Page 96 of Point of Contention

“I’m going to whip you, Ms. Blake, until you know nothing but the pain I inflict, until your world focuses on me. Only me. Until everything else falls away and your mind zeroes in on each brush of leather, each stroke of my hand. And when you’re at your breaking point, when you think you can take nothing more from me, I am going to fuck you while they watch. Claim you. Fill you.”

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Each word of his promise—threat—was a stroke of heat between my legs.

I squeezed my thighs together, my clit throbbing as I asked, “Why?”

I didn’t need more of an explanation. I understood his need to claim me. And though I didn’t fully understand his desire to punish, I understood that it was a part of him.

But I wanted him to say everything out loud. Needed it.

His honesty was a gift to me as much as my obedience was a gift to him.

And, if I was going to agree to this, agree to allowing him to punish me and then fuck me in front of a crowd of strangers, I deserved to know why he wanted that.

“Because you’re mine.” He leaned forward and pulled my bottom lip between his teeth, only releasing it when I whimpered. “And because I can.”

I ran my tongue over my lip, tasting the copper tang of blood.

Cabot dropped his hand between my legs and fingered the lace. “And because the threat of what I want to do to you should scare you…” He brought his fingers up and licked the wetness off the tips. “But it turns you on.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Cabot’s gaze searched mine, but I couldn’t deny him.

Why would I even want to?

After all, it was in this very viewing room that I first saw him with Stella and knew I wanted what only he could give.

And now was my chance to take it.

As he laid claim to me, I intended to lay claim to him right back.

I straightened my shoulders and tilted my head back, then said, “Yes, Master Creed.”

His breath caught, then he ducked to kiss me and I could feel the smile on his lips. “Pick your poison, Ms. Blake,” he whispered, then he pulled back and straightened to his full height, looking down his nose at me. “The St. Andrew’s Cross, perhaps?”

Ignoring the growing crowd of onlookers, I pushed off the wall and considered his question while I assessed the equipment.

I was familiar with both the cross and the spanking horse, and though the swing hanging from one corner of the room looked enticing, I didn’t think it would provide what he needed tonight. I stopped in front of a small leather bench that consisted one large piece of wood at the top, with two smaller planks jutting out behind. Each piece of wood was cushioned and covered in an antique-looking brown leather, bolted into place with studs like a fancy old couch.

If the shape of it was any indication, I’d be kneeling, my body bent over the top and my legs strapped to each plank behind me.

I looked back at Cabot over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t speak or move, but his eyes shone with approval.

As he stepped toward me, the air shifted, and my body buzzed with that flight or fight energy that had become a source of euphoria for me. I mean, who needed drugs or alcohol when you could be worshipped by a man like this?

Claimedby a man like this.

He motioned to the bench and inclined his head subtly. “Good choice.” Then he reached to the corset and began to unclasp each hook and eye from the top to the bottom. “You’re going to perch yourself on this bench, bent at the waist in a kneeling position,” he said as his fingers moved down my front. His words were low, murmured only for me. “Your head will settle into the cradle”—my gaze flicked to the furniture—“much like a massage table,” he quickly assured. “I will strap both of your calves to the bench and secure both of your wrists.”

My pulse raced as he explained what I’d do and my mind imagined it in vivid detail.

He released the corset and it fell to the floor behind me, then he nudged my shoulders until I turned around. With his hands at the zipper of my dress, he leaned forward. “You’re going to be bent in such a way that your perfect ass is in the air, your legs spread for me.”

I shivered as his breath caressed my bare neck.

“Do you want to keep your panties on…” He pulled the zipper down, then slipped his hands beneath the thin spaghetti straps. Leaning forward, he brought his lips to my ear as he pushed the dress down over my shoulders and the fabric pooled around my heels. “Or should we show them how you weep for me?”