Hurt Me So Good (7 page)

He shifted his head and used his tongue to trap her upper lip in his own teeth. Now they were like two snarling dogs fighting over a bone, only to realize they’d latched on to each other instead. He rolled to his side and jerked her down, forcing her head lower than his, her body low to the floor.

A knock at the door froze him. Breathing hard, he released her lip, and she let him pull his free. He tucked her face up against his shoulder, holding her close. “Thank you, Léon. Just leave them there. Shiloh will assist me.”

“Certainly, sir. Dinner is ready when you are. I need to leave by seven thirty tonight.”

“Understood.” Disappointment warred with relief. He’d planned to ask Shiloh to stay and eat with him, but if his assistant needed to leave, he didn’t want her here alone with him tonight. Not after that kiss. He didn’t trust himself not to chain her to his bed, the world—his cable channel’s season and her show—be damned. He joked to keep the mood light, “Watch out Dallas, Léon has a hot date.”

“I wish.” His assistant laughed, his voice fading as he returned down the hallway. “Feel free to send a hot young man my way!”

She clutched Victor’s neck, shaking against him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you meant to be careful, but it wasn’t enough.”

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

She shook her head and burrowed lower, sliding her nose deeper into his chest. “I can’t.”

He laughed ruefully and sat up, drawing her with him. “I wouldn’t want you nearly as badly if you did. You’re quite the challenge, Shiloh.”

Sitting back on her heels, she regarded him intently. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

He smiled again to let her know how very much he appreciated the challenge. “It’s a terrible thing for my sanity. It’s going to give me very little sleep, lots of cold showers and long, exhausting workouts. Otherwise, it’s an excellent thing. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She dipped her head and peeked up through her lashes in a very submissive posture that still managed to convey audacity. Evidently she’d seen through his thin attempt to politely screen his erection because she eyed the towel with interest. “I could help you with some of that.”

Groaning, he averted his gaze from her tempting mouth. “Gather up the supplies outside the door so I can get you out of here intact.”

Immediately she stood, went to the door and returned with a stack of ice packs and elastic bandages. “And then what?”

“You’re going to ice my knee and allow Léon to escort you to your car or whatever transportation you use to go home.” She opened her mouth to object so he gave her the Master’s look that silenced her. “If he could stay awhile, I’d let him act as your chaperone so we could eat together, if you were free.”

Her tongue flickered up to touch her upper lip that still bore red indentations from his teeth. “For you, I’m free.”

Chapter Six

V’s Gift Blog:

Call me crazy, but I think I finally have an answer to my dilemma.

After months of my boss treating me exactly like every other employee, I’ve decided that I need a way to approach Him and express my interest—without Him calling security or having me committed to the insane asylum.

Finally, it came to me. Without giving away too many details—after all, this is an anonymous blog—His company deals with television shows. So…what better way to approach Him than through television?

Think about it. Reality shows are all the rage. Why not have a BDSM reality show? Surely in this big wide sexy world there are other similar shows so I could still hide behind my anonymity. It would be the perfect way for me to say, “Are you interested in playing with me?” Of course, I’m hoping He’ll say something like, “That depends, baby, on how hard you like to be whipped.”

I don’t know if He uses a whip or a crop, chains or latex or other dungeon shit. I don’t care. I’ll try anything He’s into. This show would give me the perfect opportunity to not only advance my career but approach Him in a safe and non-threatening way.

There’s just one problem: I’ll have to devise a show that He’ll actually want to participate in. No, that He feels compelled to win, and I intend to be His prize. After all, I’m V’s Gift.

On their brand-new set for
America’s Next Top sub
, Shiloh had never felt sexier. The outfit wasn’t exactly historically accurate, but from the darkness burning in Victor’s eyes, she’d accomplished her purpose. She wore a short muslin shift barely more than a tank top with a white corset over the top, lifting her breasts and pushing out her booty. To make the scene as sexy as possible, she wore white lacy high-cut panties that disappeared beneath the corset. Without any skirt or petticoat, her ass was barely covered enough for cable TV.

Delicate pink stockings encased her legs to mid-thigh, tied with white ribbons, and she wore heels elaborately covered in sparkling crystals. Sweeping white feathers formed her mask, swan wings to frame her face and conceal most of her hair. She didn’t think her own mother would recognize her.

Victor wore tall gleaming riding boots and black jodhpurs that concealed the protective brace on his knee. His shirt was plain white linen, loose and open at the neck with billowing sleeves tied at his wrists. She hadn’t dared ask, but he’d opted to leave his hair loose, glossy black and tousled about his shoulders. Black wings covered his face except for his mouth and eyes, sweeping tight to his head and down to his shoulders.

Of course, the Master’s look was completed with his crop.

She stared at that crop and her stomach turned to cold, hard lead, even while a rush of liquid warmth flooded her veins.

“What’s the set up?”

The distant, reserved tone of his voice helped her focus on the show, and not the Master. “This is the opening shot that will play at the beginning of every single episode. We didn’t want to associate our show with Silken every single time, so we chose a basic neutral shot here.”

“Good.” He gave a curt nod, barely meeting her gaze. “Where do you want me?”

It felt strange to give
him
orders, but he’d made her show runner. This was her idea. She wanted it to succeed on multiple levels, not the least of which was her career.

She directed him to sit in a simple wooden chair with the crop in his lap. “The scene opens with you cleaning and preparing your equipment. The light will be focused on you, casting the rest of the area in shadows. When you’re satisfied with the gleam on the leather, stand up. The lighting will slowly brighten to show me at your feet, waiting for your attention. We need a few minutes of Master/slave play.” Her throat tightened, making her voice gruff. “Your choice.”

“Excellent.” He smiled, and it was far from the mellow ease last night as he groaned beneath her hands. This man couldn’t wait to bring that crop down on her flesh. “I always thought we should eroticize the cleaning and care of our tools.”

Mal snorted. “I think your tool gets plenty of care, V.”

Chuckling, he spread his knees wider and picked up an oiled cloth. “Not yet.”

He met Shiloh’s gaze and her nerves zinged as though she’d been electrocuted. He pointed the crop at the floor to his right. He didn’t have to say a word. From the tip of his smallest finger to the soles of his boots, the Master commanded her to kneel at his feet.

That quickly, she slipped fully into the role of his submissive. The show meant nothing. This was their first scene, her chance to give him exactly what she’d been dreaming about. As gracefully as possible, she knelt where indicated and pressed her face to the floor six inches from his boot.

Cameras rolled, lights blazed into his eyes, but Victor had one thought only: the woman waiting at his feet. He’d never enacted a scene for one of his shows before, although he was no stranger to performances. Sometimes it was hard to ignore the crowd; other times, the audience fed off the scene’s energy and multiplied it, frenzied as though they could feel his lust and power. That’s exactly what he wanted this scene, this entire show, to bring to Dallas.

With slow, deliberate intent, he stroked the cloth over the leather, lovingly caring for the weapon that could bring so much pain. He’d carried it for years, and although he’d tried various other tools of the trade, he always came back to this crop. It fit his hand perfectly, flexible but stout with a wide tip that combined to make a wickedly vicious
whoosh
.

“That’s good, V,” Mal called from the side. “It looks like you’re making love to the crop. Prepare for the lights to brighten.”

He gripped the crop in both hands at either end and stood, letting the camera focus solely on the Master’s weapon. He wanted the viewers to lean toward the screen, breathless with anticipation about what he intended to do with it. Light flooded the floor, and someone off to the left gasped, even though they’d all known Shiloh was there.

He raised both arms overhead and turned his body slightly, giving his profile to the camera. Poised, he waited what seemed like an eternity, and then he jerked his left hand down toward his thigh. The crop whistled through the air. Leather smacked against his thigh in a satisfying crack. The stinging cut of the crop heightened his senses, focusing his mind and body on one thing only.

Dominion.

Shiloh’s hand crept out to touch his boot, begging for the next blow.

He waited until she wrapped her hand around his ankle, and then he reached down, seized a handful of her hair at her nape, and hauled her up to her knees. Bending down, he glared into her eyes. “Why are you here?”

He chose to say those words because that’s how he always opened a serious scene, and while this scene might be taped for a show, it was real, serious, heavy shit, to him at least. He wanted to make sure she had committed to it as much as he did. Unscripted, her responses would reveal her true intentions. What did she expect to get out of a scene with him?

“To submit to you, Master.”

He straightened slightly, widening his stance, his left arm held out and back to the side, keeping the crop visible for the shot. “What may I do to you?”

“Anything you want, Master.”

Ah, yes, she couldn’t have given him a more perfect response.

He drew her closer, deliberately lifting her face toward his crotch. She made it look pretty instead of vulgar, her back arched, her gorgeous ass lifted to tempt him. Even if they were alone, he wouldn’t have let her touch him. He merely wanted to torment her with what she couldn’t have. Not until she’d satisfied his other urges.

Her lips were soft, open, her face hauntingly beautiful with the stark lights blaring down on her and feathers curled about her cheeks. She resisted his grip, pulling her own hair in order to lean closer, trying to get her mouth on him.

The lights dimmed, breaking the moment.

“Hold on just a minute,” Mal said to him, then louder, “Bring up the backlights. This next part we want only their silhouette. Okay, good. When you’re ready, V.”

“Ready for what?” Someone asked in a loud whisper.

He whipped the crop over his head and brought it crashing down on Shiloh’s buttocks.

She let out a low, throaty moan that tore at his control. He knew the blistering fire that had exploded on her skin, the deep throbbing pain despite his care to control his arm. He never started as heavy as he would end. Even as a sadist, he took care to begin with a sensual blow and not a cutting one backed by his full strength.

However, after denying his darker urges for so long, he was close to coming from that blissful sound of her cry alone. To reward her, he let her rub her face high on his thigh.

Shocked silence hung over the set for several long seconds, and then his crew erupted into cheers.

“Bring the lights up,” Mal said. “Let’s see the whole thing from the beginning and see if we need to re-shoot.”

Victor clenched his fist on the crop, grinding his teeth with fury. He did not want to stop. He did not want to sit down and watch the tape. He wanted—

Shiloh stared up at him, her eyes wide, glistening with tears, pleading. “Please.”

Don’t stop.

People talked and moved about the room, babbling words she couldn’t seem to understand. The lights hurt her eyes. Her ass stung, the sweet burn of his single blow a mere taste to whet her appetite for more.

But I’m not getting more any time soon.

The thought made her eyes fill up with tears.

Victor loosened his grip on her hair and straightened, breaking the fierce bond he’d formed as the Master. Cut free so suddenly, she wavered, dizzy and sick, too deep into the mental zone he’d already created.

She ducked her head and gripped her thighs, digging her fingers into her flesh as hard as possible. She couldn’t function for the show like this.

“Come here, baby.” Hands gentler than she expected, he gripped her upper arms and pulled her up to sit in his lap. She clung to him, hiding her face against his throat. His skin was hot, his pulse thudding as hard as hers. “Give us a minute. She’s all right,” he said to someone. “She’s still deep in the scene. It’s hard to shift her mind back from the game and focus on business.”

His left hand stroked her buttock, unerringly locating the stripe he’d given her. His fingers danced along the welt and her breath caught in her throat.

“What’s your safeword, Shiloh? That might help bring you back to the present a little quicker.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled against his neck.

His fingers stilled, and she felt his sudden intensity in the tensing of his thighs beneath her. “How can you not have a safeword?”

Talking helped return her clarity. She sat up straighter, curious to see why he was so annoyed—or alarmed?—by her answer. “I haven’t needed one.”

His eyes were smoldering midnight coals in the harsh planes of his face. “You’ve done a scene before. You’re too well trained and comfortable with play to not know the basics. Every sub has a safeword, Shiloh, or they shouldn’t play. No Dominant who gives a damn would even consider playing with a sub who couldn’t tell them when to stop.”

“I know the rules,” she replied defensively, stiffening her shoulders. “I was taught by a very caring Dominant years ago.”