Tormented

“What about kidnapping?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No one’s invincible.”

“You worried about me, pet?”

She scrunched up her face, wanting to blurt out “hell no” as if she were a child being asked if they liked to eat Brussels sprouts.

“I’d be more worried for the people you’re with,” she retorted.

“Why is that?”

“Because you have a sadistic streak.”

“And you’re masochistic. It works out, so what’s the problem?”

“I’m not—well, there’s probably a bit of masochism in everyone. Even you.”

“Sure.”

His answer surprised her. She hadn’t expected a guy like him to admit it.

“So, does that mean I get to use the flogger on you?” she asked.

“Nice try. I

’m not a switch anymore.”

“But you were?”

“When I first started out with BDSM. I trained with a Mistress.”

She tried to imagine Ben as the submissive. It didn’t feel right. But it was hot picturing his strong, masculine body straining beneath the flogger.

“When did you get into BDSM?”

“After I was done with the gang, I looked for other outlets, other ways to piss off my dad. Passive-aggressive shit that took years to grow out of.”

“So you’ve resolved your daddy issues?”

“I don’t know if resolved is the right word, but I’ve learned to live with it. When did you get into BDSM?”

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t remember if she had lied about it already.

“Fairly recently,” she answered.

“How recent?”

Like today.

“I’m actually new to it.”

“What do you mean you’re new to it?”

“I exaggerated all my answers on the Scarlet Auction questionnaire because I didn’t want to give anyone a reason not to bid on me.”

“So you lied.”