Free Dominance and Deception by Amy Valenti

eyes. Letting memories run through my mind, searching for something strong enough to make me come... Please, something, anything...
    My thoughts lingered on his smile, his scent, the feel of his lips on mine, his hands on my breasts...
    Argh! Nothing helps. I need more, more, more...
    The many smooth tails of a suede flogger struck my ass, hardly enough to hurt, but the touch sent an extra jolt between my thighs. Gasping incoherently, I waited for the next blow, but he drew it out too long.
    "Sir... please..."
    "What, little tease?” His amusement was palpable.
    "Hit me again, Sir?"
    He did, again and again and again, alternating strikes between the left and right side, building slowly to an agonising crescendo. I was almost sobbing with pain and desire when he paused, and when he flicked the tails of the flogger up between my legs, against my clit, I cried out sharply.
    So close...
    Pierce stopped, and I bit down on the babbled pleas that wanted to come, listening intently for any sign of his next move.
    He repeated his last strike, the blow lighter than the ones against my ass and thighs, but a hundred times more delicious. The moan tore from my lips, raw with need.
    " Sir... "
    "Ask, little tease.” His voice was a low growl, now. Was he hard for me, ready to drive inside me, to fuck me harder than I'd ever been fucked before?
    "Again... Please..."
    He did, and I clutched the headboard tighter, not trusting my trembling legs to support me.
    "Mmmm..."
    "Ask."
    "Harder, Sir..."
    The next blow was almost enough, and I bit my lip, shaking with pain and mentholated pleasure.
    "Ask."
    "Don't stop, Sir, please—"
    His strikes came faster now— one, two, oh God, three, four—
    And finally I unravelled. Strong pulses pulled the entire fabric of my existence apart and left me in tangled threads, collapsed on the bed, my hands still tethered above my head.
    Pierce joined me, unclipping the cuffs from the headboard and easing me horizontal. His naked skin seared mine, and wow, when had he taken off his pants? But I didn't care, didn't care, just wanted him inside me, my arms and legs around him and his breath against my neck and his cock right there —
    He was good, so good, and even after all that build-up, he was still holding off, ordering me to come before he did, his fingers digging into my skin. His hands still had menthol residue on them, and he reached down between us to find my clit again, rubbing fast and light and oh, my God—
    I came hard, digging my fingers into his shoulders, my cries muffled by his brief, savage kiss before he followed me over the edge.
    We lay together, relearning how to breathe, and damn it, I was so tired, but the menthol was starting to drive me crazy again...
    "Sir?"
    He tugged on my collar with a faint smile. “Hmm?"
    "Permission to wash this stuff off before I ride you into an early grave?"
    Pierce laughed softly. “That good, huh?"
    "Yeah, but I can't move..."
    He wouldn't leave me like this...would he?
    He stroked a finger up and down my side, teasing me, before nodding. “C'mon, little tease. Shower...then coffee."
    I stumbled towards the bathroom, and a couple of minutes into my shower Pierce joined me, pulling me into his arms.
    The shower spray hit my face when I looked up at him, and he pulled me out of its way gently, bringing his lips down to mine in a kiss of contented affirmation. The warm water ran over our bodies, washing away any lingering doubts that we belonged together.
    * * * *
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Chapter Two
    Owned
    Pierce
    "Try to get free."
    Obediently, Faye writhed on the bed, tugging at the handcuffs that restrained her wrists and the silk scarves I'd used to tie her ankles to the bedposts.
    "Can't, Sir,” she said, half smiling, half apprehensive, as if she was unsure whether the response would lead to reward or punishment. Hell, with Faye, the punishment usually was the reward.
    I didn't keep her in suspense. “Good."
    When I brought the riding crop