"Do it, man," he emphasized to Rhett. "More. Make her ass hotter. Eleven more swats." He grinned a little at Brynn's taut little moan. "We can do a lot with that, can't we?"
To his pleasure-more than he could admit-one side of the guy's mouth kicked up in a devil's smirk. But to his surprise, Rhett didn't lift his hand again. He kept taunting the two fleshy hills, squeezing more color into them by the second.
Finally, Rhett murmured, "How much hotter?"
Rebel grinned. "You have something special in mind?"
"The bag we brought from Dax's … the special one on the nightstand. Open it up."
The moment Rebel complied, his smile widened-before he pulled out the compact leather spanker atop of the other accessories they'd "borrowed" from what Rhett referred to as "Dax's drawer of wonders."
"Well, well, well," he crooned, twirling the base of the toy in the palm of his hand. "My friend Dax has some mighty interesting 'splaining to do, the next time we go bourbon tasting in the Quarter."
"No shit." The light played off the red tints in Rhett's wagging eyebrows. "Found that one in a cabinet near the futon. Quality craftsmanship. Leather's formed over the wood real well." He issued the praise while accepting the paddle from Reb. At once he rubbed it over their subbie's ass in rhythmic little circles.
As he lengthened the caresses, Brynna shifted restlessly. Rebel had anticipated as much. He gazed carefully at her once more, then checked her pulse through her wrist. He also surveyed the color across the rest of her body. They didn't have her bound, but her unusual position made him extra diligent, especially because the woman looked well and truly on her way to the happy land of subspace. If that happened-and that was a big if, considering the level they were about to take her to-then diligence would have to be his middle name. Her complete welfare would be in his care. He was used to the responsibility, of course; every Dom had to be ready for it in any scene …
But never, in his journey into the world of kink, had he been honored by it.
Before now.
"Minette?" He brushed fingertips over her cheek. "Are you still able to understand me?"
Her eyes were open but thickly glazed. She blinked at him with surprising focus, though her lips pressed as if she struggled for words. "Y-yes … Sir."
Rebel pushed his fingertips in, silently praising, though kept his voice timbered with authority. She needed his strength more than ever. "Same rules apply now," he stated. "No speaking unless spoken to, unless it's to call for a stop or a slowdown." He contemplated giving her a tiered safe word system, even if it was just the basic green light/yellow light/red light, but even tap-dancing at the subject sparked new trepidation into her eyes. "No means no," he told her instead, framing fingers to the back of her jaw for emphasis. "Is that completely understood?"
"Yes, Sir." This time, she gave it without hesitation.
"Good girl." He continued his grip back against her scalp, then tilted her head all the way back. Her upturned profile almost stole his breath again. He couldn't resist dropping his mouth and pressing it to hers, though didn't delve past her parted lips. With their breaths still mingled, he directed Rhett, "Start again, Double-Oh. Make her really red for me."
Without a word of comeback, Rhett drew back-and whapped her ass with the full force of the paddle.
Rebel sucked every note of her scream into his mouth.
The next one, too.
And the one after that.
By the time Rhett delivered smack twelve, the outcries stopped-and her quivers began. Only tiny tremors at first, starting as soon as he pulled the paddle from her flesh, but grew to full shivers by the time he reached the top of his sweep, ready to crack the leather back upon her naked flesh. Once the blow connected, her tension was detonated, broken into splinters of energy through her body, only to be pull back to her core, repeating the intense sensual cycle.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Rhett's spanks intensified.
Brynna's ass bloomed brighter red.
Rebel's cock pushed harder at his fly.
Still, he didn't let her go. Couldn't. Not when every blow shot that heat harder through her, flowing out until it seemed to burst through her pores, making him hurt and writhe and shiver with her-
Then melt. And float. And fly.
"Damn."
It was barely a whisper but resonated with his shock. Holy shit, what was this?
As the sixteenth blow reverberated through her, he couldn't even manage a voice. She panted against his mouth, silent but desperate. Her eyes were closed, seeping once more with magnificent tears.
He needed more.
He rose up, pressing her face against his chest, twining her hair around his fist. As his heart thundered harder, he looked down over the luscious curve of her body, her naked ass and thighs still fitted so beautifully against Rhett's lap.
This couldn't be real.
It was so good. Too good.
It was no exaggeration. He wondered if he was simply living a dream, a "conscious unconsciousness" of some kind. He was only a few feet off the floor but his senses soared as if he were a mile high again, viewing the world from a strange advantage. From that view, he didn't see three separate bodies in a motel room. They were one being, bound by desire and elevated by passion, then ensconced in a whole new level of existence. There wasn't any past that haunted or future that loomed. No baggage to drag or labels to apply. No limits to watch or lines to color in …
There was only need and its fulfillment. Energy and its response. Power and its return.
Dominance … and deliverance.
Only why was he the one who felt transformed? Why did the dip of her head against his chest make his mind blast to the moon? Why did her hand, now lifting to his waist, make his dick lurch anew, the tip moistened with pre-come? Why did his blood sing and his nerves throb, thudding in anticipation of the last three spanks still left … but completely dreading them, too?
He wasn't the one who was supposed to feel this … any of it. He wasn't the one here to learn a lesson. He knew all the lessons, damn it. Once upon a time, he'd possessed hope that BDSM could mean more for him than a hot fuck and a raging orgasm-but "once upon a time" was for things like fairy tales, not a real-life guy who'd worked his way out of the swamp, only to travel across the world and slog through more swamps. These days, D/s was a formatted way for him to keep all the demons happy … the "fun" little memories that crawled into his head, fed with something as wild and ravenous as they were. But it would never kill them completely. Nothing ever would.
Or so he'd believed-
Until now.
Brynna's quivers started again. She panted harder into his chest. Her hand tightened on him. But her eyes flared with pure erotic light, betraying her own love/hate conflict about the paddle Rhett hoisted up.
He smiled down at her.
She smiled back up.
And might as well have lobbed a brick along with it.
There wasn't just light in her eyes anymore. There was understanding. Connection. Commiseration. She gets it. Somehow … she just does.
"Fucking perfect." Rhett's murmur couldn't have been better timed-or worded. With the paddle still aloft in one hand, he swirled over her ass with the other, tracing the dark pink and red patterns forming one hell of a sensual masterpiece. "Moon is right. I've rarely seen an ass more ideal for this. Look at these colors … all this beauty." He rubbed a little harder, making Brynn moan into Reb's chest. "And just listen to that."
Rebel dipped his lips to her hairline. "You please us so much. Je t'adore. Tu est mon petit éclair crémeuse."
He almost expected her to giggle at the endearment-and wouldn't have minded if she did-but she embodied it instead, sliding closer, silken and soft as cream, her hair flowing across his nipples. Rebel bit back a hiss. Holy shit, that felt good. But right now, he was sure the woman could rise up, bite off his nose, and he'd thank her for the pleasure.
"Fuck."
No other exclamation seemed to fit, not alongside the epiphany that slammed behind that vision.
This … craving … to make her happy, fulfilled …
Was this what submission felt like?
Or was it real Domination?
He twisted her hair tighter, pressing her in closer. All of it felt like a Band-Aid on a chest wound. His.
"What the hell?" he grated. "What the hell are you doing to me, Brynna?"
But while he pleaded it into her hair … he angled his gaze directly at the man still poised with the paddle. Who suddenly let the thing fall backward, onto the bed. Who then curled forward, also wrapping himself around her, before rasping, "And me. Fuck. And me, too."