Free The Whore by Lilli Feisty Page B

fresh blood.
    Nothing made sense.
    Before he had started this case a file had been dropped on his desk. Sex Clubs for Dummies, he’d called it. But he’d read it—he always studied a case voraciously before he went in. He liked to be prepared, with weapons and knowledge. And so he had gone in armed with more than a whip, some guns and a few knives. He’d gone in with information.
    Over the past three weeks he’d seen others engage in similar acts, and sometimes he’d felt a slight stirring of sexual excitement, but for the most part he’d been able to keep those feelings in check and stay focused. He’d been in control.
    But nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming adrenaline rush of whipping Sandine. Which begged the question he’d been asking himself for an hour. Was it her or the act itself that had affected him with such intensity?
    Or was it the combination?
    Either way, what it came down to was he had beaten a woman and derived pleasure from doing so.
    Inflicting pain—the act went against the very foundation of his ethical beliefs. Morals that had been drilled into his head ever since he could remember. His father had been a doctor, donating his time and services all over the world. The man had been a champion for those less fortunate than he. He’d been a spokesperson for peace. A hero.
    Harry wasn’t a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a cop—a good cop—and shouldn’t that mean something? What it should mean is that he didn’t get off on that sort of thing. His father would roll over in his grave at the thought.
    Yet, the feeling that had come over him while he did it—while he’d whipped Sandine—a sense of calm mixed with elation, was odd and thrilling and hit him like a drug. It was similar to the way his body reacted just before a freefall jump.
    So, now you aren’t satisfied with extreme sports, you need extreme sex too?
    He gunned his bike up another hill, feeling like he was about to drive straight into the sky. All he could think about was holding her, making sure she was okay. Some primal, protective instinct beat in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before.
    He didn’t understand it, any of it. Sure, he had done his research and knew the basic psychology of why Le Cheval held allure for so many people. But he had thought himself above all that. In fact, that was why the chief had picked him for this job. Unlike half the force, Harry’s preferred flavor was vanilla.
    Wasn’t it?
     
    Sandine eased into the claw-foot bathtub, closing her eyes as the water enveloped her tight limbs into its warmth. Taking a few deep breaths, she attempted to center herself. Something had happened tonight, a part of her mind had unlocked, and she needed to know what had triggered it.
    All she saw was Harry, circling her, cracking that whip with a mastery that had melted her. And that was what he had done tonight—mastered her. Dominated her. Opened her up and let her go.
    He amazed her. Her mind floated from how he’d played her earlier. Adrenaline thrummed lightly through her body.
    And yet she had no idea who he was, this man who had saved her from Cain’s anger.
    Rubbing the scrapes around her wrists, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. A fucking Tarot reader, trained in divination from birth—how could she have acted so impulsively, with no pause to listen to her own intuition? What would have happened if Harry hadn’t been there to intervene?
    She sighed as the warm water lapped at the trace of a line where his whip had struck her outer thigh. The reddened skin would be fine by tomorrow, but she wanted the proof to remain. Wanted to see his mark on her skin.
    It had been hours since she’d seen him and still her body tingled from the caress of Harry’s lips on her skin, the feel of his large, warm fingers sliding into her body, the sting of his whip across her ass. Lightly touching her lip, she recalled the way his tongue had caressed the inside of