Page 170 of Bad Attitude
He smiles, the bastard clearly enjoying himself, then takes my nipple between finger and thumb. Pinching until I grit my teeth. “Open.”
“Nhh-nhh.” I press my lips together.
He pulls on my nipple, stretching my breast, watching me intently as the discomfort slowly builds until I can’t help the whimper that escapes. It’s not the pain, it’s the promise in his eyes of what’s to come.
“If you gag me, I can’t safeword,” I blurt out.
“You don’t have a safeword.”
“I need one.” Never mind that this is some kind of acceptance of the inevitable. He was always going to do it anyway; that much was clear.
“Good point.” He seems delighted by my suggestion. “I prefer a question-and-answer system. The answer you can give at any time; the question is, ‘What’s in the package?’”
I stare at him.
Bastard.
Declan steps in closer, pressing the ball gag to my lips. “You’re going to open, little hellcat. Do youknow why?”
I shake my head, trying to keep it from my lips, but he presses it in harder and doesn’t let me escape.
“I’ll tell you,” he murmurs. “You’re going to open, partly because you don’t want me to escalate further, but mostly because you want me to be pleased.”
My struggles cease, and I’m not even sure it’s a conscious thing. I’m staring at his intense, pale blue eyes, inches from my own, and I know he’s right.
The leather ball slips between my lips. Declan uses it to pry my mouth open before I even realize I’ve let him. I’m still trying to work out what I’m responding to: the fear of him escalating, or some twisted desire to please him. I don’t know which is truer, and that’s the worst part.
Declan fastens the buckles behind my head, then fuckingbeeps my nose.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as I glare at him. He lets the flogger drop from beneath his arm, catching the handle, shaking loose the strands. Then he starts spinning it again.
My jaw’s forced open by the gag, uncomfortable already. The leather presses against my tongue. It’s humiliating, adding to my helplessness. Distracting me, and for that reason I don’t notice Declan has moved until he sweeps my braid over my shoulder. Then the strands start landing on my back.
Flick, flick, flick.Over and over, a steady rhythm. I tense, clenching on the gag. Yet it’s not as bad as I feared. At first, it’s nothing. Not even an irritation. It’s almost… soothing. A cascade of sharp-edged caresses from the strands, stroking across my skin.
The tingling grows, my skin stimulated, tormented. And he’s right, damn it; with the gag in my mouth, I’ve nothing to do but focus on that feeling. In minutes, it feels like my whole back and shoulders are so warm they must be glowing. The flogger doesn’t cease, but moves to my ass and begins again. Occasionally, he hits harder here, drawing a cry from me, muffled by my gag. It’s still not true pain, but instead my whole body feels alive.
I realize I’ve stopped tensing, almost relaxing into it, and that seems to help. My eyes are closed. Saliva drips from the gag onto my breasts, and I can’t stop that either. At first, I don’t even notice when he stops. My skin’s awake everywhere with a mild burn that doesn’t fade, and it’s like I can still feel phantom blows. But I hear his bare feet on the mat, walking around me, and tense again. What’s next?
It doesn’t take long to find out. The flogger starts whirring through the air, and he’sin frontof me. Strands bite against my chest, my breasts, catching my nipples. Just the ends of that damn suede, flicking repeatedly against my skin, but in moments my skin is prickling everywhere. I can’t pull back, I can’t escape him. I realize I’ve been whimpering around my gag, and I’m not sure for how long.
He stops again, and my head slumps forward. A sheen of perspiration covers all of me.
How long has it been? I have no way to tell.
He unfastens the buckle of the gag, gently easing it out. My jaw’s sore.
“I want tohear your sounds,” he murmurs.
Then he touches me.
The back of his fingers, trailing over my breast.
I sob. I can’t help it. It’s so gentle, yet so sensitive. So caring, yet so cruel. The slightest touch, and my whole body tenses, like I’m pressing into his fingers for fear of missing any of the sensation.
“Do you like that?” he asks.
I don’t answer. Not because there’s any defiance left, but because I can’t find my words.
