Hurt Me So Good (23 page)

She smiled tremulously and fought to keep the stream of pleas dammed in her mind instead of reflected in her eyes. He was the Master, she the slave, at least in this. It wasn’t about what
she
needed; she wanted to please
him
. She wanted to keep the lines of pain smoothed from his face, his knee loose and comfortable, and the shadows of guilt out of his eyes.

“You have shown me.”
Every time you lift that crop.
“I love you, Victor.”

He pulled her against his chest and nuzzled his face against her hair, his breath warm on her ear. “Do you know where I keep my crop?”

Tension rippled through her body. Of course she’d noticed where he put the crop after each taping. It hung on a hook inside his closet door. She’d wanted to ask him whether he’d always kept it there, for surely Kimberly would have noticed it. A good submissive would have taken careful note of where the Master kept his tools so they could be fetched at a moment’s notice. How could the crop on the inside of his closet not have signaled what kind of Master he was?

“Yes, of course. Shall I get it and your cleaning supplies?”

“I’ll clean it,” he breathed heavily in her ear, his hand sliding up her back with enough pressure to send her heart galloping faster. “After I whip you while you suck my cock.”

Chapter Nineteen

The flare of hope in her eyes made his heart hurt in his chest.
Intolerable
, he thought as she leaped from his lap to do his bidding,
for a woman I care about so very much to feel like she’s unable to express her need for fear of upsetting me.

A caring, attentive Dominant would never neglect his submissive’s needs, not unless making a deliberate point or lesson in discipline. She would not ask for what she needed, for she knew all too well his struggles to keep the sadist at bay.

When it was the sadist she needed most of all.

I’m falling in love with an incredible submissive who knows what I need and want better than I do. I can—and want—to do this.

He couldn’t deny the heavy thud of his heart, the coiling need building in his groin, or the fierce joy he felt at the sight awaiting him in his bedroom. Shiloh knelt beside his bed, nude, with his crop laid on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were large and dark with her need, the same shadows he knew must be reflected back at her as he raked his gaze over her body.

Stepping closer, he began undressing, forcing himself to go slowly and methodically. She didn’t say a word but he noticed the tenseness in her shoulders and arms, as though she fought against her natural instincts to reach out and speed him out of his clothes. When he picked up the crop, she let out a sighing exhale, and that tension in her upper body simply melted away.

He pointed at the foot of the bed. “All fours, facing me.”

“Yes, Master.” She did as he ordered, making sure she kept close to the edge of the king-size bed so he had easy access to whatever body part he might wish to torment first. Without being told, she kept her legs parted, her back arched to show her breasts and ass to the best of her ability. She made an offering of herself, her eyes silently pleading with him to feast upon every inch.

Instead of fisting a hand in her hair and setting to work immediately, he forced himself to walk about the mattress and take a good, long, appreciative look at her from all angles.

Of course, he slapped the crop against his thigh, a stinging rhythm that made him hard and eager to mark her flesh. Her, too, if the gleam of moisture on her upper thighs was any indication.

“Let’s get one thing very clear, Shiloh. If I’m failing to meet a need that you have, you must tell me. Even if you think it’s something I don’t want to hear.”

She hung her head. “Yes, Master.”

“So tell me all about that darkness I’ve noticed in your eyes tonight.”

“I need you to hurt me, Master. Hurt me real good.”

A red-hot iron poker jabbed through his spine and stirred his innards into a steaming, boiling pot ready to explode. Before he even realized his arm had cocked back over his shoulder, he landed a blow on her ass hard enough that she quivered and cried out with surprise.

Red bloomed on her skin, a hypnotic, addictive sight. He burned to lay Vs up and down her body, imprinting his will on every inch of her heart and soul until she was his.

He wanted his diamond V on her throat and red Vs of pain on her body.

Breathing too fast, he took a deep breath and held it for a long count of ten before he trusted himself to speak. “Too hard?”

“Never, Master.” Her voice was as sultry as a Texas summer night and she bent her elbows so she could arch her ass higher in invitation. “Thank you, sir. Shall I count out loud?”

“No.”

He hated “thank you, sir, may I have another” formal shit. It was too much like Patrick’s demonstration, which ratcheted his lust up exponentially. He wanted her screaming and begging and crying for release, not calmly and coolly counting out his strokes. With that thought, he landed another blow on her other cheek.

She sucked in her breath and rocked back on her knees to meet the next blow.

He whipped her until her ass was hot, red and swollen, until he feared she might not be able to sit down for a week, and yet she lifted into every single stroke. Her moans of pained appreciation urged him onward, to strike harder, sharper, compelling him to give more pain. She’d buried her face in his bed, her cries muffled against the blankets, so he strode back around and jerked her head up by a handful of hair.

“Oh no you don’t, baby. I want to hear every single cry you make. I want every response, everything you’re feeling. Have I taken you high enough yet?”

“Please,” she moaned, fighting against his grip. “No.”

His gut twisted with a sharp thrust of fear that absolutely did not feel good. In fact, he thought he might actually puke on the carpet. “Shiloh, do you need me to stop?”

“Please don’t stop! I meant no, you haven’t taken me high enough yet. I can take more, V. I can take everything you need to give me.”

She knows I’m still holding back.

The thought terrified him, even while lust exploded through him so hard and violent he felt like the top of his head had blown off. He thrust into her mouth, forcing her to take him all or choke, while he brought the crop down on her back.

Careful
, he tried to remind himself.
Ribs. Spine. Not too low. Protect her kidneys.

While demons shrieked and lit hellfire through his veins.

He kept the blows to her shoulders, slanting the crop so he could see the red Vs forming on her upper body. He drove into her mouth, his back arching with an orgasm that ripped out of his body, sandblasting every thought and doubt and fear from his mind.

Shaking, his bad knee weakened. He leaned against the bed, grateful for her steadying hands. She licked and sucked until he thought he might expire on the spot. Or come again, he wasn’t sure. Laughing raggedly, he forced his eyes open and his amusement died.

Blood dripped from a deep slice of the crop, trickling down her lovely back.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he ordered in a voice that froze her heart with dread. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

His face was hard, a statue of granite and guilt. She hated the way he averted his gaze. One minute, he was all Master, all sadist, taking his pleasure and sending her soaring into the ether, and the next, he buried her in a six-foot-deep hole in a tiny box that would suffocate them both.

She did as he ordered and tucked her face in the crook of her arm, trying to decide what to say. She still felt too good and high on endorphins to really feel any pain, but it must be bad. Why else would he clam up like that so quickly?

Nothing extraordinary or edgy had happened. Nothing had made her uncomfortable. She hadn’t been afraid or in doubt one moment. In fact, she’d thought she was finally seeing the real Victor, the real Master, the real sadist. Exactly who she wanted. Exactly who she needed.

But the man who sat on the edge of the bed and carefully touched a gauze pad to her back was a cool, reserved stranger. He dabbed antiseptic on the cut and she sucked in her breath at the sting.

He made a low sound of regret that made her eyes burn with tears. “Victor—”

“Be still,” he replied in a rough voice unlike anything she’d heard from him before.

“I’m not injured.”

She felt the tremble in his fingers. “You’re bleeding.”

“That happens sometimes.” She cocked her head back, twisting her shoulders so she could see his face. Pale, sweaty, and breathing short and fast, he looked like he might faint. “Are you all right?”

He let out a choked sound. “No. No, I’m not. I hurt you.”

She scooted closer and laid her head on his thigh. “I bet that’s when I came so hard I nearly passed out.”

The stinging slashes were beginning to cut through the blissful haze, and she wanted nothing more than his arms around her. Maybe a soothing massage, his hands easing the pain he’d lovingly given her. A long soak in the Jacuzzi, cradled between his thighs.

The muscle beneath her cheek quivered with tension and his silence weighed heavily in the air. Maybe she could lighten his mood. On that thought, she lightly bit his thigh.

He jerked away and stood up to pace. Tightening his hair, limping on that knee, he radiated pain and guilt. His right hand slapped against his hip, and then his mouth twisted into a grimace of self hatred.

Throat aching, she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. Her backside throbbed and it felt like it’d swollen to twice its size. It hurt too badly to sit, but she didn’t want to stand here naked and hurting, aching for some cuddling, if he was only interested in punishing himself for hurting her.

When that’s exactly what I wanted. What I needed. What
he
needed.

She pulled on her pants, not bothering with underwear. She had a feeling the elastic bands would hurt like a bitch. Same with her bra, so she simply jerked her T-shirt over her head.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” She grabbed her shoes and sat on the foot of the chaise. “And before you start in on your guilt trip, it’s not because of my back. You hurt me, Victor, but not with your crop.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wanted this to happen. I asked you to bring your crop into your bed and show me what you could do with it when it’s just you and me. I loved every minute. Don’t you understand? I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t anywhere near begging you to stop. You were my Master, exactly what I wanted and needed you to be. So for you to shut down like this hurts me more than anything you could do with the crop in your hand.”

“I hurt you too much.”

“Not until I needed you to hold me and you pulled away.”

He stared at her, his jaws grinding and the column of his throat working. “I didn’t want to push myself on you after I’d just hurt you.”

She snorted and jerked the laces of her shoes tight. “That’s what I needed most of all, Victor. I needed you to hold me, and you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

His eyes flared with indignant surprise. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. Every time I think I’m finally seeing the real you, you decide to flail yourself with guilt instead of my ass with your crop. Maybe you’re a bigger masochist than I am. Admit it. You’re sickened by what we just did.”

He opened his mouth but no words would come. Eyes wide and dark, face pale, he looked stricken, as though she’d just announced his entire family had all been killed.

Swiping angrily at her tears, she turned away and scanned the room for the rest of her things. “I can see the guilt on your face, and I don’t need that. I don’t need you, not if you can’t—”

Her voice broke, but it was her heart shattering into a million pieces. She’d sworn she wouldn’t ever ask a man she cared about to hurt her if he couldn’t stomach it. “I thought you needed the same thing, or I never would have asked.”

“Shiloh, baby, don’t leave. I swear I won’t hurt you like that again.”

She closed her eyes and struggled to draw in a breath against the crushing grief dragging her down to the depths of the ocean. “And that’s exactly why I have to leave. I
want
you to hurt me like that again. I need it. When you take me to that dark, sharp place of pain, then that’s where I find myself. I’m free there, freed by the pain and the pleasure it brings. I thought I’d found you there, too, but you hate it, don’t you? You’re always burying that side of you away, hiding it from me, and I can’t stand it. Nobody hurts me as good as you, Victor, but I can’t stand to see the guilt on your face. The shame. You’ll hate me eventually, and I refuse to ask you to do something you hate so much.”

Stumbling through the tears, she headed for the door, and he made no move to stop her. He didn’t call out for her to stay. He didn’t chase after her. And that told her more than anything that he must be relieved he wouldn’t have to keep fighting her to hide the truth.

She paused at the door and looked back at him, memorizing the harsh lines of his face. Dark hunger still blazed in his eyes, stark and raw despite his reluctance to bare the Master. Every time she closed her eyes, she’d see him like this: naked, angry and desperate, but so fucking relieved to see her go.

“By the way,” she ground out, determined to ease some of the guilt on his face. “Don’t ever worry that you won’t be able to stop in the middle of a scene. I was never once tempted to give you my safeword tonight, and yet you still had the control to pull back and make sure I was okay. No, if anything, you can’t go far enough for a pain slut like me.”

Chapter Twenty

Driving up to the Connagher ranch was like stepping back in time. Victor parked his Corvette beneath the mighty maple he’d planted with Daddy and his younger brother. Mama loved all sorts of plants, but especially roses. They’d dug so many holes over the years they’d begun to joke they’d run out of acreage, which was hardly a possibility with Daddy’s thousand-acre spread.

He’d built the house with his own two hands, determined to make his own way and provide for the woman he loved who could have purchased the finest mansion in Dallas. A busted-up cowboy who’d ridden his first bronc before he could read, Tyrell Connagher had been a man of few words, hard hands and a heart as big as Texas itself.