“Oh God, Jack.” I moan as he helps me stand. “Fuck me. Please. I need you.”

    “Now you’re ready.” With one hand around my waist, holding me against him, he pulls down a set of cuffs, draped over an exposed beam. “Let’s get you undressed.”

    I tremble when he unbuttons my skirt and drops it to the floor. “I don’t know about this.”

    “You’ve been cuffed like this in my playroom. You know how it feels. And the endorphin rush you just had will help you deal with the pain.” He helps me pull my top over my head.

    “Pain from what?”

    He undoes the clasp of my bra, and I slide it down over my arms, dropping it on the floor with the rest of my clothes.

    “From my flogger.” He reaches up again and pulls down the flogger he has hidden on top of the beam.

    My throat tightens when I look at the black leather handle and all the leather strips attached. “That looks…not very nice.”

    Jack chuckles. “This is the nice one.”

    My trembles become a violent shudder as Jack secures my wrists in the cuffs overhead. He adjusts the chain on the beam until I’m stretched up with my toes on the ground. Vulnerable. Exposed. Hanging—like a piñata. Except when he hits me, I’m pretty sure sweet things won’t be coming out of my mouth.

    Jack smooths his warm hand up and down my body, but his touch does little to alleviate my fear.

    “We’re going to use the traffic light system so I can assess how you’re doing during the scene. Green is go. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop. Or you can you use your safe word to end the scene. What is it?”

    “Redemption.” Although after this, I won’t think of Redemption as my safe place anymore.

    He trails the flogger over my skin, the little tails tickling their way across my back and over my bottom. Surely something so soft can’t cause too much pain. I take a deep breath, and my tension eases the tiniest bit.

    “Are you ready?” He flicks the flogger, and the little tails pitter-patter over my skin like soft little raindrops. Not bad at all.

    “Yes.”

    He continues with the soft, light strokes, first on my back and buttocks, then on my front. My skin warms, but every time I start to relax, he ups the intensity. Thuddy blows hit my ass, my upper back, and the tops of my thighs in a slow, steady rhythm, then faster. I try to get to the place in my head where I go when I cut myself, a little oasis of calm, but I am not in control. I don’t know when or where he will strike me. I don’t know how hard it will be. After a few more strokes, my skin starts to burn. And then the burn turns to pain.

    Bloody hell, that hurts. I hold my breath, tense, waiting for the next blow.

    “Where are you on the traffic light system?” he asks.

    Yellow. Definitely yellow. Close to red. “Green,” I lie.

    The flogger tails thud against my skin so hard they steal my breath away.

    “Breathe.” He changes his strokes so only the very ends of the flogger touch my skin. The thudding turns to stinging. I reach for my safe place, but I am lost in the pain.

    “Open your eyes, Pen.” Only when he commands me do I realize my eyes are squeezed shut. I look up at him, and his brow creases in a frown. “Stay here with me. Where are you now on the safety scale?”

    Red. But he looks so expectant…maybe hopeful? I can’t let him down. “Green.”

    His muscles ripple as he raises the flogger, and I whimper in anticipation of the pain where I am most vulnerable, but the blows he delivers to my stomach, breasts, and thighs are lighter, softer, just enough to make me rock toward him, seeking more of the sensation that is at once pleasure and pain. My tension eases, muscles slack, and I lean in to the gentle blows.

    “Good girl.” He drops the flogger, and I sag in the restraints. All over. I did it. It hurt. It was bad, but not as bad as I imagined.

    “Let’s see if you’re warmed up.”

    Warmed up?

    He pinches my nipple so hard I gasp. With his other hand he cups my mound, pressing his palm over my clit as he pushes two thick fingers inside me.

    “You’re very wet. Are you ready for more?”

    More?

    “We can stop if you need to stop,” he says softly as if he knows what I’m thinking.

    I want to stop. God, I want to stop. But I won’t. For me and for him. For once in my life, I want to be worthy, wanted. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I couldn’t please my father or Adam. Nothing I did was enough. I don’t want to fail again. He needs this, and I want to give it to him.

    “No. I want to keep going.” I stiffen my spine, meet his gaze with all the determination I can muster, even though I hurt all over and ache inside.

    “Are you sure?” His studies me intently, as if he’s trying to see into my soul.

    “Yes.”

    “Use your safe word if you need it.” He walks behind me. A second later I hear a whoosh, and then the sting of a dozen bees sheets across my skin. My breath hitches, and I scramble to find a way to process the pain, but before I can get there, he lands another fierce blow that rips a scream from my throat. My ears ring. My brain fuzzes. There is no pleasure for me in this pain. No fun in this encounter. No release at hand. I just bloody hurt all over, and I can’t even imagine how it will end.

    “Safety? Red, yellow, or green?” His voice sounds far away, or maybe it’s strained.

    Redredredredredred. “Green.”

    He strikes again, and I bite through my lip to hold back my scream. Tears streak down my face. My body is slick with sweat. I am on fire. Scorching, burning, searing in the very pit of hell. Caught between determination and despair, I let my head fall against my arm, squeeze my eyes shut, and try to give myself over to the pain.