The Dom Identity (Masters & Mercenaries Reloaded 2)

Michael turned, a crop in his hand. “You don’t need anything? Are you sure about that? Because you look pretty needy to me, baby.”

She wished she didn’t love the way he called her baby. She’d wanted to be his baby. When she’d thought he was real, she’d felt all the warmth of that endearment.

“What I need I could get from any man. You just happen to be here.” One hundred percent lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him that she’d come to crave this time she spent with him, that she’d found herself with him.

The tip of the crop touched her ankle and started to brush up her leg. “Any man? That hurts, baby, but I think that was the point. You want to push me to hurt you.” The leather tip kept moving up, sliding up her thigh.

She wasn’t honestly certain what she wanted, but she knew she wanted him. And yes, she wanted what he could give her. If he’d insisted on talking, she could have walked away, but he’d given her a place where she could hate him and have him, too.

He was giving her a place where it was safe to process all the shit she’d felt today. A few hours ago she would have sworn she would never feel anything again, but mere moments with Michael and her emotions were threatening to crash over her.

Deep inside she knew that was a good thing. Not that she was going to admit it to him.

“You want to be able to take all the pleasure I can give you and still think of me as the bad guy,” Michael said, the crop between her legs. He tapped her thighs one after the other. “Spread your legs. If you want me to play the bad guy, you have to be a good girl and obey me.”

Or she didn’t have to admit anything. Michael already understood what was going on in her head because he knew her deep down. Somehow they’d connected in a way she never had before. When she was with Michael, she felt him, felt that he was with her even when they weren’t talking.

How could she have lost him?

She forced her legs apart, dancing on her toes. It took concentration. She had to focus on her body. Yes, that was what she needed. She wanted to know what he would do with that crop. She would concentrate on the physical.

He moved around so she couldn’t see him, and then she heard a smack. Pain flared across her backside. She’d heard the crack of the crop seconds before she felt the sting. It hurt and then seemed to pulse out, sending a pleasant sensation across her skin. It made her gasp as her body tightened.

“Wider,” he said in a soft growl.

He was a bastard. Her legs were wide enough apart, and it would be hard to get them wider because he had her arms up so high. Of course, that was his point. “I can’t.”

Another crack, this one louder. The pain and the sweet heat that came after were stronger, too. “You can. You can do anything.”

She made a vomiting sound. “Sure I can.”

“I knew there was a major brat under there somewhere. I knew that the minute you felt comfortable enough she would show up.” Another slap, and then she felt his hand on one of her cheeks, squeezing hard. “Spread your legs wider or I’ll do it for you. I’ve got a spreader bar somewhere around here. I’ll strap you in and then you won’t be able to move at all. Is that what you want?”

That didn’t sound good because it would take far too long. She forced her legs apart another inch, the movement sending every muscle in her body taut. She had to stay on her toes to keep the position.

This was the way her life was. Always having to focus or it would fall apart. And then it fell apart anyway no matter how hard she tried.

The world went blurry.

“Stay with me.” Michael had hold of her thong again, pulling it up and bringing her back to the here and now. “All you have to think about is obeying me. Nothing else matters. Stay still. I want to play. If you move too much, you’ll get the crop.”

He was behind her, whispering in her ear, his breath warm on her skin. She could feel the hard line of his erection against her ass.

She wanted that cock.

She stayed as still as she could, and one big hand came around to cup her breast. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger to just the point of pain. It made her grit her teeth because that sensation went right to her pussy.

“That’s my sweet sub,” he whispered.

She couldn’t handle his tenderness. “I’m not fucking sweet.”