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 are two 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 and hard.

My eyes flick open.

“No,” he says, and I close them again.

The initial stab of pain fades quickly, leaving a low, thick pressure. A tight awareness and an undercurrent of deep, flowing pleasure. A moment later, I feel that same sharp stab of exquisite pain on my other breast.

“Your nipples are so sensitive,” he whispers as his hand slips down to explore my sex. “Oh, yes,” he says. “This time I don’t think I have to ask if you like it.”

I don’t remember ever feeling so aware of my body. Even the air is erotic, its whisper touch making me quake.

I gasp as the pressure to both my breasts increases. Slightly at first and then with more force. He’s tugging on the chain that connects the two rings, pulling me up, the weight of my own body making the tug on my nipples even more exquisite. Not painful, but tight and aroused and ready.

“Damien.” His name is a demand and he answers by closing his mouth over mine. The kiss is hard and needful, and I thrust my tongue in his mouth, desperately trying to claim this moment. He matches me, but all too soon pulls away and then gently eases me back onto the bed. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I feel the soft caress of the leather as he trails the whip gently over my belly, then over my legs. I start to squirm, then freeze under his sharp command that I keep still.

Then it’s trailing between my legs. My muscles spasm in anticipation and then there it is—snap, a light spank on my vulva. I gasp. Never would I have thought I’d feel such exquisite pleasure from getting smacked in such an intimate place, but maybe it makes sense. I imagine Damien pounding into me, fucking me hard. Yeah, maybe it makes a lot of sense.

I wait, my body raw and open. Wanting and needing. But there is no second strike.

“Again,” I beg. “Damien, please.”

His moan of pleasure tells me everything—he’d been waiting to see if I liked this new play. And I do. So help me, I really do.

Once again the strips of leather land lightly against my sensitive skin. I arch up, my clit feels huge and swollen, and as he smacks me once more, I fear that if one of those straps lands directly on it I’ll explode from the combination of pleasure and pain.

“Damien,” I say, and that’s all it takes. The sensation changes, and it’s not the leather on my sex, but his mouth. His hands are on my thighs, and his tongue is inside me, and I can hear his low, hard moans. I’m close, so close, my hips twisting and bucking shamelessly against his face, the scrape of his beard stubble tickling my sensitive skin.

I’m there—right on the edge, when he eases away from me. I cry out in protest, but my cry changes to a gasp as Damien thrusts inside me. I open my eyes and see him above me. He’s looking right at me, his expression one of such intensity that I can’t resist drawing my arm around his neck and bringing his mouth to mine.

We kiss, as deep and as hard as he’s fucking me, and I’m already so close that I come in just seconds, in what has got to be the most massive orgasm of my life. He’s not far behind me, and when he’s spent, he eases next to me on the mattress, our bodies still connected. I see the whip where he laid it on the pillow. I look at it and smile. “I think I’m going to like being a bad girl.”