“Good. Because I’m a very kinky priest.”

My chest feels very tight as I whisper, “Are you going to use that on me?”

He runs the strips through his fingers, the movements caressing, unhurried. “Why, yes I am. I’m going to stripe your pretty back and behind and legs with it. Do you deserve it?”

I know I don’t. I know that I’ve only been good for him, reminding myself not to dig my nails into his flesh when he touches me and always addressing him politely and softly, as I’ve noticed he likes. “No, daddy.”

The sweetly cruel smile is back. He leans down to me and his words are a soft breath against my lips. “Even better.” Motioning with his head, he orders, “Into my room.”

I obey instantly, putting down the cutlery and moving as if I’m floating. I can feel Frederic following behind me and my skin tingles in response to the instrument that’s in his hands.

I’ve never been in his room before and it’s very neat and dark. There are candles burning everywhere, long, church-like candles, illuminating a four-poster bed. There’s a length of rough rope hanging from one of the posts.

Frederic closes the door firmly behind him and tosses the flogger onto the bed. How malevolent he looks in the black robes, and I realize it’s his Frollo expression, the one that so captivated me at thirteen. His eyes rove over my dress and though his expression doesn’t change, I see his eyes sharpen. “Undress.”

Watching him, I slowly unbutton the sundress and let it fall to the ground. I stand before him in my bra and panties. “All of it,” he commands. So I take those off too, noting the slickness between my legs. I think I started getting wet as soon as I saw him standing in the doorway. I’m naked now, and vulnerable, while he stands there clothed in black menace.

With gentle but implacable hands he guides me toward the hanging rope and begins to bind my wrists. He murmurs, almost conversationally, “You’ve been so very sinful, my child. The things you have been doing. I will have to beat them out of you.”

He pulls on the other end of the rope and secures it so my arms are stretched over my head. My eyes wide and innocent, I say, “I haven’t done a thing, Father.”

“Lies. It is written all over your pretty face. You have been touching yourself in the dark. Cavorting with the devil. Fellating demons.”

Moistening my lips, I say, “I’ve learned a thing or two from them. Shall I show you?”

He catches me by the throat and squeezes. “Sinful wretch of a girl,” he hisses, and my eyes widen at the fury in his. He’s very good at this. Fear pulses between my legs along with my arousal, driving it higher.

Frederic picks up the flogger and stands behind me. He drapes the long strands over my shoulder and slowly pulls them across my flesh, over and over like a slow, leathery caress. “Do you know what we say in the Church?” he murmurs. “Punish the body to save the soul.”

I look over my shoulder and see him gather all the strands of the flogger into his hand, and then he raises it and strikes. It’s not a fast strike, though, and when the strips land in the center of my back it hurts only a little. But he does it over and over again, the sensations growing and heating before moving on to my shoulders, and then my ribs. My back is hot and sensitive, and I cry and rise up on my toes as his strikes begin to grow in intensity.

“Keep still and keep quiet,” he growls.

I look over my shoulder into his furious green eyes and say, “You’d better stop, Father, you’ll only make me wet.”

I catch just the slightest glimmer of amusement on his lips before it vanishes and he starts to pace in slow half circles around me. In between lashing my behind and thighs with the flogger he intones religious-sounding tracts in Latin. My cheek seems to have given him a reason to increase the speed and intensity of his lashes. I clutch the rope with my hands, as gripping it is the only release I have against the strikes as I’m unable to cry out or move away from him. He must prefer it that way, knowing I have no way to help me ride out the pain. It’s what he wants, so I give into it, breathing through the worst and feeling the heat between my legs grow along with my heated flesh.

A hand fists in my hair and turns me toward him. Jewel green eyes, dark with desire, burn into mine as he drinks in the hazy supplication on my face. He runs a hand down my body and it dips between the curves of my behind and into my wetness. I arch against his touch, driving his fingers deeper.

“My child, there isn’t much use in trying to save your immortal soul, is there?” He starts to push his fingers in and out of me and the sensation is as bright as a supernova. I can feel it in every stripe he’s laid across my skin.

“No, Father,” I pant, arching my back even more and parting my legs for him. His fingers aren’t enough. I need more. I need the thickness of him that I’ve felt and that he hasn’t let me touch. I need to feel him lose himself in this as much as I do so we can come out the other side of this together.

His other hand cups my face and suddenly he’s Frederic again, smiling gently down at me. ?

?Minette, we haven’t made love yet. Would you like to stop this scene and continue just as ourselves, or would you like me to go on?”

My eyes implore him. I’ve been carting this fantasy around for a decade. I’m not about to let it go now. “Please don’t stop.”

The smile widens, and he kisses me softly. “Enjoying yourself? Good girl. Say crackers if anything gets too much, d’accord? I’ll stop straight away. Now, close your eyes, count to three, and then open them again.”

Crackers. I suppose that’s what’s called a safe word, and needing one makes anticipation and fear thrill through me. Just how far is he going to go? I close my eyes, and when I open them he’s the priest again, his eyes burning with gloating and lust. His fingers find my G-spot and grind against it, making me yell.

He immediately withdraws his fingers and raises the flogger. “I said keep quiet.” When the leather strikes my flesh this time the bite is deep and vicious on my sensitized skin. I suck in a shuddering breath and blink to clear sparks from my vision. When I look over my shoulder and see Frederic’s look of hard fury I realize he means business now. I concentrate hard on not moving and not crying out, but when the flogger strikes me again, this time on my left shoulder, I have to screw my eyes shut and bite down on my whimper. And as much as I want to cry out from the pain, I also want to cry out, Yes. Yes, this, the clean, white pain and Frederic’s laser focus. He’s all that exists and I know that’s how it must be for him: only me, and that flogger in his hand. He’s controlling me, meting out the heat and pain in careful measures, enjoying every flick and bite of the leather.

He catches me about the throat with a strong hand and growls, “You have no smart words now, do you? Ten more like that, and every noise you make above a whimper, every step you take away from me, will mean another strike. Do I make myself clear?”

I nod rapidly, not daring to speak.

Tags: Brianna Hale Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net