His unusual mix of strength and weakness drove her crazy.

“If you want to feel the bite of my whip, Jace, you’ll get down on your knees.”

Struggling with his pride, he dropped to his knees at her feet. He didn’t look at her. Kept his eyes downcast. No doubt he was still hiding his defiance from her. She’d relieve him of it soon enough. She lifted her foot and pressed her spiked heel into his chest. “Kiss it.”

Again he hesitated. This one would be so fun to break. She couldn’t wait to get started.

She waited patiently. The minutes ticked by slowly. Her leg was getting tired by the time he pecked the sole of her boot. “Forgive me, Mistress V.”

“Stand, Jace.”

He stood. No hesitation there.

She grabbed a thick, red rope that was hooked to a ring in the wall. She pulled it out straight and handed it to him. He wrapped it around his left wrist and gripped the taut rope with a bruised left hand. She handed him a second rope affixed to the opposite wall. He wrapped that one around the black leather cuff on his right wrist and gripped the rope with his right hand. With his arms extended to the sides, it left his back exposed for her work, and gave her a wonderful view of his hot body. He wasn’t tall, but had a perfect physique. Especially that tight little ass of his. Damn, her one major weakness when it came to men. A perfect ass. And it couldn’t get any better than his. A gentle curve. Tender cheek. Slight indentation on the lateral sides. She could write sonnets about that ass, but he hadn’t paid her to ogle his gorgeous naked body. She had work to do.

Aggie would start light and increase the intensity until she found his happy place. She didn’t know his tolerance for pain and had to seek his threshold before she could do her real work. Finding his edge and driving him just beyond it. Not too far. Never too far. But taking him exactly where he wanted to be. Beyond pain. Where euphoria ruled.

Selecting a smooth, round, wooden paddle from her table, she moved to stand beside him. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Have you been naughty, Jace? Do you need a spanking?” The musky scent of his excitement engulfed her, and her nipples tightened.

“Yes, Mistress V,” he said breathlessly.

She dropped the Mistress V act for a moment to whisper to him. “Yell all you want, Jace. The room is soundproof. No one will hear you. I will hit you until you say, ‘Mercy, Mistress V.’ Do you understand?” She slapped his ass with the paddle, careful to make it sting, but not leave a bruise.

He didn’t even flinch, much less yell.

“What do you say to get me to stop?” she prompted.

When he didn’t respond, she rubbed her hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh. The firm muscle of his flank quivered beneath her touch. “Tell me, Jace, or I’m finished.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Then I’m done. Put your clothes on.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he said.

She smiled to herself. She was starting to understand how this one ticked. She touched her paddle to his ass. “That’s good. Say it again so you don’t forget.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he whispered.

“Now don’t say it unless you mean it. The second you say it, I promise to stop no matter how much I’m enjoying your agony.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

She struck his ass with her paddle, watching his reaction to determine when he was near his limit. Harder. In the same place. Again. Again. She knew the sweet spot. That tender place on the buttocks that stung like the dickens when swatted. He glanced at her as if to ask her when she was going to start.

“You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?” she said, rubbing his ass with her bare hand. She usually did that to ease the sting so her client could take more pain, but in his case, she just really wanted to touch him.

“Hurt me, Mistress V. Please, hurt me.”

She moved to something more vicious. She skipped the riding crop and selected the three short whips attached to a handle. She struck his back with a loud crack. Most guys would have cried out. Jace didn’t even twitch. In the mirror, she saw his eyes were glazed with pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. Deep and scarring. Why did she have the sudden, ridiculous urge to hug him? She struck him harder. Harder. Harder than she normally would, watching the welts rise in threes on his skin. She didn’t usually take a man this close to bloodletting. Why did he refuse to cry out or beg for mercy? Could he even feel pain?

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 fuck 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 fucking 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.