Going Deep (23 page)

“So, you thought
it would be easier for me to see you on TV a few hours before I had to face the
media at the stadium?”

She snapped her
eyes back to his. “You have to believe me, I didn’t plan that. If I’d known the
camera crews were there, I would have found another way out of the building.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor again, submitting to him. “I know it was
wrong, Sir. I can only tell you what was in my heart. I hoped there was
something I could do to fix it.”

He closed his
eyes. Damn it all to hell. Her voice rang with sincerity, and her story had the
ring of truth to it, but could he trust his judgment where she was concerned?
Hell
no
.

“Did you mean
it?” she asked, jerking his attention back to her.

“What?”

“That you love
me,” she whispered.

The memory of
all he’d lost dropped like an acid ball into his stomach. Carrington Taylor
sure looked like the angel he’d fallen in love with, but she wasn’t the same
person he’d meant those words for. He ground his molars.

“I loved a woman
who didn’t exist.” Straightening, he took the flogger from her. “Strip.”

It was time to
find out how much was real, and how much of what they had was an act. And by
God, if she wanted punishment, he was just the man to give it to her. But if
she thought all would be forgotten, her betrayal forgiven as if it was nothing
more than a minor transgression, then she had better think again. She’d soon
find out, this punishment wouldn’t change anything.

Carrie folded
her clothes, as he preferred her to do, placing the neat stack on the shelf she’d
used so many times before. She dared a glance in his direction while he readied
the suspension apparatus. She’d seen him on television, and lately, his face
was plastered all over town on buses, billboards and even on the side of a
building. For once, she wondered if she would have given herself to him so
freely had she known who he was from the beginning. Perhaps not. He was stone
cold sexy and handsome, and a hotshot celebrity athlete. She never would have
believed he truly wanted her—not when he could have any woman out there.
Dressed in slacks and a crisp button-down shirt the same shade of blue as his
eyes, he didn’t look like the kind of man who played games—of any kind. She
probably would have run for her life after their first meeting. But now that
she knew him, had glimpsed the real man inside, she could only mourn the loss
of a love she’d never find again.

Standing naked,
exposed, she wished he too would remove his clothes, but like always, he didn’t
want her to see him. He moved with grace and economy of motion as he arranged
the suspension equipment. The mental images she’d formed of his body didn’t
come close to the real thing. His face and hands were tan from hours in the sun
and she couldn’t help but wonder if the coloring extended to the rest of him.

A vise squeezed
her heart when she realized she’d never have the opportunity to find out. She
closed her eyes briefly, calling to mind the fantasy image she’d created for
her lover, adapting it to the new data. The new image was still a fantasy, but
closer she supposed to the real thing. She knew the width of his shoulders and
chest—he’d allowed her to touch him plenty of times, but now that she could put
them into proportion, they seemed so much larger. Everything about him seemed
larger, more intimidating.

He took his
time, arranging the suspension cuffs she was familiar with, and another
apparatus she couldn’t remember using. Her heart ached, knowing she was
responsible for the hard lines on his face. She’d put them there with her
betrayal.

“Stand here,” he
said, tapping the floor in front of him with his shoe.

She eyed the
leather cuffs swaying lightly on a chain lowered for easy access. This was what
she wanted. This was what she’d asked for. She’d earned her punishment,
welcomed it. She always felt better afterward knowing his administering, and
her acceptance of the punishment cleansed them both and allowed the healing to begin.
She hoped, but deep down inside, she was afraid there wasn’t enough punishment
in the world that would allow these wounds to heal.

She stepped into
position, keeping her gaze lowered, offering herself without reservation. She
knew this man—knew his heart. He’d already hurt her in the only way he could.
Whatever he inflicted on her physical body could never equal the pain of losing
his love. Offering herself to him, allowing him to work through his anger, to
transfer it to her where it belonged was the only gift she could give him now.

His touch was familiar,
and she drew a measure of comfort from that. He bound her wrists and lifted
them over her head, adjusting the suspension so only her toes touched the
floor. He worked in silence. No music. No words of assurance to let her know
her safety and comfort were uppermost in his mind. Tears clogged her throat as
she watched his hands contact her skin for the first, and perhaps the last,
time. She couldn’t look away. They moved over her body—at first, lightly
skimming the surface, as if examining a delicate porcelain vase, then having
determined its solid nature, his touch became more assertive. If she closed her
eyes, she would recognize feel of his hands, but seeing it for the first time
made it new and exciting all over again. Silently, he stroked her body to a
fevered arousal, ignoring the part of her most in need of his attention.

When he cupped
her breasts, squeezing and kneading, she was mesmerized at the contrast between
her softness and his hard masculinity. He rolled her nipples between callused fingertips,
pinching to tight peaks.

She hadn’t
expected this tenderness, so the pain when it came, took her by surprise. He
clamped her quickly, no open-mouthed, bone-melting kiss followed to make her
forget this time. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, concentrating on
breathing through it.

“Open your eyes,”
he commanded. “No more hiding.”

She lifted her
watery gaze to his, determined to give him what he needed, no matter the cost
to herself.

“You think you
know who I am, Carrington?”

“I know you won’t
hurt me,” she said, infusing her words with more bravado than she actually
possessed.

“You don’t know
shit about me then. But I know you.” He flicked the chain hanging from one
nipple and then the other, sending lightning bolts of pain straight to her pussy.
“I know you like pain, or was that a lie?” He cupped her sex, fingering her
swollen, wet folds. “No, that much was the truth. You’re a slut for pain, and I’m
man enough to give it to you.” He reached for another chain hanging beside her.
“But first, I’m going to see to it you have no choice but to accept whatever I
want to do to you.” He trailed a length of rope from her chin, between her
breasts to her mound. “Does that frighten you, Carrington?”

“No, Sir,” she
whispered the lie. This wasn’t the man she’d given her body to so many times
before. He’d always gone out of his way to reassure her she was safe.

He methodically
knotted the rope, rigging an additional suspension system he placed beneath her
thighs to lift and spread her legs. Hanging by wrists and thighs, there was no
part of her he couldn’t access with ease. He’d seen it all before, but then,
she’d been hidden behind the blindfold. No longer in darkness, she felt more
exposed, more vulnerable.

Jason bent to
the bag he’d brought with him. She took a shuddering breath at the sight of the
riding crop he drew out. He moved around behind her and swept her hair over her
shoulders. Her skin tingled as he skimmed the leather end of the crop from her
nape, slowly along her spine to the tight entrance she’d given to no other man.
He tapped lightly there—just hard enough to remind her he could take that, too,
if he was of a mind.

She closed her
eyes, absorbing the feel of the leather as he traced her shoulder blades and
each rib until it disappeared around her torso. Drifting on the decadence of
the sensual play, she dared to hope there was more pleasure in store. If this
was punishment, she’d take it any day. A hard slap to her pussy startled a cry
from her lips and put an end to her romantic notions.

Her eyes flew
open. He stood in front of her, a solid wall of angry male.

“Eyes up here,”
he said, using the riding crop to tilt her face. “No matter what, don’t take
your eyes off mine.”

She met his gaze.
Her whole body trembled, knowing she’d underestimated. There was no forgiveness
there. None at all.

Eyes locked with
hers, he used the riding crop to slowly taunt and arouse. Despite her fear, her
body reacted, craving his touch, the bite of pain that led to pleasure. He
slapped the crop against her clamped nipples. She closed her eyes against the
stinging pain.

He repeated the
slap, admonishing her, “Look at me.”

Her breasts
burned from his attention, ached for him to soothe them with his lips and
tongue.

 “Do you like
that?” he asked.

He didn’t have
to ask, moisture leaked from her pussy, scenting the air with the unmistakable
evidence of her arousal. “Yes, Sir,” she said, mortified at how much she liked
it, craved it.

The crop
traveled the length of her sternum, stopping to dry fuck her navel, then traveling
lower, taunting her soft belly, setting off a firestorm of need in her pussy
with each stinging slap against her flesh. She flinched, but didn’t look away
as he coated the end of the crop with her juices, then wedged it between her
folds to press against her swollen clit. She twisted against her restraints,
straining to get closer to the delicious pressure.
More. Please.
He
rubbed her hard there, promising the release she desperately needed.

“How much pain
is too much?” he asked. “I wonder. Does Carrington like to have her clit
spanked too? Or is that something only Carrie likes?”

The crop slapped
against her clit, startling a gasp from her. Once. Twice. Three times—each swat
harder than the one before. She bit her lower lip but couldn’t contain the moans
or the way her body writhed, accepting and absorbing the pain.

His gaze held
hers, and in that way he held her captive in mind and body. There was nothing
of the kindness and love she’d dreamed of seeing there for the last few
months—only cold, hard pain. Her gut clenched. She’d hurt him so badly. He’d
worked so hard to get where he was, to earn the admiration and respect of his
colleagues and fans, and she’d destroyed it all. She deserved his hatred, but
he didn’t hate her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. He didn’t hate
her. He was hurt, wounded by what she’d done, but deep inside, he still
harbored feelings for her. A tiny glimmer of hope kindled inside her.

He demanded her
submission, and she gave it willingly. Opening the windows to her soul, she
held nothing back, hoping her love for him would burn bright enough to banish
the pain and disappointment she’d caused.

Chapter Sixteen

The musk of her
arousal filled the air. He inhaled, absorbing the knowledge he could do this to
her, that she wanted, needed, him to do these things to her. He’d never dreamed
he would find a woman like her. Seeing her like this, needing,
taking…submitting…. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever known. Her body was
lush and responsive to his touch. He’d made her come so many times, and each
time, he’d felt like a god watching her lose control, knowing her pleasure was
his to command, that she would beg him, and no other, for it.

 Her outer lips
were ripe, swollen, inviting. His cock ached to feel her wet heat surrounding
him, to pound into her softness, to take what he wanted. She wouldn’t deny him.
She couldn’t, trussed up the way she was. Even if he removed the restraints,
she would still spread her legs for him. She’d still take him in, give him her
body, let him use her—because she loved it when he couldn’t control his need
for her. She loved having that power over him.

How many times
had he watched for the rosy blush to cover her body, a tell she couldn’t
control? A few more taunting slaps and she would beg him to fuck her, to let
her come. But tonight, she’d find out what it was like to have everything she
wanted within her grasp, only to see it ripped away.

“This is the way
you like it, isn’t it? You like it when you have no choice, don’t you?” He
clamped a hand over her pussy, fingering her folds. A moan came from low in her
throat. Her stomach muscles clenched. “You want it. I can tell. You want to be
fucked. You want me to lose control and shove my cock in you. You like it hard
and fast.” His hand slipped lower. “You want me to fuck you here, too.” He
pressed a finger against her anus. “In fact, you’d like it if I filled both
holes at the same time, wouldn’t you?”

She licked her
lips. “Yes, Sir. Please.”

Her voice was
breathless, weak with longing and desire. Time to show her who was on top, who
was in charge, who was fucking who.

“Are you going
to write about this, too, Carrington? Am I going to wake up tomorrow and find
my sexual preferences are front-page news?”

“No, Sir. I’d
never do that.”

“Why not,
Carrington? You might just accidentally write another article, like you
accidentally wrote this one.”

She cried out when
he pinched her swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger.

“Please, Sir,”
she whimpered. “You know I wouldn’t.”

He buried two
fingers in her pussy. Her eyes closed, and he slapped her ass with the crop. “Don’t
close your eyes again, Carrington.”

She met his gaze.

 “See, I don’t
know anything about you, Carrington Taylor. Nothing at all. I thought I did,
but you aren’t the woman I thought you were. I trusted you with secrets I’ve
never trusted anyone with.”