Her Two Doms by Sierra Cartwright Page B

of arousal. Her mouth said one thing. Her body said another. “Last chance,” he said. “Walk out. Use your safe word. Or get on your knees. You have ten seconds to make a decision before I throw you out.”
    She didn’t move and she didn’t glance at the door. She moistened her lower lip, but she kept her chin back and her hands on her hipbones.
    By standing her ground, she was testing him, he knew, wondering if he were strong enough to truly dominate her. She obviously wanted to accept his challenge, but she refused to admit it to either of them.
    He knew her game, and he was willing to play it, for tonight. “Five seconds.”
    She did nothing.
    Clearly she wanted someone to take the decision out of her hands, so he did.
    He grabbed her, determined to force her to her compliance. With just as much determination, she resisted. She had to be half a foot shorter than him, and she weighed at least a hundred pounds less than he did. But the recalcitrant sub had surprising strength. “Right,” he said. He swept her from the ground, tossed her over his shoulder, and strode through the small office and into the Domination room. The space was equipped with everything needed for BDSM scenes, including running water.
    She pounded on his back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    “Giving you what you’re asking for.”
    She kicked and pummelled him.
    “Behave yourself,” he warned. He gave her shapely ass a sharp swat. He closed and locked the door, then carried her across to a kneeling bench and deposited her on the vinyl-covered pad.
    She started to rise, but he was having none of it. He forced her down. He used a leather cuff attached to the bench to quickly fasten her wrist in place.
    “Release me,” she said over her shoulder, eyes flashing fire.
    “Submit,” he countered.
    “But—”
    “The time for talking is done, princess. The only thing that will end this is your safe word.”
    Disobeying his direct order, she stood. She was attached to the bench, so she wasn’t going far. He strode to the far wall and pulled down a crop.
    Her face drained of colour. “What are you going to do with that?”
    He walked behind her. She tugged on the wrist binding, doing an impertinent dance. He snagged her free wrist and firmly pressed the crop against the backs of her knees. She turned her head to look at him. She wanted to know where this was going—he could see it in the depths of her unblinking blue eyes. But, even more, she needed him to prove he was man enough to make her surrender.
    Challenge on.
    Despite her wriggling around, he smacked the backs of her legs. No way would he unleash the full power of the implement on her gorgeous, creamy skin, but he wasn’t averse to using a bit more power to win this battle of wills. “Yield, sub.”
    “I…”
    He gave her a second stripe.
    She 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,”