting the sheets. I gripped her thighs, held her open, andfeasted. Every flick of my tongue was intentional. Every moan she gave me only fueled the hunger that had been clawing at me since the first time she’d bratted at me in the garage.
She was fire and salt and everything I’d never let myself want until now.
Her climax hit hard. I felt her entire body go rigid like a taut bowstring, every muscle vibrating with potential energy. Then she shattered as orgasmic bliss burned her out from the inside. She convulsed uncontrollably as she came hard, and a ragged sob clawed its way out of her throat.
