Page 492 of Rosetti Family New York
"Green," she pants, voice thick with arousal. "So very green."
Her response fuels me. I increase the intensity, the leather tails leaving temporary welts across her perfect skin. Each mark is a signature—proof that no matter how brilliantly she performs in the outside world, here she surrenders everything to me.
I pause to run my hand over the heated skin of her ass, feeling the raised welts. She pushes back against my touch, seeking more contact. I slip my hand between her thighs, finding her soaked.
"You love this," I growl into her ear. "Being marked. Owned."
"Yes," she admits, trying to grind against my hand.
I pull away, denying her the friction she craves. Moving to face her, I see her pupils blown wide with desire, lips parted as she pants. I grab her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You," she whispers.
"Louder."
"You, Sir. I belong to you."
I release her face and return to my wall of implements, selecting a riding crop next. The leather tip is perfect for precision—for targeting the most sensitive areas. When I turn back, her eyes lock onto the crop, and she unconsciously licks her lips.
"Spread your legs wider," I command.
She complies immediately, making herself even more vulnerable. I tap the crop lightly against her inner thigh, just a tease of what's coming. Her muscles tense in anticipation.
"Color?"
"Green," she answers, voice husky with desire.
I bring the crop down with precision, the tip landing exactly where I want it—just above her clit. Her whole body jerks in response, a strangled cry escaping her lips. I repeat the motion, slightly harder, watching her face contort with that beautiful blend of pain and pleasure that only I get to see.
"Good girl," I murmur, tracing the mark with my fingertip. "But I need more from you."
I circle her suspended form, letting the crop trail across her skin. Her breathing quickens as I move behind her, out of her sight. The anticipation is part of the control—her not knowing where I'll strike next.
The crop lands on her other thigh with a satisfying snap. Then her ass. Her shoulders. Each strike calculated, each markplaced with precision. I'm painting her body with my ownership, reclaiming every inch.
"You were magnificent today," I tell her, landing another strike that makes her gasp. "But do you know what it does to me? Watching everyone see how brilliant you are?"
She tries to look over her shoulder at me. "Tell me."
I grab a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. "It makes me want to remind you that no matter how powerful you are out there—" I bring the crop down on the sensitive underside of her breast, making her cry out, "—in here, you're mine to use however I want."
Her eyes roll back slightly, her lips parted. "Yes," she breathes. "Yours."
I check the marks I've left, running my hands over her heated skin. She's covered in a light sheen of sweat, her body trembling slightly with the effort of holding still.
"Color?" I ask again.
"Green," she responds immediately. "Please, Van."
"Please what?"
"More."
I set the crop aside and move to my cabinet, selecting a leather single-tail whip. It's one of the most advanced implements—capable of breaking skin if not wielded properly. But I've spent years perfecting my technique.
Her eyes widen when she sees my choice. There's a flicker of uncertainty that makes my cock throb harder.
