Feeling twinges of frustration, she tossed the short whips aside and grabbed her bullwhip from the table. It cracked loudly as the tip snapped and left a red stripe along his side. A second strike wrapped around his body and left a welt on his belly. His thigh. His chest. His back again. He didn’t react. Not once. The only indication that he felt anything was the occasional twitch above his left eye. He wasn’t even gripping the ropes very tightly.
Where the f**k was this guy’s threshold? She wasn’t sure how much harder she could hit him. And the usual signs she recognized to help her locate a man’s limit were all missing.
“Am I hurting you at all?”
“Not enough,” he whispered. “Make me bleed.”
She refused to make him bleed, but there were other things she could do to break him. And that’s what he needed. He needed to be broken. She would drive him to his knees. Make him beg her to stop. He would submit to her, even if it took all night.
Mistress V tossed her whip aside and returned to the table. She blew out a candle. Tested the melted wax with her fingertips and jerked them back. Hot! She stared him in the face and splashed the wax up his chest and neck. “How’s that?” she sputtered. “Did that hurt?”
“Do I make you angry, Mistress V?”
She’d never met a man she couldn’t break, and yes, his silent suffering—his stoicism—angered her. He had to be in a lot of pain, but for all he showed, she might as well be tickling him with a feather.
“I’m not angry. I’m trying to figure out how to make you submit.”
“No one ever has before,” he told her, “but you’re doing a fine job trying. Don’t stop now.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Do you have a flog? With knots?”
She flogged him, first with her nylon flog with its three dozen, foot-long, stinging strings. And then with her knotted leather flog that left his skin a mess of crisscrossed welts. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t protest. She took up a thick wooden rod and caned him more than a dozen times against his already raw back. Careful to avoid vital organs, such as his kidneys, she grunted with exertion as each strike landed between his shoulders. Caned him. She never resorted to such vicious caning. Didn’t use the cane very often, as it wasn’t usually necessary. And still he made no protest. She wasn’t even enjoying this. The feeling of power that usually infused her when she served her slaves was nonexistent. Her temper flared.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you’re getting tired—”
“Shut up.”
She took up her bullwhip again and vented her increasing frustration on his back. She wasn’t even in her role as dominatrix as she cracked her whip. She just wanted him to cry out. Just once. Any indication that she was getting through to him would be appreciated. She needed that. To know she was in control. She didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t. Or that as long as she let him get to her, he was the one in control. She struck the backs of his thighs, realizing how much that f**king hurt, but he took it. He took it and calmly waited for her to continue.
“Damn it, Jace! Work with me.” She struck him across the back again. An angry red stripe appeared. Not a welt. Blood.
He gasped softly.
Aggie dropped her whip. She prided herself as a professional in causing all the pain, but never drawing blood. What she’d done to him hadn’t been professional. She’d been frustrated. Angry. She’d never become angry during a session before. Of course, she’d never met a man she couldn’t break in ten minutes or whose threshold for pain was this far above normal. Maybe he was juiced-up on painkillers or something. He didn’t look stoned, but she couldn’t think of any other plausible reason for him to accept so much pain so easily. Aggie paused behind Jace, gently touching the raw skin above the bleeding gash that ran diagonally from shoulder to spine.
“I’m so sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean…”
“Thank you, Mistress V, may I have another?”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No! Your session’s over.”
“I paid for two hours.”
“Then I’ll give your money back.”
“You said no refunds.”
She circled his body to face him and stared into his eyes. Never had she seen so much pain in a man so young. He wasn’t using her for release. He was taking her abuse and internalizing it, adding it to what already existed and building upon the ache inside him. She knew he’d felt every lash of her whip. Knew she had hurt him far more than he’d been letting on. Why did he refuse to crumble? She didn’t get it.
“Whatever it is that’s eating you alive, you have to let it go,” she murmured, stroking his brow, his stubble-rough cheek, and his angled jaw with tender fingertips. “Let it go, Jace.”
His jaw set. He shook his head slightly. “I’d rather be gutted alive.”
Her hand still cupping the side of his face, she tilted her head and eased closer until a fraction of an inch separated their lips. She shouldn’t kiss him. She wanted to, but… Leaning away slightly, her eyes searched his. As much as she wanted him physically, it was more important to help him. Take that anguished shadow from his gaze. Take it away.
Take it.
Her lips brushed his, light as a feather. He shuddered, emitting a huff of air, and his lips parted to coax her closer for a deeper kiss. She devoured his mouth, intoxicated by his taste, his scent. A deep longing hollowed her core, leaving her empty and wanting. She pressed her leather-clad bosom against his hard chest, her free hand circling his back to press him closer. The stickiness of his blood against her fingertips reminded her of what she’d done to him.
She pulled away, knowing that kiss had been all her idea. She couldn’t lay any of the blame on him. He was still holding on to the ropes, his fists tight and knuckles white.
“I want you, Mistress V,” he growled.
Her lips parted, her ni**les tightened, and her pu**y swelled until it throbbed relentlessly. She wanted him too, but she never had sex with clients. She sighed with remorse. “The name’s Aggie.” She uncoiled the rope from his right wrist, and he released his grip. “Let’s go take care of that wound.”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Finish me.”
“It is something, and I am finished with you. You paid for professional treatment, and I got carried away. I apologize for breaking your trust. I drew blood. That is unacceptable.”