Page 20 of Snow Bound (Odyssey #1)

She immediately relaxed so her knees once again fell apart, then mentally cursed. She was supposed to be defying him, dammit, not giving him everything he asked for on a silver platter.

“Well.” His eyes shone with surprised approval. “ You can do what you’re told. I think that deserves a reward.” He bent down and kissed her.

His kisses were just as delicious as she remembered, just the right about of rough and sweet.

Desire flooded through her and she tried to raise her arms to touch him.

The rough ropes prevented her, and the realization that she was helpless dragged a whimper from her throat.

She felt more than heard his low rumble of laughter, then he took the kiss deeper, nipping and nibbling and licking and plundering until her head was spinning and she was straining against the ropes.

When he pulled away she tried to follow, only to be brought up short.

Her low whine of frustration brought another laugh. “ Open your eyes, Anna .”

She struggled to obey, blinking to bring his face into focus. The naked desire and fierce approval stamped on his handsome features made her pussy clench, sending a rush of moisture between her thighs.

“Keep those eyes open.” He tapped her once on the nose in a light admonishment, then bent his head to her breasts.

She squirmed as his tongue circled her nipple lightly. It was too delicate a touch, too soft—and judging by his chuckle, he knew it.

He lifted his mouth and blew lightly across her damp flesh. The nipple drew up into a hard nub, and a pleasant little tingle ran through her. Then his mouth was on her again, suckling this time, and the strong pull of his mouth brought another tingle.

Then his teeth closed on the sensitive flesh and he slowly, steadily, increased the pressure until real pain threatened. She arched up, breath hissing out like air from a kettle as she hovered there on the edge of agony...and he bit down.

“Ahhh!” She arched, blinding agony clouding her mind and stealing her breath. Dimly she knew he’d lifted his mouth—the warmth was gone—but the pressure was still there. She looked down, blinking in confusion until her brain translated what her eyes were seeing.

There was a wooden clothespin on her nipple, pinching the tender bit of flesh so it practically glowed a dark red. “ You ...that...”

His dimple appeared. “ Me . This .” He gave the clothespin a flick and her whole body jerked at the sensation.

“It hurts,” she managed through clenched teeth.

“I know.” He flicked it again and she cried out at the burst of pain. “ Breathe , sugar. In and out, that’s a girl. Better ?”

She nodded, breathing ragged. The pain had faded from a scream to a roar, dull and throbbing. “ I know I said I hated you before, but I was just kidding. Now I hate you.”

“Well, then you’re going to despise me after this,” he quipped and lowered his head to her other breast.

He treated her other breast to the same procedure—light licking, a blow of breath, sucking, and steadily increasing pressure from his teeth until she was writhing in the ropes. Then the clothespin.

When he’d finished she was panting, and a light sheen of sweat slicked over her skin.

She was muttering dire threats under her breath when he leaned over her, blocking out the light, and stroked her hair away from her face.

“ Well , if you can threaten to put Tiger Balm in my underwear, you’re still thinking. Give me a number.”

“What...what number?” she panted.

“Between one and ten, one being none and ten being more than you can handle, what number would you give your pain?”

She struggled to focus. The pain was there, pulsing through her body with the beat of her blood, but the initial shock of it had faded.

Instead of a sharp spike of sensation, it was a dull throb, centered in her nipples, and much more tolerable than she’d have believed possible only a few moments before.

She licked her lips. “ Six . Maybe seven. I don’t know. ”

He was still stroking her hair, a soothing contrast to the pain in her nipples. “ Tell me what it feels like.”

“It throbs.” She sucked in a breath. “ Like someone pushing on a fresh bruise.”

He stopped stroking her hair to cup her cheek. “ Can you handle it for a while?”

She wanted to say no—it really did hurt—but she didn’t. Saying no would end it, and despite the pain, despite her jangling nerves, she didn’t want it to be over. “ I think so.”

“Brave girl.” He brushed a kiss over her mouth, a gentle reward for her courage, then dropped his hand and reached into the bag again.

She ignored the sense of loss and tried to see what he was holding, but he hid whatever it was behind his back and moved onto the bed. He settled on his knees between her spread thighs and with a low hum of pleasure, stroked a finger down her labia.

Her body jerked, making her breasts bounce.

She groaned as the movement jostled her pinched nipples and sent a rush of pain flooding through her system, her mind going fuzzy for a moment.

When she could think again, see again, he was smiling at her with such wicked intent that for a moment, she felt real fear.

Watching her, he lifted his finger, slick from her pussy, and licked it. “ Delicious . I could eat this pussy all day.”

Yes, please, she thought, and wiggled her hips enticingly.

“But that’ll have to wait,” he continued, and the sadistic gleam in his bright blue eyes had alarm bells clanging. Then he brought his hand out from behind his back and she stared at the object he held. It was orange, about ten inches long, and very familiar.

“Is that…a spatula?”

“Yep.” He waved it, watching her face. “ Got it from the kitchen.”

“I made the crepes with that this morning,” she said faintly.

“Well, now, that’s poetic, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully and slapped it lightly on the tender skin of her inner thigh.

She let out a cry, legs jerking closed in self-defense at the sting, and the resulting bounce of her breasts sent spikes of pain dancing through her nipples.

“Open,” he demanded, the order coming through the roaring in her ears. Thighs trembling, she obeyed.

“Very nice,” he said appreciatively and smacked her other thigh. She jerked again, nipples screaming. “ How does that feel, sugar?”

She fought to make her throat work, to push the word out. “ Nipples ,” she gasped. “ Ow .”

“Aw.” He chuckled. “ Well , let’s see if I can find something to distract you.”

The alarm bells got louder, but there was nothing she could do to stop him from applying the spatula to her thighs again, harder this time, the sting sharp and bright and still not enough to override the agony in her bouncing breasts.

“You know, if you tried harder to keep still,” he commented, slap, slap, slapping away at her thighs. “ It probably wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“You…keep…still,” she groaned.

He paused as though he was considering that. “ Nah ,” he finally said. “ But maybe…”

He set the spatula down, and while one part of her rejoiced, another despaired. And with good reason, she realized a second later when she recognized the gleaming metal instrument he held in his hand.

“Did you whisk the crepe batter with this?” he wondered, turning the stainless steel whisk so it caught the light.

She wanted to laugh, but was afraid it would come out in sobs. “ Yes .”

“Good,” he said with satisfaction and applied it to her thigh with gusto.

“I fucking hate you,” she wailed.

“That’s my girl,” he cheered and whisked the shit out of her thighs.

The already tenderized skin sang with pain, bright and bold and somehow enthusiastic, as though it took on the personality of its deliverer.

And she could do nothing but lie there and take it, her eyes locked desperately on his face as though he was an anchor in the storm, a light in the darkness.

Which was ridiculous—he was the storm and the darkness! But that didn’t seem to matter.

The blows kept coming and her boobs kept bouncing and the pain kept building on itself, hot and fast, and it was so much more that she’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t even like pain, not in the same sense that a scraped knee or a cut finger was painful.

It was rich and deep, thick like molasses and somehow just as sweet.

It was overwhelming and all-encompassing and somehow, not enough.

She was nowhere near orgasm, but something was building inside her.

Something huge and scary and suddenly as necessary as breathing.

Caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, agony and bliss, she became untethered. Free -floating. The only thing that mattered was sensation, the waves of it that rolled over her, unceasing, were all that existed.

And Grant . Grant was there. Stroking her face, calling her name. She should answer him. He wanted her to answer him.

Her voice, when she managed to use it, was nearly soundless. “ What ?”

She saw him smile through blurry eyes. “ There you are. Where’d you go, sugar?”

“Nowhere,” she croaked, though she knew that wasn’t entirely true. “ I’m right here where you left me, the Thanksgiving turkey no one is eating.”

He snorted, his eyes glowing with warmth. “ Still sassy, I see,” he said and slapped her pussy.

Pain exploded, no less intense than before, but somehow different. As though all the previous blows had only prepared her for this one, and the pain knew right where to go this time. It melted into her, seeking the cracks and crevices until she was full and somehow still curiously empty.

So empty.

“Please,” she heard herself say through the roaring in her ears. She needed him to fill her, but she didn’t know how to ask for it. “ Please .”

“Such a pretty please,” he praised and kissed her.