Page 67 of His to Possess
I try to wiggle my arms a little, but they aren’t going anywhere. “It feels good.”
“Not too tight?”
“No, sir.”
He groans into my ear. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say that.”
“Do you like it, sir?”
He chuckles. “Little tease.” Then, before I even realize he’s moved, he has me gripped around the waist and he lifts me, tossing me over the side of the bed. I squeal as my front hits the mattress, unable to stop my fall with my hands bound behind my back. Philip adjusts me, arranging me just the way he wants, so my feet dangle a few inches from the floor, my body arched over the side of the mattress.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, running a hand down the length of my spine. He settles next to me, one knee on the mattress at my side, the other foot braced on the floor. He presses a hand to my lower back and I whimper. He’s completely in control right now. And I love it.
I hear the smack before I feel it, but when the sting finally washes over me, I gasp. He gives me zero time to react, hitting me again twice more in rapid succession, each harder than the last. My ass already feels warm, the sting much stronger now.
“You like that?” he growls, leaning over me to speak directly into my ear. Everything about this moment is consuming me—the sting of his palm on my ass, the hand that still holds me down, the silk binding my wrists, his big strong body covering mine. His voice.
“I do, sir,” I say, with no hesitation. “I like it very much.”
“Good.” He presses a kiss to the skin under my ear then spanks me again. He doesn’t stop this time, raining smacks down over my ass and upper thighs. I’m squirming under his heavy palm, gasping and crying out, but not once do I consider telling him to stop.
His fingers suddenly dip between my legs and we groan in tandem. “You’re wet,” he says, sounding almost awed. “Fucking soaked. Is that from your spanking?”
“It’s from everything, sir,” I tell him, panting against the mattress. “But the spanking definitely helps.”
He grabs me and flips me over so I’m staring up at him, his gaze dark and intense above me. “You like the pain?”
I nod, feeling suddenly more shy now that I can’t hide my face in the mattress. “I do, sir.”
His eyes flash. “Good. Because I like giving it to you.” He kisses me, his lips rough and demanding, but stops long before I’m ready for him to. “You ready for more?”
“Yes, please, sir.”
He grins, then stands, helping me to my feet. He unties the silk from my wrists and I have to fight not to pout—I like being bound for him. Luckily, Philip has no intentions of freeing me just yet. He rubs my wrists for a moment then leads me over to the other side of the room. I stop in my tracks when I see where we’re going.
“What’s that?” I whisper, fear coursing through me. It looks like a medieval torture device, and suddenly the blissed-out excitement I felt on the mattress abandons me.
“A St. Andrews Cross,” he says, pulling on my arm to get me moving again toward the wooden X. “I’m going to strap your wrists and ankles to the legs to immobilize you so I can do whatever I want to this sweet little body.”
Holy shit. I wonder how freaked out I must look, because Philip chuckles at my side. “Trust me, love. And if you don’t like it, you just tell me.”
I nod, trying to focus on those words. I can trust him. I know I can.
Philip must have a lot of experience with this type of thing, because he has my wrists and ankles strapped down in mere moments. The cuffs on my limbs cause me to stand spread eagle with my arms stretched to both sides over my head. He has me facing the cross, leaving my backside totally bare to him. I can already tell why he likes this toy—I’m completely at his mercy like this, spread and vulnerable for him.
To my shock, I like it too.
“I’m going to use a crop on you,” he says, his voice far less controlled than I’m used to hearing. He’s affected by this, too, even if he has done it a bunch of times before.
I force myself not to think about that, not to wonder just how much experience he has. Not to think about the other women. None of that matters. I’m the one here with him now. “Yes, sir.”
The crop makes a soft slapping sound when it hits my skin, and I gasp.
“Does that hurt?”
“It stings a little, sir. But it’s not bad.”
He does it again, in the exact same spot on my upper thigh. This time I manage not to gasp. “Concentrate on that spot,” he says firmly. “Think about how it feels, how that feeling changes as the sting fades.”
