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“I could’ve called you.”

“Youshouldhave called me, at the very least.”

“I know, Master. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You disappointed me,” he said, brushing a thumb over my lips, “but you didn’t let me down. You weren’t unfaithful, and this punishment will ensure you stay loyal to me until the day you die. I won’t allow you to stumble again.”

He disappeared once more, and the next blow to my ass stole my breath. I couldn’t make a sound if I tried. His evil cane cut across my ass in sharp lines, one on top of the other, and I knew from experience that those wounds would stay with me for a while, above and below the surface.

Some time later, the cane clattered to the floor. He’d been dropping implements left and right, which was so unlike him. He reached for the bullwhip, and that’s when I slipped up. That’s when a sob escaped, and I cried out a plea in the form of his favorite title.

“Master…” God, how I choked on the word, but I almost threw up at the thought of his whip landing on top of the welts from the cane.

He came to stand in front of me again, bullwhip held in a white-knuckled grip. “Do we need to start over?”

“No! I want the bullwhip!” Desperation strung those words together, screeched in a high-pitched tone.

“Don’t lie to me. We both know you hate the bullwhip.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Don’t make me start over again.” My voice was near to pleading, which terrified me even more. “I just want this to be over.”

And that was the honest fucking truth.

He leaned down, and his lips claimed my mouth. The kiss was too brief; a fleeting moment of bliss that seemed more like a dream in my current mental state. He pulled away, and I ached to do something—anything—to bring his mouth back. As long as he kissed me, he wouldn’t hurt me anymore.

“This will be over soon, baby. Then we can move on.”

Soonwas not the word I’d use. His inner sadist had taken control, and he wasn’t likely to unhand the reins anytime soon. Gage lost himself a little more to that monster with each minute that passed. And there were a lot of them. Minute after minute after minute of his bullwhip cracking through the air before it thrashed my thoroughly abused ass.

Forget composure. Forget acceptance. I screamed and cried and even cursed.

“I hate you!” I sobbed.

“I don’t blame you for saying that right now,” he said, a note of hurt tainting his voice as he brought the whip onto my ass once again.

“Fuck you! How can you be so cruel?” Hell, I lashed out in any form he’d allow. As long as I wasn’t begging for it to stop, he let me throw my agony-induced tantrums, similar to a woman in the throes of labor during the horrendous stage of transition. And that’s where I was—out of my mind with pain and so high on adrenaline that reality was a nebulous concept viewed through warped glass.

“You don’t love me,” I whined.

“I love you too much.”

Whack!

“This isn’t love!” My words echoed off the walls, and only then did I realize I’d screamed them.

“You’re probably right, but it’s the only way I know how to love.”

Whack!

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck! It hurts, Gage. It hurts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt.”

“No,” I moaned, unable to find the strength to keep screaming at him. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.”

He dropped the whip, and as that fucker hit the ground, echoing with hope through my ears, I’d never experienced so much relief. I would never, ever cross this man again. Ever.

“Thank God,” I mumbled.