Hurt Me So Good (15 page)

Heat snaked through her skin, the burn only intensifying her desire. So tight, agony, waiting for the next teasing blow to fall. Would it be her thigh? Her arm? Her back?

Everything faded into a misty haze except him, the crop kissing her skin with fire, and the blazing heat rising within her. Dimly, she heard him directing the camera around for a better shot. He pressed against her back and rubbed the crop against her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach.

Quivering, she fought back the pleading sounds threatening to tumble out of her mouth. If he would touch her, just a stroke, she would climax so hard she’d probably break a camera lens with her yells.

“Hold the shift against your breasts,” he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot, as heavy as hers, and only served to make her desire worse. He was aroused, too, and the thought made her drop her head back against his shoulder and arch harder into his arms. He rewarded her with a harsher blow across the front of her thighs, but then slipped away, leaving her trembling and blowing hard, her lips clamped tight.

Please, please, Victor, give me more. Please!

He grabbed the neckline of her shift in both hands and ripped it down the back. Shivering, she clutched the sagging linen to her breasts as he’d ordered. He’d been careful to leave a few inches above the hem intact, so she didn’t think her ass was bared to Dallas. His big palm wrapped around the base of her neck and then glided down her back, hot and broad and strong enough to melt the bones in her body.

Gritting her teeth, she widened her stance, forcing her trembling thighs to hold her weight.

“Now this is where the real test begins. Now we shall see if Gift can endure without the benefit of bonds. Are you
my
submissive, Gift? Are you my top sub?”

The crop whistled through the air for what seemed like an eternity, warning her that this one was going to take her breath. Searing white blinded her, an explosion of sensation that picked her up and slammed her back to earth. She hunched her back slightly, giving him a better, wider canvas for his blows and could only hope she was still standing.

A blaze of fire curled along her shoulder blades, one then the other in quick succession. Breathing hard, it took her several blows to visualize what he was doing, and the knowledge made her knees sag.

Like the legends of Zorro, Victor was leaving his mark on her body in the form of Vs.

She must have closed her eyes, or maybe the lights had burned out. Maybe she had fallen. Because she felt disconnected, from the show, from her mind, from everything except Victor and his crop inching down her back. The tip curled slightly over her ribcage and her breath hissed between her teeth. Color blossomed in the darkness, great blobs of white, marked with red, his image cut into her back.

Wetness trickled down her thighs, liquid pain searing her body. The agony wasn’t from his blows, but from the relentless ache in her sex. Her body remembered every detail of those precious hours in his bed. The way his teeth had played and teased. How he’d cupped her face in his hands and kissed her so tenderly while his body had claimed hers.

The exquisite pain blended with that sweetness, an agony of need that twisted her mind and clawed her heart to ribbons. For the first time in her life, she thought seriously about blurting out her safeword.

Not to stop the pain…but to get him inside me.

Victor regretted giving her the order to be silent. He regretted the cameras and crew hovering on the fringes. Most of all, he regretted that he hadn’t been strong enough to bring his crop into his bed last night, because this…

This was hotter and infinitely more fulfilling than the careful, deliberate lovemaking he’d given her last night. This was real, brutally honest, and the ugliest truth he’d borne alone in the darkest corners of his mind all these years.

And she accepted him without question.

Stripes glared red and lovely on her back, his trademark V welted into her flesh. He could have done this last night. He could have stretched her flat on his bed and put these slashes on the backs of her thighs, marking the path to where he most wanted to be.

Instead, he’d been a coward, and now, he had to pay for that weakness by sharing this priceless moment with half a dozen witnesses on set and God only knew how many viewers.

Maybe it was all these years of punishing himself when the need became too great to bear, but he felt the burn of his strokes on his own body. He felt the fire coursing through her skin, burning through her veins. He knew the throbbing clench of desire that waited for him to slide home and ease that vicious ache. There was a secret place outside himself that he’d only been to a handful of times when he’d taken himself to a painful climax, but he found that hazy haven now, without a single blow to his own body.

She’d taken him there, because that’s where she’d flown as soon as he began giving her pain.

Tremors shook her shoulders and her legs trembled, making the petticoats froth about her legs. He read the tension in her body, the agony of need on her face, and decided she’d—they’d—had enough torture. At least one of them would feel a release.

He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her quivering body back against his strength. She sagged, immediately, as though her body simply couldn’t hold itself upright any longer. On cue, Mal waved the lights even lower, giving them even more privacy so he could complete the scene.

He hauled Shiloh’s skirts up with his left hand until he could slide his palm underneath and cup her. Hot and so wet, proof that she’d relished every moment of his punishment. She bowed in his arms, trembling on the verge of climax. His heart hammered and his lungs burned as though he’d run a marathon.

The show
, he reminded himself, crawling back from the tide of lust threatening to drag him under. He buried his fingers in her wet heat, slammed the crop down in a final blow to her outer thigh, and held her through the resulting climax that scoured his mind. It wasn’t his release, but she managed to wipe away all the years of grime and guilt he’d been carrying. She made him feel clean and light in a way that he hadn’t felt in years.

She let out a cry of pleasure that tightened his throat and made his heart swell in his chest until he couldn’t breathe. She made something he’d feared and hated suddenly so beautiful that he felt his eyes burning with emotion.

Mal ended the scene. He heard the voices rising, the cheers and comments flying about them. But he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone but Shiloh. Irrational, perhaps, but he had the crazy thought that the lights might blaze away this sweet haze. It might reveal the ugliness he’d been hiding from for so long, like the sun burning away the morning fog. He swept her up into his arms and marched off set.

Alone. He had to get her alone. He had to make sure she understood what this had meant to him. What
she
meant to him.

He threw open the door to the women’s dressing room, thankfully empty. He kicked the door shut behind him.

“Please,” she moaned. “Victor—”

“I’ve got you, baby.” He hadn’t felt this desperate, this crazed with need, in years. He set her down, determined to slow down and find his control again, but Shiloh took matters into her own hands.

She jerked her skirts off, let the shredded shift fall to the ground, and stumbled over to the couch. When she leaned over the back and grabbed the cushions for leverage, he knew what she wanted, and he wasn’t strong enough to refuse her.

Not when he wanted it as badly as she did.

He struck the sweet curves of her ass with his crop, too hard, he feared, surely too much. “Shiloh,” he panted. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, I want you! Please, V, as wild and hard as you want.”

She arched into his blows, raising her hips, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He jerked his trousers open and surged inside her. “Where’s all those dirty words, baby?”

She twisted her hands, tearing at the cushions. “I’m trying not to horrify you with my potty mouth.”

“Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Use your crop while you fuck me so hard I can’t walk back on set.”

Her words sent his heart thudding so hard, so loud, he thought his head might explode. He thrust deep, slamming her into the couch, while he brought the crop down on her outer thighs, swinging the blows from side to side in a whistling arc.

She screamed, and guilt tore through his pleasure. Too much, he’d hurt her too much…

No, she clamped down on him in another orgasm. Shifting his grip, he brought the crop down on his own thigh and let the release take him too.

Sweaty and curiously relaxed, fully replete and at ease within himself for the first time in countless years, he laid his head against her back and kissed every single lingering mark he’d left. Only then did he realize that he hadn’t used a condom.

She’d already told him he didn’t need to use protection, and he’d certainly gone over her medical records. There truly hadn’t been a need to use prevention, other than his own determination to keep her safe.

He’d lost control. Again.

His control was unraveling, fraying like a rope against a sharp rock. Another string broke, another link in the chain crumbled, and eventually, his cruelty would be free to ravage her to the ground.

She pushed up and turned in his arms, nuzzling against him like a kitten. “Don’t start feeling guilty. You felt how much I loved that, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he whispered against her hair, cradling her head tighter to his throat.

“I’m not going to break, Victor.” Her words were muffled against him, but he heard the steel ringing in her voice and felt the fierce determination in her grip, her hands sliding up his back to hold him close. “You can’t scare me.”

He closed his eyes and held her harder, unable to say the words strangled in his throat.
Be afraid, baby, because I’m scaring the hell out of myself.

Chapter Thirteen

V’s Gift Blog:

Finally, Master V let me see beneath the mask. He gave me a taste of His crop, right there on set for our show. I swear on a stack of Bibles that I’ve never come so hard in my life. It was a wonderful, glorious, sweaty session, except for the camera crew, of course. I couldn’t help but give Him everything, even though so many people watched.

The sad truth is, I’d do anything for Him. Anything at all. I have no pride, no modesty, no sense of shame, not when it comes to Him.

I can’t even pretend to have any resistance. I don’t want to shut Him down or play hard to get. I just want Him. Whatever that means, whatever He wants.

I’m His.

“What’re you writing?”

Shiloh nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around and tried not to look guilty, but it was too late. Andy leaned over her shoulder and read the screen of her private blog.

Shit! Why did I ever start this stupid blog?

Grinning, he waggled his finger. “Oh, Shiloh, what were you thinking? Didn’t you sign a confidentiality agreement?”

“I haven’t broken my agreement.”
So why are my hands shaking?
She turned back to the computer and shut the browser, but the damage had been done. “I’ve never mentioned the show, VCONN, or anyone by name.”

“Master V. Your cute little name for the show,
Gift
. Don’t you think people will figure it out? I read enough to know you are talking about a BDSM reality show. How many other shows like this do you think there are?”

“I’ve had this blog for months, and I’ve never given away any particulars of the show.”

“Do you think Mr. Connagher will give a shit whether you mention him by name or not?”

Her head thumped and she didn’t feel like her knees would hold her if she tried to stand up. Victor would understand. Wouldn’t he? What else had she had of him for all these months? She’d had to write out her emotions or go crazy.

“Are you…” She swallowed the choking lump in her throat and looked Andy in the eyes.

He flashed a wicked smile and headed for the door. “Don’t worry,
Gift
. Your secret’s safe with me…as long as you allow me to win top sub.”

“What?”

“I don’t care if you make it to the final round. That’s totally cool. But you’d better bail on that final challenge and let me take the title. Mistress Mal must be the top
top
,” he winked, “or I’ll be having a little chat with Mr. Connagher and you, dear Gift, will be looking for a new job and a new Master.”

Sick at heart, she took a deep breath and wracked her brain. She could fix this. She wasn’t going to let Andy win the show,
her
show, not after everything she’d gone through to get here. She’d fight tooth and claw to win this show.

“By the way,” Andy said, sticking his head back in the door. “I almost forgot the reason I stopped by. You have a crisis on your hands. Kimberly is hysterical, sobbing her eyes out, and swears she’s quitting the show.”

Great, just great. Not only did she face losing Victor because of her stupid tell-all-the-dirty-thoughts-I’ve-had-about-my-boss blog, she had to hand-hold his ex-fiancée to keep her from quitting the show.

She caught Kimberly on her way out at the large glass doors of VCONN Tower. Pale but calm after whatever hysterics Andy had witnessed, Kimberly saw Shiloh coming and kept right on walking. “I won’t do it.”

“Do what?” Shiloh walked with her down the sidewalk. “Nobody will make you do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I read tomorrow’s sketch and I can’t do it. I won’t.”

The next day’s taping was titled “The Master’s Hand.” Shiloh had planned to have all the remaining contestants blindfolded and bound, while the Dominants then teased and played with them. The contestants would have to recognize their Dominant’s hand, even if a different weapon was used.

“What if we only have the other two Dominants test you?”

Kimberly jerked to a halt and faced her. “You just don’t get it, do you.”

Taken aback, Shiloh floundered at the sudden antagonism. Despite the woman’s past with Victor, Kimberly had seemed like a nice person. She’d cared about Victor’s welfare. So why the sudden one-eighty?