She nodded and whispered, "Yes, sir."
"I know you're tired." He reached down and lightly brushed her lips with his fingers, lightly teased her cheek with a lock of her own hair. That made her smile. "There's my girl. So obedient. She's even smiling."
"Why do you do this?" she asked, so torn between loving the crop and hating it, loving him and hating him. "Why, sir?"
"I do it out of kindness, of course," he said. "You understand that, don't you?"
She thought of his kisses, his sweet words, and the caring way he touched her welts. He was a kind man. Who but a kind man would give her such affection, such tender concern with her pain?
"I understand, sir. You are very kind." It made her smile to say it, not because it was a lie but because it was true. She understood it all now.
"Now only forty-eight more. Do you want to take them on the floor or would you like to stand again?"
A choice. How kind of him.
"The floor, please, sir."
"If you like," he said. "On your hands and knees. You'll be more comfortable that way. Legs wide. There. Just lovely. I love to see you like this," he said, standing behind her. She knew he was looking at her open and exposed holes. She wanted him to see them. She wanted him to see what he owned. "I'm so very glad I asked you to play this game with me."
"It's my pleasure, sir."
"Oh, I know it is, but it's so rare to find such an eager partner. In truth, my dear, you're really doing me a favor."
She looked up and he had his hands on his chest. So well-mannered. So refined. So civilized. The very portrait of a gentleman indeed.
He took the crop in hand and struck her under her ribcage so hard she went momentarily blind.
He was an angel of beauty and pain.
"Count, darling," he said. "Otherwise I'll forget my place and we'll have to start all over. I hate losing my place, don't you?"
He was the devil incarnate.
"Forty-eight," she said through gritted teeth.
"That's right. Almost there. Carry on. That's my girl."
Angel.
"Oh, that hurt my hand so I know it must have hurt you. I'm so sorry, my darling."
Demon.
On and on it went. The hits followed by words of encouragement and affection followed by more hits. Mona grew dizzy. It was hard to keep count but unthinkable to lose count. What if he started over? What if he didn't? Even as she counted, it seemed time had stopped. The clock stopped. The world stopped. They had always played this game and they always would. That was how it should be. Heaven and hell were in this room and they had one foot in each.
"Only ten left, sweetheart. You're amazing, you know. Simply amazing at this."
She counted the last few strikes and by the final five she'd curled into the fetal position on the hardwood floor. Two left. Just two.
"Darling?" Malcolm's voice penetrated the fog of her suffering. "My angel girl?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You need to lie on your back for me. All right?"
She whimpered in pain as she unfurled herself from the self-protective cocoon she'd rolled herself into. Every movement left her body in misery. She felt like an old book that hadn't been opened in centuries and now someone had come at last, taken the book from the shelf, broken the spine and riffled through pages that had been pressed together so long their ink had turned to glue. Sinews screamed. Muscles moaned. Simply lying on her back had made her weep again. Hot tears poured from her eyes, stealing her peripheral vision, though Malcolm remained in perfect focus. He straddled her at her hips with those boots of his she worshiped, one leather ankle pressed against each side of her body.
"Perfect," he said. He looked her up and down, one hand on his chin and the other on his hip the way he had been the first night she'd seen him. He perused her like the work of an old master. "Wait, not quite. Put your hands behind your head again. I want you to cradle your head. The floor's so hard, I would never want you to hurt yourself."
She loved him for his concern. Had she ever met a man more thoughtful? She placed her hands behind her head and cradled her head in her palms.
"Marvelous." He smiled down at her. "Now two more to go. We can do this together. Ready, my sweet?"
"Ready, sir."
"I haven't the words to tell you how much I've enjoyed this," he said. "I simply don't have the words."
He raised the crop and lashed it down, striking her right breast so hard she screamed, so hard she heard the swish of it in the wind like the sound of a whip.
She coughed from the pain and it was the greatest test of her willpower to choke out the number.
"Two," she said, more tears burning her cheeks.