“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.

He comes to a stop… but I can no longer see him. My eyes are closed as I try to absorb

the myriad of sensations coursing through my body. Very slowly, he rains small, biting

licks of the crop down my belly, heading south. I know where this is leading, and I try and

psyche myself up for it – but when he hits my clitoris, I cry out loudly.

“Oh… please!” I groan.

“Quiet,” he orders, and he hits me again on my behind.

I did not expect this to be like this… I am lost. Lost in a sea of sensation. And sud-

denly, he’s dragging the crop against my sex, through my pubic hair, down to the entrance

of my vagina.

“See how wet you are for this, Anastasia. Open your eyes and your mouth.”

I do as I’m told, completely seduced. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, like

my dream . Holy shit.

“See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.”

My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock on his. I can taste the rich leather

and the saltiness of my arousal. His eyes are blazing. He’s in his element.

He pulls the tip from my mouth, and he stands forward and grabs me and kisses me

hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against

him. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch, but I can’t, my hands, useless above me.

“Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine,” he breathes. “Shall I make you come?”

“Please,” I beg.

The crop bites my buttock. Ow!

“Please, what?”

“Please, Sir,” I whimper.

He smiles at me, triumphant.

“With this?” He holds the crop up so I can see it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” He looks sternly at me.

“Yes, please, Sir.”

“Close your eyes.”

I shut the room out, him out… the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the crop

against my belly once more. Moving down, soft small licks against my clitoris, once,

twice, three times, again and again, until finally, that’s it – I can take no more – and I come,

gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly. His arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly. I dis-

solve in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I’m mewling and whimpering as the

aftershocks of my orgasm consume me. He lifts me, and suddenly we’re moving, my arms

still tethered above my head, and I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back,

and he’s popping the buttons on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while

he slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me again.

“Lift your legs, baby, wrap them round me.”

I feel so weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions

himself beneath me. With one thrust, he’s inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his

muffled moan at my ear. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me. Jeez,

it’s deep this way. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at

my throat. I feel the build up again. Jeez no… not again… I don’t think my body will with-

stand another earth-shattering moment. But I have no choice… and with an inevitability

that’s becoming familiar, I let go and come again, and it’s sweet and agonizing and intense.

I lose all sense of self. Christian follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and

holding me hard and close as he does.

He pulls out of me swiftly and sets me down against the cross, his body supporting

mine. Unbuckling the cuffs, he frees my hands, and we both sink to the floor. He pulls

me into his lap, cradling me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I’d

touch him, but I don’t. Belatedly, I realize he’s still wearing his jeans.

“Well done, baby,” he murmurs. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired?

“Did you expect it to?” he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some

escaped tendrils of hair off my face.

“Yes.”

“You see most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia,” he pauses. “Would you do it

again?”

I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain … Again?

“Yes.” My voice is so soft.

He hugs me tightly.

“Good. So would I,” he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my

head.“And I haven’t finished with you yet.”

Not finished with me yet. Holy Moses.There’s no way I can do any more. I am ut-

terly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to sleep. I’m leaning against his chest, my

eyes are closed, and he’s wrapped around me – arms and legs – and I feel… safe, and oh so

comfortable. Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream? My mouth quirks up at the silly

thought, and turning my face into Christian’s chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle

him, but immediately he tenses… oh crap. I open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s

staring down at me.

“Don’t,” he breathes in warning.

I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I want to run my tongue through the hair,

kiss him, and for the first time, I notice he has a few random and faint small, round scars

dotted around his chest. Chicken pox? Measles?I think absently.

“Kneel by the door,” he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effec-

tively releasing me. No longer warm, the temperature of his voice has dropped several

degrees.

I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel

as instructed. I’m shaky and very, very tired, monumentally confused. Who would have

thought I could have found such gratification in this room. Who could have thought it

would be so exhausting?My limbs are deliciously heavy, sated. My inner goddess has a

‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.

Christian is moving about in the periphery of my vision. My eyes start to droop.

“Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?”

I jump awake, and Christian is standing in front of me, his arms crossed glaring down

at me. Oh shit, caught napping – this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up

at him.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me, and his mouths quirks up.

“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”

I nod shyly, flushing.

“Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet.

Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.”

I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me.I do as I’m told. He takes

a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly

to his.

“Look familiar,” he asks, unable to conceal his smile.

Jeez… the plastic cable ties. Restockingat Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up

at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay – that’s got my attention – I’m

awake now.

“I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a

moment.”

I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my

flesh – it’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine – the tie is not cutting into my skin.

“Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now

that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner.

“I want more – much, much more,” he leans down and whispers in my ear.

And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy.

“But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post,” he says.

I frown. Not on the bed then?I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved