Page 26 of Red Flagged
From need.
From devotion.
From the knowledge that I was the only one allowed to do this to her. The only one she’d ever beg for like this.
“Two…” She was damp with sweat, and I couldn’t stop watching the way her muscles flexed with every blow, how her breath became harsh and desperate.
I knelt behind her, one hand steadying her hip as I murmured against the back of her neck. My other hand grabbed her shoulder and urged her forward until her face was pressed into the carpet. She turned it to the side, harshly sucking in air, and the selfish bastard in me loved it because I could still see her every reaction. “You don’t move unless I tell you. If you do, I’ll start over.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, my Dom.”
Christ. I could get used to hearing that.
But it wasn’t just the words. It washer—the way she said them, breathless and reverent, her voice dripping with devotion and desperation.
I paused for a beat, letting my hand settle over the curve of her ass. Her skin was hot to the touch, vibrating beneath my palm like she was barely holding herself together. Sweat clung to her spine in a single gleaming trail. Her thighs trembled beneath her. She was trying so hard to be good.For me.
I’d never felt anything like this. Not even close.
I wasn’t just hard. I wasn’t just aroused. I was…consumed.
I watched the way her back bowed when I touched her. The subtle way her toes curled against the carpet. The twitch in her stomach when I breathed across her skin. Every fucking reaction became a trigger.
She didn’t even realize how much she gave away. Every breath, every shudder, every twitch—little tells written across her body like a language only I was allowed to read.
And fuck, Ireadit.Idevouredit.
Three. Four. Five.
Each strike landed with more purpose than the last. Measured, intentional, designed to tease her just past the edge without tipping her over. And every time the crop kissed her skin, her voice came back more ragged.
“Five, my Dom.”
MyDom.
By the sixth, she was shaking. And then I ran my fingers down to her cunt—fuck—she was soaked. Flooded. Dripping so much it made a mess of my hand.
I pressed my fingers in to spread her open, enough to feel her clench, just to show her I could, and she let out the mostruined, keening sound I’d ever heard. It was guttural, feminine, andfilthy.
Aurélie rocked back toward my hand. I clamped down on her hip to stop her.
“You feel that?” I rasped. My fingers slid up and circled her clit, gentle and cruelly taunting. “Your body fucking loves this.”
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes, please, mon amour?—”
I stilled. The sound of that—mon amour—was fuckingbliss. But it wasn’t what we’d agreed on. And as much as I wanted to indulge her, let her fall into sweetness and affection, I needed her anchored, present, and aware of her obedience.
So I slid my hand off her clit and picked the crop back up.
I let her feel the shift in energy, let the silence crawl over her skin like a threat. Then I pulled back, measured the distance, and let the leathersnapacross the roundest part of her ass. It was enough to sting, to startle, to remind.
Her whole body stiffened at the impact. A choked cry escaped her lips.
“What did I say?”
She corrected it instantly. “Seven, mon dominant.”
I froze for a second. Something shifted, but not in her. Inme.
