Bared to Him by Sierra Cartwright Page B

gasped.
    “Kneel and put your other wrist on top of the bench.” He waited a moment to see if she’d use her safe word. When she didn’t, he laid the rattan to her again, slightly harder this time.
    He gave her no time to recover before he cropped her again.
    “Fine,” she said.
    He impatiently tapped the crop against the side of his leg. “Fine?”
    “I’ll kneel.” She glared at him, then flicked a glance to the crop. “Just don’t hit me with that thing again.”
    “Three seconds,” he said.
    She pushed it to at least four seconds, but she complied.
    Without being prompted, she placed her hand on top of the bench. Even if she couldn’t verbally admit she wanted this, her actions spoke volumes.
    He laid the crop on a nearby table and returned to her. She didn’t flinch as he secured her wrist in place.
    She tested the limits of her restraints.
    “Too tight?”
    “Physically, no.”
    “Emotionally?”
    From the look she shot him, one would never guess she was kneeling, strapped to a bench, her entire body exposed and waiting for his discipline.
    “Emotionally?” he repeated.
    “I don’t know you,” she said. “I wanted to play with Master Devon.”
    “And yet you’re here of your own free will.”
    “It doesn’t mean I like it.”
    “You’re free to leave.”
    “I know.”
    He softened towards her. She was fighting her fear, not submissively like he would have preferred, but she was trying. “Why do you engage with Master Devon or BDSM scenes?”
    “I’m not here to talk.”
    “Humour me.”
    “Is this eating into my time slot?”
    He knew the terms of her contract. “It’s a freebie.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited, making it clear he wasn’t moving on until she answered his question.
    “We could do this across a table with a cocktail.”
    “We can do this with you shackled and on your knees, as I prefer.”
    “I need a glass of wine.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t play with subs who’ve been drinking. If you still want a glass of wine later, I’ll treat you to one in the bar.”
    “You’re a monster.”
    He said nothing. By him establishing rules, by doing what he said he would, she would trust him faster.
    Finally she exhaled, blowing back those unruly wisps of blonde hair from her forehead. “I take only a few vacations a year. On the cruise, I have complete anonymity.”
    As beautiful as she was, as high-profile as she was, that wasn’t totally true. She would likely be recognisable almost anywhere she went in the world. But everyone aboard, including some politicians and entertainers, was required to sign a confidentiality agreement. No cameras were permitted. The organisers respected privacy.
    “I like small amounts of pain. I like giving up control.”
    He doubted that. But the exquisite sight of her on her knees, bound for him, made him wish it were true.
    “I don’t have a serious relationship,” she said. “And I don’t like playing at clubs. There’s too much exposure. And, believe it or not, it’s damn hard for me to find a man who’ll date me, put up with my hours and work demands, and spank my ass when I get home.”
    “I’d spank you when you got home, princess. You’d no doubt deserve it.”
    “Bastard.”
    Point proven. “What is it about the pain that you like?”
    “Could we just get on with this?”
    “I haven’t started the clock yet, and I like to know something about my subs before I play with them.”
    “I’m not your sub.”

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