“It’s our secret,” Shaw stated, stopping him.
Shaw dropped his arms before placing a sweet kiss on Brock’s lips. Shaw stared into his eyes as he lifted one arm and cuffed Brock to the bed.
“Why are you cuffing me?” Brock asked as Shaw buckled the leather restraints into place.
“To help you stay on your feet.” Shaw placed a kiss on his shoulder.
He stroked a hand down Brock’s back, touching him with a reverence. Goose bumps broke out along his arms and legs as he shivered from the simple touch. He knew this was hard for Shaw. The wolf didn’t want to punish him and Brock knew he was having a hard time with the follow through.
Brock dragged a deep breath into his lungs. He looked up at his bound wrists and flexed his fingers, rolling his wrists inside the leather.
He wasn’t just taking the punishment for himself or Shaw, but for the burden of Paul’s death resting on his shoulders. All he had to do was accept the pain. The twenty lashes would be over quickly and then the two of them could move forward without having to run away and hide.
Shaw moved in close behind him, their bodies barely touching. The wolf’s long hair skated across his back. Brock wished he could turn around. He wanted to feel Shaw’s kiss against his lips. Keeping his head bowed forward, Brock stayed perfectly still. The waiting made him anxious, but he didn’t try to hurry Shaw along.
After a few minutes, Shaw stepped away from him. Brock closed his eyes then.
“Brock?” Shaw called out his name, getting his attention.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, trying to vanquish his shaky voice.
“Are you ready?” Shaw asked.
Standing straighter, Brock nodded. “Yes.”
Brock stared at the bedspread, mentally preparing himself for the first strike. He never thought he’d be in this situation. He wanted to glance back over his shoulder and look at Shaw, but he refrained. He heard the leather whistle through the air before the whip struck his back for the first time.
The air rushed out of his lungs. A cry escaped his lips and his body jerked forward, tugging at the cuffs binding him to the bed frame.
The pain streaked across his back, harsh and intense. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. The silver seeped through the first bloody stripe and he ground his teeth together as the liquid lava ran through his body.
Brock’s mind was still reeling from the first blow when the whip came down on his again.
He let out a shout. Sweat broke out across his forehead and upper lip. He hated feeling weak, and worse, Shaw was watching him. Clenching his fists above his head, he tried to gather what little strength remained. He needed to stay standing through all twenty. He needed to show his mate that he was strong enough to endure the pain.
As the third lash fell against his back, he took a deep breath, breathing through the pain.
* * * *
Shaw stayed steady as the whip fell against Brock’s back. He wanted to stop. He hated hurting his mate.
Brock yelled out, raw and agonized. The sounds cut Shaw bone deep and he wasn’t sure if they could make it to twenty. He delivered blow after blow, painting vivid red stripes across the length of Brock’s back. The whip thinly sliced his skin open, allowing the silver to enter Brock’s system. His poor mate wasn’t just dealing with the fall of the whip. He was also feeling the intense burn from the silver as it entered his system.
The whip fell again, pulling another harsh cry from Brock’s throat.
Stay strong. Finish the twenty lashes. When this is over, you can take care of him.
When he finally reached twenty lashes, Shaw dropped the whip to the floor and raced to Brock’s side. He moved in close, unsure where to put his hands. He didn’t want to touch the delicate, abused skin. Being as careful as possible, he removed the cuffs around Brock’s wrists. Without any support, Brock immediately began to collapse forward. Shaw wrapped an arm around the wolf’s waist, holding him up without touching his back.
Shaw easily maneuvered Brock’s limp body to the bed and laid him down on his stomach.
Brock made a pitiful, pain-filled noise and the sound broke Shaw’s heart into a million little pieces. He hated himself for hurting his mate.
Grabbing the cream from the bedside table, Shaw applied a thick layer, hoping it would ease some of Brock’s discomfort. Once he was complete, Shaw placed the cream back on the table and crawled onto the bed, lying down next to Brock.
Brock cringed as he turned his head and Shaw reached out. Before his hand made contact, he jerked his arms back, scared to even touch his mate.
“You can touch me. I’ll always want you close to me. I love you.” There was no doubting the sincerity in the words and they touched his heart. He was relieved that Brock still loved him.