“I’ve got you, okay?” he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. “Now lift your arms for me.”
Though I was still on the verge of panic, I lifted them. Hands took my wrists. Hands. Oh, shit. Kade was still here. And from what I could tell, he was helping Foster wrap something around my wrists—rope if I had to guess by the slightly abrasive feel of it. The heat of a full-body blush started in my cheeks and rolled downward like a crimson tide. They stretched my arms out above me at an angle and secured them on opposite sides. Before I could even process that, the same material was being wrapped around my ankles.
Foster ran a palm along my calf. I assumed it was him. I couldn’t imagine Kade taking such liberties, but I couldn’t be sure. “Spread your legs a little wider, angel.”
It was Foster. A little sag of relief went through me, and I adjusted my stance. They secured my ankles, leaving me completely at their mercy by the end of it. I flexed my fingers, trying to maintain some sense of calm, but was failing miserably. I probably could’ve provided electricity to half the homes in the Metroplex with the amount of nervous energy racing through my veins.
“Comfortable, Cela?”
“Oh, yeah, totally. I hang out like this all the time.” The quip was past my lips before I remembered my role here. I locked my mouth shut, prepared for a hand to land on my ass at any second, but instead I was met with chuckles from them both.
“I meant,” Foster said patiently, “does anything feel too tight or uncomfortable?”
“No, sir. Sorry.”
“I didn’t take you for the kind who likes a brat,” Kade observed, though there was humor in his tone.
A brat? I huffed, affronted. “Excuse me, but—”
That’s when a hand smacked the back of my thigh, drawing a yelp from me. “Calm down, sweetness.”
I turned my head in the direction of Foster’s voice, hoping he could sense my oh-no-you-didn’t glare.
“She’s not a brat,” Foster said to Kade. “She’s just brand new. And feisty. But . . .” The volume of his voice increased as he apparently directed his words my way. “If she keeps up trying to glare at me like that, I may have to demonstrate why bratting isn’t going to work out well for her. Care to add an additional punishment to your docket tonight, angel?”
I jutted my chin forward but turned my head away. I was opinionated but not stupid. Don’t provoke the guy who has you tied up. That was probably a good rule to add to my arsenal. “No, sir.”
“Good. Now I want you to count down from one hundred aloud. Slowly. When you get to one, I want you totally focused and ready for whatever I ask of you. Do you understand?”
“Where are you going?” I asked, stiffening at the thought of being left here.
“Do you understand?” he repeated, impatience creeping into his tone.
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to swallow down my smart remarks and questions.
“Count.”
I took a deep breath. “One hundred . . . ninety-nine . . . ninety-eight . . .”
He unsnapped the hook of my strapless bra, and the bra fell away, my nipples beading from the exposure. Oh, crap, oh crap, oh crap. I was naked—outdoors. I stumbled in my count.
The air shifted in front of me, and he gave both nipples a swift pinch. I arched my back from the shock of it, gasping
“Start your count again,” he said, a quiet but foreboding demand. “Anytime you miss a number or pause too long, you’ll need to begin again.”
I nodded, my body going hot from the pinch and my brain trying not to short-circuit. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night. “One hundred . . .”
Chapter 28
“Ninety-nine,” I said, my voice trembling a bit as I continued counting.
Foster palmed my breasts, brushing his thumbs over the now-throbbing buds, and I moaned without wanting to. Even with the anxiety of not knowing where I was or if Kade was still there or if anyone else could see, I couldn’t help but respond to Foster’s touch. I tried to stay focused on saying the numbers, but that was getting harder with each caress.
Foster’s fingertips coasted along the sides of my breasts, then down along my belly and hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he reached the triangle of satin and lace covering my mound, every muscle in my body tightened, anticipating the feel of him. He drew a single finger along the front of the satin, sliding telltale moisture along my cleft, then pressed against my clit.
I lost count again.
“Start over,” he said, gravel in his voice now. “I’m not taking you down until you get to one, angel.”
“One hundred, ninety-nine.” He pushed aside my panties and dipped a long finger inside me. “Oh, God.”
“Mmm, so scared you’re still quivering a little, but you’re as wet and hot as I’ve ever felt you, angel.” He stroked inside me with expert precision, and his stubble brushed my cheek. “If I was a betting man, I’d say a little exposure does your body good.”
My eyes squeezed tight and I kept counting as he added a second finger, but hard, shuddering need went through me. I didn’t know what he considered punishment. This was starting to feel like anything but. I was so wet, his fingers gliding deep and coaxing responses from me, that I knew it had to have been painfully obvious to anyone who may be near exactly how turned on and desperate I was for him. Somehow, I forgot I should be embarrassed about that. At the moment, I didn’t care.
Soon, his fingers slipped out of me and he grabbed my hips, situating me against him. The hard length of his cock pressed again the wet fabric of my panties. “And knowing this gets you so turned on and slick has every man watching hot and hard for you.”
My breath caught, the words sending a bolt of shock through me. “Foster.”
“Start your count over, beautiful,” he said as he stepped back. I could picture him standing there in front of me, that suit coat stripped off, his tie gone, and a wickedly satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
I couldn’t let my mind wander to the idea that there were other people who could see me. So I just did what he’d told me to do, I focused only on him and his voice. That’s all that mattered. I started my count over. His footsteps sounded off to my left, and then behind me again.
“When you get to fifty, this next part stops,” he said, the words holding an ominous edge. Before I had time to digest that, a snapping sound filled my ears and a sharp, stinging sensation lit up my left thigh.
I hissed, the pain pointed and more intense than the flogger had been. Shit, that hurt.
“This is a riding crop,” he explained. “Give me a color, Cela, for that level of pain.”
Color? A color? My mind apparently wasn’t translating English at the moment. It was too busy buzzing.
He snapped me again on the other thigh, and I cried out. “This is your test, angel. How well did you study? Stoplight colors were covered both in the binder and in class.”
I shook my head, bracing for another blow, when the picture of a stoplight entered my mind. Just like when I was taking a test, I remembered where it was on the page. Green for I’m okay; yellow for might be too much, check in with me; and red for stop, too much. He wanted me to give him an idea of how much pain I could handle.
“Green,” I said automatically, despite the angry protest my skin was giving. The level of pain wasn’t a breeze, but it wasn’t beyond what I could handle. In fact, after the initial sting, the warmth that chased it was kind of pleasant.
“Good girl,” Foster said. “Get back to your counting.”
I resumed my count, and the blows began to rain over my back and thighs in a steady rhythm. I winced for the first few, the bite of the crop hard to ignore, but by the time I got down to seventy-five, my entire backside was tingling with heat and a pleasant, heady sensation was clouding my thoughts.
As promised, he stopped when I hit the r
ight number, and I sagged in my bindings, letting the rush of it all filter through my bloodstream. His palms ran over the welts that were, no doubt, rising on my skin. “Still with me, gorgeous?”
“Yes, sir,” I said softly.
“God, you are so fucking sexy, angel.” He pressed his front to my back, my skin seeming to throb in time to my heartbeat. He left a trail of kisses over my shoulder. “I’ve lain awake at night, imagining you like this. Tied up and trusting and enjoying being under my hand. I can’t even tell you what it does to me to know you’re taking this risk for me, pushing past your fear.”
The words vibrated through me, creating a glowing warmth and a catch in my throat. His voice was so sincere, so reverent, that in that moment, I may have done absolutely anything he asked. It should’ve scared me—the depth of my willingness—but right now, I couldn’t think past the blind pleasure of knowing I could make him sound so truly awed. “Thank you, sir.”
He gave me one last squeeze, then stepped away again, letting the breeze soothe my burning back. “That round was for opening your door without checking. You’ve got one more to go for lying.”
I nodded, fear getting choked out by far more potent things—like lust and need and pleasure. “I understand.”
He touched the back of my head, and the blindfold slipped away. It took me a second to realize what he’d done, my eyes still closed, but soon the light registered. I lifted my lids, afraid of what I was going to find. If other people were there, I knew the panic would come back. I’d prefer to have the safety of the blindfold. But when I blinked, focusing, I saw no other soul. Instead, a beautifully lush garden spread out before me, gilded in moonlight and the glow of twinkle lights that had been strung through some of the trees.
My gaze moved downward, finding my feet nestled in the soft earth, my legs surrounded by lovely, white flowers. I lifted my head, taking in the rope holding me between two thick-trunked trees, the branches providing a canopy above me. It was like going to sleep in one place and waking up in Eden. It was . . . magical. And breathtaking.
Foster stepped around from one of the tress, riding crop rolling between his fingers and his gaze hot on me. The embodiment of temptation in the garden. “Hi there.”
I shook my head, still a bit stunned. “What is this place?”
He walked forward, the low light tracing the angles of his face. “The restaurant’s vegetable and herb garden.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, my eyes on him.
“Now it is.” He traced the tip of the riding crop along the curve of my breast. “You look like you sprung up right out of the earth like those flowers. So naturally gorgeous.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I let my gaze move around the span of the garden, over the rows of bell peppers, tomatoes, and dark green bunches of rosemary and thyme. No wonder the place smelled so heavenly. “Is Kade still here?”
Foster’s lips tilted. “He helped me tie you up and brought me my bag from the car. Then he left and locked the door behind him so we could be all alone.”
“But I thought—”
He pressed the flat leather tip of the riding crop against my lips. “I told you every man here was turned on. And that’s the truth. I am very, very turned on, angel. I needed to see that you would trust me. You did well.”
Something inside me bloomed. I had trusted him, but doubts had lingered in my mind like mosquitos I couldn’t swat away. Now I knew that he was truly worthy of that trust. He had pushed me to an edge but hadn’t violated my faith in him by taking it somewhere I wasn’t ready for yet. Even only knowing me a short time, he knew how far to take it, how to push yet still protect the shaky confidence that was trying to build into something more solid inside me.
I closed my eyes and kissed the crop.
An audible breath whooshed out of him, and he lowered the crop. “You humble me, angel.”
My mouth curved, and I met his gaze again. “Well, if you ever get the urge to kneel at my feet, I won’t stop you.”
His smirk lit his eyes with humor. “Maybe I was wrong. You are a brat.”
“Is that bad?” I asked, beginning to understand that the term must mean something significant in this world.
“It can be for some. But I have to say, I’m kind of liking your smartass side. Gives me more opportunity to do this in repayment.” He snapped the crop against the tender underside of my breast.
I shrieked in surprise, both at the pain and the pleasure that chased right up to my nipple afterward. The ropes creaked as I shifted my weight in response to all the sensation. “Ah, God.”
“Yes, now may be the time for prayer. You have one more punishment to handle.” His grin was pure male promise. “Forty-nine to one, angel.”
I wet my lips, eyeing the riding crop and developing an instant love-hate relationship with it. How could such an innocuous-looking thing dish out such a sting? Taking its bite on my back was one thing, but there were so many more sensitive areas on the front of me.
“I don’t hear counting,” he chided.
I braced myself. “Forty-nine.”
The leather landed on my hip, making me press my teeth into my lip to keep from crying out. Wow, that was a different level. I breathed through it, still counting, trusting that like the welts on my back, the wallop would turn into a pleasant burn.
“Still green?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, though my teeth were clenched a bit this time.
“Tough girl. I like it.” He stood in front of me, his eyes raking over my form as he held the crop in his right hand. Everything about his stance and the look on his face screamed power and sex and utter confidence. I couldn’t remember ever being so captivated. Having all that lust and attention zeroed in on me was headier than all the tequila shots in the world.
He lifted the crop, and holding my eye contact, snapped it right against my mound—lighter than the other hits but enough to get the attention of every cell in my body. I bowed up in the ropes, fighting hard to keep my focus and continue counting. My sex clenched, and my clit throbbed like it’d developed its own heartbeat. Jesus, that felt . . . I couldn’t even describe it. Shocking. Harsh. Fantastic.
Foster didn’t pause. He continued the blows on every exposed tender spot—my breasts and nipples, the tops of my thighs, my hips . . . Snap. Snap. Snap. My skin lit with fire and liquid heat soaked my panties. I rocked in the bindings, the twinkle lights in the trees starting to blur. Then he was back at the apex of my thighs, the hits from earlier turning into taps perfectly centered over where I needed it most. I had to start counting over again twice because my brain began to haze, all focus narrowed onto the need for release.
“Please,” I whispered in between the last few numbers. “Please.”
“Do not come,” he warned.
I groaned and tilted my head back, fighting against the tide. Finally, I hit the number one and to my utter dismay, Foster stopped the stimulation. No! I balled my fists, tugging against the bindings, squirming with the need for release.
“Easy, Cela,” he said, going to the ropes and untying. “Pull too hard and you’ll get rope burns.”
“I’m going to die,” I declared. “Sir.”
He chuckled—the bastard—and went to my other arm. “I promise, lack of orgasm won’t kill you.”
I wasn’t so sure.
After he’d unfastened me from everything, I realized my legs were weak beneath me. He kept a firm hand on my elbow and helped me ease down to my knees in the flower bed. “You all right?”
My body was pulsing and hot everywhere, and my brain couldn’t hold onto any thoughts for longer than a second. The chanting call for release was all I felt. “Yes, sir, but I need to come.”
He cupped my cheek, smile grim. “Welcome to your punishment.”
I blinked. “But we did that, you just—?
??
“And you enjoyed every minute of that flogging. That wasn’t punishment. This is the part that will make you think twice before you lie to me again.”
“Foster,” I said, reaching for him, totally prepared to beg shamelessly at this point.
He grabbed my hands and rubbed his thumbs over the top of them. “Get dressed, angel. It’s time to go home.”
And though it was obvious from the erection pressing against his slacks that he was impossibly turned on, too, I could see in the hard set of his jaw that there would be no swaying him. I’d broken his rules, and now we both would pay the consequence.
Disappointment settled over me like a cold, wet blanket.
Punishment sucked.
Chapter 29
Sitting in the car on the ride home was its own kind of torture. Foster was quiet, leaving me to my riotous thoughts. Plus, my ass and back hurt, every bump in the road jostling my flaming skin. If I’d hoped that the pain would distract me from being so damn turned on, I’d been wrong. Instead, it reminded me of how it had felt being bound and marked by Foster, how he’d looked standing there, holding the crop—a sexy, powerful predator in that lush garden. My muscles clenched low and tight. Goddammit. I shifted in my seat again.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You okay over there?”
“Don’t taunt me, Foster,” I said, my chin tipped up, my tone exceedingly polite.
He reached over and gave my knee a squeeze. “Not taunting, angel. Only making sure you’re not hurting too badly.”
I sighed, sagging into the seat at first and then remembering quickly that leaning forward was much more comfortable. I straightened my spine. “I’m okay. I really am sorry about the lie, for what it’s worth.”
He pulled onto the interstate, checking his rearview mirror. Somehow even watching him drive a car was revving my internal engine tonight. Those long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, the confidence with which he maneuvered his car, the long stretch of his leg flexing when he pressed the gas. God, I was freaking hopeless.