Release Me

feel his hand stroke me, his cock inside me.
    Where the hell is he?
    And then I hear the television snap on.
    I groan aloud, and even though he’s all the way in the next room, I’m positive that Damien has heard me—and that he’s smiling.
    I’m alone, horny as hell, and not allowed to do anything about it. He’s out there, undoubtedly feeling smug, flipping channels at random.
    This, of course, is my punishment, and by the time he turns the television off half an hour later, I am about out of my mind with the need to be fucked.
    Just when I’m starting to fear that he’s going to leave, he appears in my doorway and leans casually against the frame. “I like looking at you,” he says.
    “I like you touching me better.” I’m actually pouting. He’s reduced me that far. “That wasn’t nice.”
    He laughs. “Sweetheart, that was nothing.”
    My pulse picks up again as he bends down and picks up the case. It was out of my field of vision by his feet, but now he brings it and sets it on the bed and opens it. The top opens toward me, so that I can’t see the contents. His mouth curves down as if he’s considering a variety of options, then he pulls out a jewelry case and sets it on the bed.
    I frown, wondering what that could be about.
    The next item doesn’t make me wonder—I get what it’s for right away. It’s a whip. The kind with several thin bits of leather attached to a thicker handle.
    “A cat-o’-nine-tails,” Damien says helpfully.
    “Um, uh-huh.” I bite my lower lip. The rational part of me is thinking
ouch
. My sex, however, is throbbing with anticipation.
    He sets the whip down and opens the jewelry box. Inside aretwo silver rings, each with two small metal balls on them. They are connected by a serpentine chain. He picks one of the rings up and pulls it apart so that the two balls separate, leaving a gap in the ring. He slides one side of the jewelry box into that gap and then releases the balls. They spring back, clamping to the cardboard.
    My brow furrows. I don’t get it.
    I can tell that Damien sees my confusion, but he says nothing. He just smiles and puts the rings and their chain on the bedside table. He closes the case and puts it on the floor, then he picks up the cat-o’-nine-tails and runs the thin strands of leather through his fingers. After a moment, he sets it beside me, then reaches down to cup my swollen sex. I arch up, silently begging for his fingers inside me, stroking me.
    “You’ve been very naughty. I don’t think I should make you come.”
    “I really think you’re wrong about that,” I manage, and am rewarded with his laugh.
    “Close your eyes. Can you keep them closed, or should I blindfold you?”
    “I’ll keep them closed.”
    “Is that a promise?”
    “Yes,” I say without hesitation. I’ve already learned that the punishment for breaking a promise isn’t really punishment at all. Even so, I’ll try to keep my word.
    I feel him moving near me, then he tells me to lift my hips. I do, and he slides a pillow under me.
    “Keep your legs spread,” he says. “Yes, like that. Oh, baby, you’re so beautiful. Beautiful and open for me.”
    He touches me gently, a finger tracing just below my belly button. My skin tightens, and I arch up with desire. Then his touch disappears and I feel the soft flutter of leather across my breasts, my belly. The cat-o’-nine-tails. He’s trailing it over me. And then,
snap
, he’s flicked it softly over my breasts.
    I cry out, surprised as much by the impact as I am by my reaction to it. A slight sting, yes, but then a sweet, spreading heat.
Pleasure mixed with pain
.
    “Did you like that?” His palm cups my breast, kneading it, making it grow heavier and so unbearably sensitive.
    I drag my teeth across my lower lip, but I can’t lie. It’s against the rules. More, I don’t want to. I am in thrall to this man, and every touch is like a gift. “Yes,” I say. “I liked it.”
    “I told you there might be pain, but only to bring you pleasure.”
    “I remember. I—I want more.”
    “Nikki, oh, fuck, Nikki. Do you know what you do to me?”
    “If it’s anything like what you do to me, I think I have some idea.”
    His low laughter is raw, but dies when he closes his mouth on my breast. His teeth graze my nipple as he bites and sucks until my breast is nothing more than a live wire topped by a hard, thrumming pearl. And then his mouth is gone and there’s something cold and—“Oh!”—tight