Again, and with a patient expression, he raised the whip.
“Cover your ears and watch,” he said.
I did.
I’d always imagined a whip’s crack as swift, sloppy, and brutal, but the leather cord became an elegant extension of Matt’s arm. It formed a slow helix in the air, flickered out, snapped the dart off the board, and relaxed across the floor. Matt beamed at me. I uncovered my ears and grinned stupidly at him. God, he was so cute, and so …
He quirked a brow. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I curled my toes. “You look really hot. Holding that.”
“Do I?” His shadow fell over me. There’s a little terror in delight. I wanted to run, and he probably would have liked that. “You trust me with it? With you.”
I nodded.
He took my hand and led me back to the TV room.
“Keep your skirt on.” Matt arranged me against the wall. He lifted my hair and kissed the back of my neck. “Unzip it, though, so you can get a hand inside and play with your clit.”
I did as I was told, but haltingly, my brain-to-hand signals slowed by desire and fear. Done right, it sounds a lot worse than it feels. Or so I’m told. Matt’s words weren’t exactly comforting. I glanced over my shoulder.
“So, you…” I slipped a hand into my skirt, into my thong, and trembled. “You’ve never actually been … hit with one of these?”
He pressed against my back and ass so that I felt his erection.
“Anyone who can whip a dart off a board”—his whispering voice heated my ear—“has hurt himself many times in the learning process. Practice makes perfect, bird.”
I envisioned a younger Matt standing in a field, cracking a whip. And holy shit, he knew how to ride a horse? All this new intel, combined with his kinky journal, had me reeling. I moaned as my fingertip skimmed over my clit.
“Good girl. Keep that up.” He tensed as if to step away, but he cradled my cheek and sighed across my lips. “Hannah, you feel how hard this makes me?”
I wrapped my lips around his finger and nodded, sucking softly.
“Fuck.” He moaned. Oh, I liked that sound.
Matt backed off and I closed my eyes, my nerves singing.
“Tell me when to stop,” he said. His voice had changed. Gone was the undertone of recklessness, replaced by calm control. Fear kept my eyes closed, but I longed to look at him: shirtless, aroused, wielding that black whip.
In my mind’s eye, he looked … beautiful.
Crack!
I yelped, more from surprise than pain. Gradually, I felt a stinging line across my bottom, dulled by the fabric of my skirt.
“Ah.” I breathed. Desire and excitement surged through me. We were actually doing this—Matt was whipping me—and it felt nothing like my gruesome imaginings, which involved screams and red stripes along my skin.
No, this was … tantalizing.
I wedged my other hand into my skirt and began to finger myself. Matt moaned his appreciation. I wiggled my bottom. Give me more.
Another loud pop sounded. The pain followed, subtly delayed. Thunder and lightning. Lightning and thunder. I gasped, desire oozing over my fingers.
Another crack, and no pain.
“You tease,” I panted.
“You want it,” he growled.
In answer, I pushed down my skirt. It fell around my ankles. Matt didn’t hesitate. Crack went the whip, I rolled my clit up and down, and a burning slice of sensation fell across my ass.
Violent desire, Matt called it in his journal.
Oh, I was so on board with that.
My legs trembled and I fought to stay upright.
“I’m going to come,” I gasped.
I heard the whip slap against the floor.
“Not without me you aren’t.” He moved swiftly, his body pinning mine to the wall, his fingers sliding aside my thong. Something filled me, and it wasn’t … him. My eyes flew open. Fuck, it was the handle of the whip, the rough knob of it deep inside me.
Matt’s mouth captured mine. I groaned and bit his lip. He fucked me with that stiff braided cord—he gave me no choice but to come—and when I did, he took his turn, casting away the whip and entering me, driving us together into bliss.
Chapter 20
MATT
Hannah lay along the floor with her head on my lap.
I sat against the wall, the whip coiled nearby.
Breathless silence.
She was so sweet now, her legs drawn toward her chest and her lovely face pillowed on my thighs. Her bottom glowed with three faint red stripes.
“I wish I could carry you outside, into the evening.” I stroked her hair. “Just like this, in your blouse and panties.”
Her eyes opened, luminous in the dim room.
What strange power she had over me, looking at me with those eyes.
“Let’s buy a home where you can,” she said. I stared at her mouth, her plump lips and small pink tongue. I leaned down and kissed it. She came alive for me, folding her arms around my neck and arching up from the floor.
“Were you a witch in another life?” I pressed my forehead to hers. “Witch bird.”
She giggled and dragged me down. Side by side on the floor, we nuzzled one another. Nothing had changed with the revelation of my journal. I felt a happiness that was half relief.
The other half was Hannah.
I kissed her throat and hooked a leg around her.
“I want to marry you,” I said. Her heart quickened against my chest. Could we actually have this for the rest of our lives?
After some minutes, we stood and stretched. I snagged the whip and grinned, eyeing the handle. “This is going to be fun to clean.”
She swatted my arm.
“You kinky bastard.”
“You said it.” I coiled the whip and tapped it against her bottom. “Go put on something hot. We’ve got dinner reservations.”
“We do?”
“Yeah, at Mizuna. They’re holding a table for us. I told them to expect us around seven. Of course, then you had to go and make me whip you.”
“Ha!” Hannah bounced on her toes. God, she was so fucking adorable.
“Clothes.” I steered her toward the bedroom.
* * *
Hannah took her time getting ready.
She paired her nude pumps with a fitted beige and black dress. I dressed quickly—light slacks and a black dress shirt—and watched her apply makeup.
“We match.” She beamed at me in the mirror.
“Mm.” I loomed at her shoulder, observing her dozens of makeup tubes, pallets, and bottles. For a girl who wore little makeup, she sure owned a lot. “How do you keep track of what’s what?” I twisted a tube.
She snatched it and applied the gloss to her cheekbones, making them shine. Mysterious.
“More bird witchery.” She grinned at me.
She let me choose her jewelry.
I found a black lace choker among her things.
“This,” I said, banding it around her neck. A vivid blush came into her cheeks. “And this.” Around her wrist, I clasped the owl charm bracelet I had given her for Christmas.
When we stepped into the empty restaurant, Hannah hesitated. “Is it closed?” The tables were set but barren, varnished wood and overturned glasses gleaming.
I shook my head.
“We wouldn’t be able to talk if…” I shrugged and led her to a table for two. “I know the owner. They just moved a few reservations.” And offered discounts that I would cover.
Hannah laughed and rolled her eyes.
“You are ridiculous.” She unfolded her napkin. “And adorable.”
A single waiter glided out, smiling and gracious, and I ordered for both of us—the lobster mac and cheese to start, a baby-lettuce salad and Chardonnay for Hannah, and for our entrées, the New York strip and roasted duck breast.
“We’ll share. Ever had duck?” I twisted my fork on the tablecloth and stared at Hannah. She kept glancing around and fidgeting.
“Um, no.”
“You’ll like it. All dark meat, even the breast.” I slid my foot forward until my shoe bumped hers. She jumped.
“Sore bottom?” I murmured. “You’re restless on that chair.”
“Matt!”
“What?” I chuckled. “We’re alone.”
“Quite…” She peered around again.
“Is it making you uncomfortable? We can leave.”
“No, no. It’s just … strange for me.”
I reached for her hand. She squeezed my fingers and I smiled, but the smile faded rapidly.
“Next time someone approaches you making claims about me,” I said, “please, tell me.”
She shrank in her chair. “Well, I did tell you. Sorta.”
“Yes, sort of.” I stroked her knuckles. “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before, to be honest. People are so fucking crazy. But I deserve to know, and I would rather not learn about it in our collaborative story, do you understand?”
She nodded and stared at her lap.
“I’m not chastising you. I’m guilty of the same, more or less. The journal…” I shrugged. “We were both keeping secrets. As it happens, though, your mysterious lunch companion was not a friend of Bethany Meres. She was Bethany.”
Hannah jolted, her knee banging the table.
“What?”
“It’s all right.” I cupped my hands around hers. I let the information sink in, and then I continued, “I knew when I read the description. Her hair, her physique. It was enough. A quick phone call confirmed it.”