The Dangerous Hero Read online

  "One," she said as the flogger landed. Her back arched away from him, and the chains securing her wrists jangled.

  "Thank me for each lash," he ordered, feeling cruel, "Or I'll repeat it."

  "Thank you, Master," she gasped.

  One more blow across her shoulders, and this time he deliberately did allow the whiptails to wrap around to the side of her breast. She yelped, not having expected it, but managed to call out the number and the "thank you, Master."

  "Handling the whip is an art. I can keep to a narrow location—" he struck her buttocks, much harder than he had at the start, "Or I can permit the tails to wrap around your body and land somewhere unexpected." As he said this, he came around in front of her and aimed a strike at her belly at an angle that propelled the tails around to slap into her buttocks with considerable intensity. She cried out more loudly and closed her eyes, her face screwing up in reaction to the stinging blow. She forgot to count, but he cut her some slack. It could be difficult to count when you were being flogged, especially if you were new to these sensations.

  He struck her thighs three times, then moved around behind her again to slash a blow across her ass that left clear red lines. Those marks would fade quickly, he knew, but he enjoyed seeing them while they lasted. He did it again and she cried out and tried to get away from him. The chains prevented it, of course. She wasn't going anywhere.

  He delivered two more stinging blows to her ass. Her body arched each time he struck and the chain on her nipples clamps tinkled. More red marks. He wasn't whipping her hard enough to bruise her skin. Many submissives loved seeing the marks after a scene; superficial bruises were counted by some subs and masochists as badges of honor. He thought briefly of Melanie, who had pleaded for him to use his cruelest toys on her—knotted cats, chain floggers, studded buffalo hide. She had been a true masochist, and the things she had urged him to do to her had scared him at times, pushing the boundaries of safe and sane.

  He seized a large handful of Viola's lovely hair and pulled her head back. He kissed her mouth. "Okay?"

  She nodded. Her face had that dreamy look he recognized of a submissive in subspace. "It doesn't hurt much now," she murmured, in wonder. "I feel all warm and tingly."

  "Good," he said, and set the whip down. She'd had enough for now. He checked her nipple clamps, giving a little tug on the weight. He hadn't used anything too harsh there, and he thought they could stay on for a bit longer. He was looking forward to the surprise she would get when he jerked the clamps away. Nothing could prepare you for that feeling.

  He loosened the overhead chains that were holding her wrists and lowered her arms to a more comfortable position—still up, but no longer extended. Without speaking, he showed her how to use some of the new slack to reach above her cuffed wrists and wrap her fingers around the chains, which would release some of the muscle tension that must have developed during the beating. Then he dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her and dug his hands into her burning buttocks, tilting her pelvis up to the right angle for him to tongue her mound.

  She keened out her pleasure as soon as he began to lick her. Her hips, which were free to move, arched and her thighs tightened. He thrust his tongue between the lips of her vagina and sucked on her clit at the same time. His balls were aching with his own need for release, but he forced himself to ignore that for now. This was about her, his lovely Viola, who was as hot and wet and eager as he had ever known her to be.

  "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she chanted, thrusting herself wildly against him. Her voice rose in a ragged scream as she crested and melted, her pulsations strong and hard against his tongue. God, he loved it when she came—loved the way she tightened and arched her spine, loved the scent of her, the taste of her, the breathless cries she always gave, the little laugh of joy that came as she began to reconnect with her soaring spirit. She was made for this, his long-lost summer love. She was made for him.

  Chapter 19

  Was this subspace, she wondered as she reeled deliciously at the end of her chains, still clinging to them with her fists as he had shown her to do. Her lower body was mainly supported by his arms now because her legs were so wobbly in the aftermath of an amazing orgasm. She looked down at her breasts. The clamps were biting into her nipples, which looked plump and hard. They weren't sore now, though. They must have grown accustomed to the compression.

  "I won't leave them on much longer," he said. "I love seeing them on you, though."

  She did too. Her head was in a strange place. It felt as though she were floating...as if she were high on some sort of drugs. Endorphins and sex hormones, probably. Dopamine.

  He unhooked her wrist cuffs from the chains. "You've been locked in the same position long enough. We're going to move to a more comfortable location."

  He hadn't come yet. She longed to suck him off. His jutting cock was too damn tempting, but he stopped her when she tried to drop to her knees. "No. You'll serve me though, don't doubt it. Come." He supported her shaky body, leading her across the dark chamber to an alcove she hadn't noticed before. It was dominated by a large bed.

  He sat her down on it and produced a bottle of water from somewhere. He cracked it open and gave it to her, helping her hold onto it since she was a little unsteady. She hadn't even realized she was thirsty until the cool water filled her mouth. He allowed her to take several big swallows, then drank some himself. "D'you need more?"

  "No thanks. I'm good."

  "Feeling okay?"

  "Yes." She smiled at him. "Yes, Master."'

  "Lie down."

  Again, he put her in bondage—the cuffs hooked to ropes that were already attached to the bed. But it was non-restrictive bondage with considerable freedom of movement. She still had the ankle cuffs on her feet, but once again, he left her legs free.

  As soon as she was secured, he straddled her, sliding up so he was crouching at shoulder level with his cock looming in front of her face. He fisted her hair and pulled her head up. "Do you want my cock in your throat?"

  "Yes, Master," she gasped.

  "Good." He arched his back and surged roughly into her mouth. "Suck me."

  She did, determined to please him with the best damn blowjob he'd ever had. She was licking, sucking and gallantly controlling her gag reflex as he forced himself deep into her throat. Just when she thought he was about to come, he jerked himself out of her mouth and slid down. He produced a condom from she didn't even know where and slapped it on. "Now beg me to fuck you, Viola."

  "Please fuck me, Stephen. I mean, Master. Fuck me hard."

  He surged into her, his face contorted in what almost looked like pain. For the first time his amazing control faltered. The bad boy master slipped away and he looked awed and delighted. He flashed her his dearest and most genial smile, saying, "It feels so damn good. Wow, love. I wish I could stay inside you all the time."

  "Me, too. You are so freaking hot. Where'd you learn all this stuff?"

  She could feel his body shaking as he laughed. "God knows. Now stop giggling and fuck me. I've been holding back an orgasm for so long that my balls are gonna explode."

  "Aye aye, sir," she said, grinding against him happily. She didn't care if she came again...she was pretty tired anyway. But she wanted him to have his much-deserved release.

  Amazingly, he lasted long enough to take her up again. Waves of pleasure filled her when she felt him jerking at her breast chain. "I'm going to pull these off now," he said in his dark voice. His mouth was at her throat as he plunged inside her once again. She moaned, very close to another peak. "It will hurt," he crooned as his fingers played with the slender chain between her breasts. "The blood will rush back into your nipples and the sensation will be intense for a couple of seconds. Are you okay with that?"

  She nodded. Nothing, she thought, could hurt her now. "Do it."

  She felt a jerk as he dragged hard on the chain. The nipple clamps came off, and, for a second, nothing, then there were a powerful surge of fee
ling in both her breasts. She gasped, and her eyes snapped open. It felt as if every nerve ending in her nipples had fired at once. Stephen's face was suspended over hers, his eyes slits of green, his mouth sensual and cruel. He arched his hips and drove hard into her, his body stiffening, his voice harsh and strange.

  "Scream now for me," he said.

  Then he closed his eyes and groaned as he reeled into his orgasm.

  Viola felt him pulsing, heard his cry of pleasure and satisfaction, but she was losing focus. Something dark had seized her and spun her, messing with her mind. A naked woman stretched on a rack with a monster leaning over her, slashing her howling body with a barbed whip. The image slammed into her mind, and then, in a flash, her body reacted. She stiffened, but not with pleasure. There was something wrong.

  Scream now for me.

  A red mist descended on her, and she had no idea what was happening. Panic raced along her nerves, sending her heart into a scampering beat and driving cramps through her belly. She twisted violently, jerking with her arms, which she couldn't free, and her body, which was imprisoned beneath his. She was trapped. Her heart hammered even harder. She vaguely remembered that there was something she was supposed to say, but she couldn't seem to find the word.

  "Viola!" Stephen's voice had shifted back to normal. No. Not exactly normal because he sounded alarmed. He knew something was wrong.

  "Red," she gasped, remembering her safeword.

  "I know. Hang on." He had already pulled out of her. How he regained rationality in the throes of orgasm she couldn't imagine, but he had. "You're okay, you'll be free in a moment."

  He loomed up over her, reaching for the place where her cuffs were clipped to the ropes running from the bed frame. She felt the tension ease. "Your arms are no longer bound. I'll remove the cuffs in a moment, but you're free to move. Your legs aren't bound." He stroked her hair very gently. "It's okay, sweetheart. How d'you feel?"

  "My pulse," she gasped, frightened by its loud, rapid pounding. Was there something wrong with her heart? She felt as if she was about to die. Whoa. What the fuck was going on?

  "Are you in pain?" He had rolled off her. As she got out from under him, she accidentally kicked out at him, one knee striking his shoulder. He ignored it. "What's hurting? Your chest? Your back? Are you having trouble breathing?"

  She tried to focus. Figure it out. She didn't think there was any pain, apart from some soreness in her nipples. She shook her head.

  "Headache? Is your vision okay?"

  "I guess," she managed to say, her voice shaking.

  "Have you ever had an asthma attack?"

  "Um, no."

  "Are you short of breath?"

  She shook her head. "It's mostly my heart. Thumping."

  "And there's no medication you're supposed to be on, right? You told me you didn't take anything."

  "I don't."

  "Have you ever had a panic attack? Do you know what they feel like?"

  "No. I don't think so." She'd felt panicky a few times during the divorce, but nothing so dramatically physical as this.

  "I want you to try breathing from your belly. Can you do that for me? Slow and even."

  She tried, but it was difficult to control her breathing when her body was in such a state of high alert.

  "You'll be fine, love. I promise. Let me hold you."

  At first, she fought him, but he kept talking to her in a low, soothing voice, telling her to breathe slowly. He turned her on her side. The leather cuffs were still around her wrists and ankles, but the ropes were gone. The muscles in her arms felt tired from being held in one position. But she was glad to notice that, since it took her mind off her racing heart. Stephen cuddled her from behind, his arms around her, his face pressed against her hair. She felt his fingers on her throat, and realized he was taking her pulse.

  "Quick but strong. You're sure you've never had a panic attack?"

  She shook her head. "Is this how they feel?"

  "Pounding heart, feelings of doom, sick feeling in your belly, limbs all weak and floppy?"

  "Yes. All those things."

  "It's adrenaline that does it. Fight or flight response. It will pass."

  It did seem to be passing. She no longer felt trapped now that Scary Stephen had vanished. A panic attack. Okay. Given her past, maybe that wasn't a surprise.

  "So it's just panic? If that's all it is, I feel like a wimp."

  "You're not. I’ve had a couple of them myself." His voice was low and comforting. "Very nasty. Adrenaline doesn't surge for long, though. When it stops flooding your nerves, your heartbeat will slow. Keep breathing slowly. Let the air out nice and slow. Good girl. You're doing fine."

  He was being so sweet! She had ruined his scene, aborted their lovemaking, just as he was coming, too. He must think she was crazy. Was she crazy?

  No, she realized, as her mind began to work a little more rationally. She wasn't crazy. He had said the same thing that his horrible character Bartholomew Giles always said to his victims as he tortured them. She hadn't imagined that, surely? He had said, "Scream now for me."

  Master Torturer Giles loved those screams.

  Her heartbeat wasn't as frantic now, but the thoughts that crowded into her brain were no more welcome. What the hell was she doing in this freaky place? This medieval dungeon. It was just like the one in his books. Bart's dungeon.

  But he'd told her he wasn't like his character, right? So what was this place? Kinky was one thing, but this was, well...this was extreme.

  Why had she given herself to a man who was capable of looking at her that way, speaking to her that way, taking his pleasure while he hurt her, just as his fictional creation did? And why had she been enjoying it so much? Not even the panic had erased the liquid feeling of lust that resided in her belly. She had been on the verge of climaxing yet again, and it hadn't been the surge of sensation in her breasts that had stopped her. She had liked that. It had been powerful, but it hadn't felt like bad pain.

  No, what had freaked her out had been his voice, reminding her of the reality that she had been endeavoring to forget: men were capable of hurting her. Even men she cared about, men she trusted. What was wrong with her that she allowed them to do it? That she even took pleasure in it?

  As these dark thoughts shuffled in, she pulled away from him. She sat up, feeling chilly. She snatched at the sheet and tried to wrap it around herself. The cuffs were still on her wrists. She tore at one of them, trying to get it off her.

  "Let me," he said, taking her hand in his.

  "Don't touch me," she said, then instantly felt sick for saying it. What a bitch, she thought, as her stomach lurched. "I'm sorry! I don't know what I'm saying."

  His voice remained calm. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But if you put your wrists in my lap, one at a time, I’ll release those cuffs for you. Can you do that for me?"

  She could. One by one, she put her hands in his lap and watched dully as he stripped off the leather cuffs. Her hands were shaking slightly. He rubbed them gently, took her pulse again, and then he drew up the blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her while he bent over to remove the restraints from her feet.

  She was shivering all over now, and she felt her throat choking up. For a moment, tears pricked her eyes. Was she going to cry? She hadn't cried since the night Derek had attacked her. No, she decided, rallying her inner strength. Dammit, she would not cry.

  She didn't. She stiffened her spine instead. "I'm sorry for freaking out. You told me your books didn't come to bed with you. But you spoke to me in Bartholomew Giles’ voice."

  He made a hoarse sound. "I don't know why I did that. It wasn’t intentional." He was shaking his head, looking puzzled. "I’m pretty sure I’ve never done it before."

  Her heartbeat had slowed considerably, but she still felt dizzy and a little sick. The aftermath of panic?

  "And this place." She flicked her eyes around at the dark dungeon. "It's not just kinky..." h
er voice trailed off. It's sick, she was thinking. But no, that was too strong. It was intense, yes. "I mean, I didn't know it would be so realistic."

  "I'm so sorry, Viola. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have trusted my instincts and not shown you the dungeon yet. It is realistic, yeah. I used to do theater in college—did I ever tell you that? That's how I met my friends Kate and Jeff. I was into set decoration and design before I turned to writing. I guess I used some of that when I set up the dungeon. I should have warned you."

  He paused, and then added, "Role play of this type can sometimes go wrong. There are emotional risks when you allow yourself to feel so intensely. We expose ourselves, our deepest feelings and fantasies, and that can be scary."

  It had been scary, all right. What he didn’t know, of course, was that she was sitting on a minefield of explosive emotions linked to the way her marriage had ended. She should have warned him about that.

  "It was my bad," he went on. "This kinky stuff is new to you. How are you feeling? A little better now?"

  She nodded. Again she thought, he is being so nice. Why is he being so nice? Derek wasn't nice when he hurt her. And unlike Stephen, he didn't stop when she panicked.

  He lay back down on the bed and patted the space beside him. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to, but you're shivering. Will you lie down beside me and get warm?"

  "You can touch me. I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me. I didn't mean it."

  "Come here, then."

  She lay back down beside him. He drew her close, and she snuggled into his warmth. She felt uneasy still, but it was undeniable that there was something comforting about being in his arms. Chemistry. Not even panic could dull the physical affinity that made her body want to merge with his. "I’m confused," she admitted. "As if I can’t trust what my own body is telling me. I mean, one minute I’m all—you know, aroused and excited, and the next I’m climbing the walls trying to get away."