Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“There she is,” he murmurs, his voice full of wonder and heat. “Hello, beautiful.”
I grin up at him, letting all my hunger show in my expression. “Miss me, Donny?”
“Always,” he says, and there’s such honesty in it that I have to look away for a moment, overwhelmed by the depth of feeling.
This is what I’ve always struggled with—not the sex, not the pain, not even the surrender, but this.
The naked emotion.
The vulnerability that comes with being truly seen and loved.
Anna’s better at accepting it and believing she deserves it. But Domhnall’s patient with me, the way he’s always been patient, and slowly I’m learning to let him love the broken parts of me, too.
“I want more,” I tell him, my voice rougher than Anna’s, more demanding. “I want everything you can give me.”
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide with arousal, and I feel his cock twitch inside me in response to my words. “You sure about that?”
Instead of answering, I bite his lower lip, just hard enough to sting, and roll my hips in a way that makes him groan. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” I challenge. “I want to feel owned.”
Something shifts in his expression—not just desire but recognition. He knows what I need. What only he can give me. The complete surrender that quiets the chaos in my head and makes me feel real. Grounded. Here.
Without warning, he pulls out of me completely, leaving me empty and wanting. Before I can protest, he’s hauling me upright, his grip firm on my upper arms.
“You want it rough?” he asks, and there’s something dangerous in his voice that makes my pulse race and my cunt clench around nothing. “Then we do this properly.”
He leads me from the bedroom, naked and eager, down the hall to the room we keep locked when Connor’s awake. Our playroom. Our sanctuary. The place where we can be our truest, darkest selves without apology or shame.
The dungeon is dimly lit, all dark wood and leather and gleaming metal. The familiar scent of leather and expensive wood oil wraps around me like an embrace, and I feel my shoulders drop as some internal tension releases. Here, in this space we’ve created together, I don’t have to be anything but exactly what I am.
He guides me to the padded bench in the center of the room, his hands sure and possessive as he positions me bent over it, my ass in the air, completely exposed to his gaze. The vulnerability should terrify me—and maybe once upon a time, it would have—but instead it makes me feel powerful. Desired. Chosen.
“Stay,” he commands, and I hear him moving behind me, selecting implements from the wall. The anticipation makes my skin crawl with need, every second stretching like an eternity.
When he returns, I feel the cool leather of a flogger trailing across my shoulders, down my spine, then over the curve of my ass.
I shiver at the sensation, already wet and aching for whatever he’s planning to do to me.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise. “Wanting me to hurt you. To make you feel.”
“Yes,” I gasp, pressing back against the flogger. The leather is soft against my skin, but I know how quickly that can change. “Please, Domhnall. I need—”
“I know what you need,” he interrupts, and there’s such certainty in his voice that I nearly sob with relief. “I’ve always known.”
The first strike lands across my ass, sharp and stinging. I cry out, the sound echoing in the padded room, and feel something inside me settle at the familiar burn. He doesn’t give me time to recover before the second strike lands, then the third, building a rhythm that has me gasping and writhing against the bench.
“Count,” he orders, and I do, my voice growing hoarse as the number climbs.
Each strike is perfectly placed, the leather kissing my skin with just the right amount of force to sting without causing real damage. He knows my body so well and exactly how much I can take. He knows just how to push me to that dangerous edge without crossing it.
The pain is exquisite, a bright counterpoint to the need building between my legs.
“Fifteen,” I gasp as the flogger lands across both cheeks, the impact reverberating through my entire body.
“Good girl,” he says, and the praise makes me clench around nothing, desperate for contact. “Five more, then I’ll give you what you really want.”
The remaining strikes are harder, more intense, and by the time he reaches twenty, my ass is burning, my skin flushed and sensitized. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“More,” I beg, tears streaming down my face—not from pain but from the overwhelming need for release. I’m so close to that complete surrender that only he can give me. “Please, I need more.”