Free Under the Lash by Carolyn Faulkner

pampered virgin slave? Perhaps of someone who had much the same designs in mind for her future as Rory had had? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. She would never be any but his now, he vowed. He wanted – demanded – to know every inch of her, to teach her the pleasures of the flesh himself, and he would settle for nothing less.
    There it was , he thought as his big broad middle finger sought and found the undeniable evidence of her own desires. Even with a bottom that was burning as badly as hers must be – if the evidence of her moans when he had set her down on the bed few minutes ago – and the threat – nay, promise – of another crisp spanking before all was said and done this evening – or perhaps more accurately because of it – to say nothing of his intimate exploration and invasion of her most sacred, womanly parts, she was still able to gift him with her dewy nectar, fairly drowning him in it until he had wet his finger most thoroughly and brought his treasure to the place he knew she would appreciate it the most.
    That first self confident stroke of his well slickened digit over that not so tiny any more bump had her arching up from the mattress, nearly grinding herself against him in the heat of her response, making him chuckle softly at her eagerness which unfortunately seemed to break the spell he’d conjured for her.
    Cassie swallowed hard as tears dribbled out of the corner of her eyes at how far she had fallen in so short a time. It was only with supreme effort that she managed to keep her arms at her sides. Her hands literally ached to cup him where he was, silently encouraging – begging – him to continue those teasing traces around that spot only he seemed to know she possessed.
    She was afraid to think of just what depraved heights she could be driven to in this manner, but there was little in her mind beyond the desperate thought that she could not allow him to stop.
    Of course, as soon as she realized that that was her worst fear at that particular moment, he did stop, leaving his hand in place right where it was as he gazed down at her, whispering, “Touch me.”
    She brought her hand up from between them, almost afraid to do as he said, not knowing exactly where it would be considered, in this situation, proper to put it. He was as naked as she was, and finally decided to cup his cheek, much as he had before his hands began wandering.
    Anjel smiled, chuckling softly. “You’ll have to be braver than that, Cassie.”
    She met his eyes and opened her mouth to reply to him, but closed it again, her eyes slipping away from his, remembering his rule.
    “What were you going to say?”
    “That I’m not feeling very brave at the moment, Sir.”
    There was mischief in his eyes when he teased, “Well, unlike one of us, I don’t bite.”
    She smiled then, the first time he’d seen her really smile, and it was blindingly beautiful, and managed to tug at heartstrings he would have sworn he didn’t own.
    But her hand hadn’t moved an inch despite his encouragement, so he captured her wrists – not roughly or angrily – and slowly moved them down to his chest, and was nearly unmanned by the sound of her quickly indrawn breath in reaction as her small fingertips settled into the light covering of black hair there, then spread out and seemed to luxuriate in the very feel of him.
    Cassie was thinking that it was no wonder he could heft her around like he did, and hold her tight enough with so little effort that she couldn’t move. She could feel the leashed power of the muscles beneath his skin. His chest was frighteningly close to massive and touching him seemed to be sending bolts of lightning to that intimate area he held so closely. Her fingers seemed to want to roam of their own accord, and when they encountered a raised ridge of puckered skin, she looked up at him questioningly.
    “Sword fight,” he supplied matter–of–factly.
    And then she discovered another.
    “Knife