Page 37 of Jewel of the Assassin

My body jerks against the bindings, a cry tearing from mythroat. Not a scream of pain. It’s something stranger—raw and wild.

Another strike follows, the swell of my breast this time. Then a third.

He circles me and paints my back with the whip, everywhere but where my hands rest. Sharp and burning, each crack sears deeper. He’s right. I know it with no equivocation. I will always remember this. The pain brands itself into my very soul like a flaming ghost.

And still…the way he looks at me, the way he handles the whip, it’s like he’s writing something sacred on my body.

Roman steps closer, and I feel the heat of his breath against my back. A second later, his tongue follows the path of the whip, tracing the outline of the wound, almostloving. Tender licks that make me shudder harder than the pain.

And then it begins again.

There’s a rhythm to it now. A ritual. Pain, then mercy. Fire, then cool balm from his tongue.

He doesn’t strike in the same place twice. Every inch of my body becomes his canvas—hips, thighs, shoulders, the dip of my spine. The marks are delicate, even when brutal. The whip engraves fine red lines like calligraphy, electric, exquisite strokes.

He swings again.

The whip cracks upon my nipple. The pain radiates through my whole breast and makes my pussy itself cry out.

“Roman!” I screech.

But the whip comes down again. More force this time to my left nipple. I arch my chest, curling my shoulders, trying to avoid the pain, but it’s impossible.

“M-master,” I whimper in correction.

He pauses after the third strike, and I gasp as his lips close around one nipple, suckling with aching warmth that is soft but somehow strong. He licks circles around the inflamed bud, then stands with a devilish smirk, raising the whip again.

“Please!” I cry out as he lashes the nipple again.

My breasts throb. My legs shake. Even my heart seems to seize.

More strikes to my breasts, and heat rises, tingling all over my skin, pressure mounting. Sweat beads and rolls down my sides, mingling with the sting. My thighs are slick, my arousal dripping to the cold stone floor.

Each strike of the whip makes my body clench, tightening around the fiery ginger root until the burn is maddening. Agonizing. Devastating.

But also…tantalizing. The drugs blur everything.

Between his whipping and his licking, my body soars. My mind detaches. I float somewhere above myself, watching the way I writhe and gasp and moan. My voice doesn’t even sound like mine—it’s broken and beautiful.

I feel my skin swell. Raised. Red. Alive. I pant between moans.

Through it all, Roman never stops touching me with his eyes. Like he’s not just watching, butpraying.

And then, the whip bites my pussy lips. I crash through the floating sanctum back to earth, back to the dungeon where everything sharpens, deepens, and scorches.

“Nonononono!” I screech through clenched teeth, shaking the ropes and chains. “God, stop, you fucking basta?—”

Roman lashes my folds five more times until I apologize. And then, he lowers his body and drags his tongue in one slow swipe. A single, circling rub of his thumb on my clit has me keening until my cries echo off the dungeon walls.

“Let it be done. Please, it’s too much,” I rasp.

“Oh, I’m nowhere near done with you, Maya Valya.”

He turns, and my breath heaves and cleaves. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I hear the faint sound of something metallic. When he makes his way back to me, I widen my eyes. Shock stunts my breath at the sight of the toy. And his wicked smirk.

“This is a pussy spreader device.” He inches it near my labia, and I jerk in the restraints until he locks his eyes on me and warns, “Don’t struggle. Or the whip will seem like a feather tickle compared to your punishment.”

I whimper but work to obey, to submit. The tension doesn’t leave my body, forcing my thighs to clench as he fits the spreader along my pussy.