Hurt Me So Good Read online

  Grueling hours at the office had taken a toll on Victor’s knee. Grimacing, he rubbed it while he talked with Mal. Everyone else had left, but Shiloh couldn’t begrudge the other woman his time. Not with the difficulties she was experiencing with Andy.

  “How am I supposed to pretend like nothing’s going on? Like I don’t know what he’s up to?”

  Victor’s upper lip curled slightly as though he smelled something bad. “Pretend. Use your anger and hurt to punish him better than ever. That’s all he’ll care about.” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “You have the opposite problem I experienced with Kimberly. I don’t know if it’ll be easier to pretend you don’t need to punish him, or to pretend you’re punishing him with love and not real rage.”

  As unobtrusively as possible, Shiloh knelt before him and began rubbing his knee. With a grateful smile, he stretched his leg out, making it easier for her massage. She kept her touch light and gentle on those sore muscles, slowly building up intensity.

  “I don’t know how you did it for so long,” Mal said, shaking her head. “At first, I admired your ability to keep the dark side under lock and key.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I wanted to beat the shit out of you because I knew you couldn’t possibly hide forever, and Kimberly wasn’t the kind of woman who could deal with the Master.”

  Shiloh bit her tongue to keep from blurting out, I can deal with the Master. I’ll deal him all day, all night, any way he wants.

  She ran her fingers down the sides of his bad knee, stretching those tendons with firm, long strokes of her fingers. His eyes fluttered, his breathing caught, just a slight hesitation, but she heard it. Keeping her head down, she made herself concentrate on her work and not what he might be feeling. Fears and doubts raced and tumbled in her mind like a frantic hamster running on its wheel.

  Does he love me? Will he accept our relationship, both the normal sex and the darker side of pain we both crave? Or will he keep pushing that need away? Will we have to run season after season of America’s Next Top sub to get the relief we both need? Will he ever see his handiwork and feel as much pride in those bruises as I do?

  As long as he kept the crop under lock and key, she knew she’d never have his full heart.

  “I can see myself out,” Mal said as she stood. “Thanks for listening to me bitch and moan about Andy.”

  “You’ve certainly listened to me often enough.”

  Silent, Shiloh kept her head down and her fingers busy on Victor’s knee. His voice had lowered to a silky rumbling timbre that spoke of arousal and long hours of pleasure.

  Or pain.

  Mal laughed softly and gave her a friendly squeeze to her shoulder. “You’ve got magic hands, Shiloh. I haven’t seen the Master this relaxed in years.”

  “I may not need surgery after all.”

  At that compliment, she couldn’t help but jerk her gaze up to his face. “Really? It’s helping that much?”

  His mouth quirked. “You’re helping all sorts of things. VCONN’s ratings. A shitty season with our front runner forced to cancel at the last minute. My bum knee.”

  “A Master with a crop and no sub to enjoy it,” Mal added, with a slight emphasis on enjoy. “I’ll see you two Monday morning at eight o’clock and not a moment earlier than that, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Victor retorted in a voice that made his friend snort. They both knew who would top the other if they were ever forced to play together.

  Shiloh moved her hands up slightly higher and gripped his thigh, drawing her fingers firmly down the long lines of muscle to his knee. He let out a groan and dropped his head against the back of his chair. Listening to Mal’s departing footsteps, the door shutting, his breathing deepening, Shiloh bit back the words and tears threatening to bubble up. Her heart ached in her chest, yearning to please him in all ways, even those he was too reluctant to bare. The same need gnawed deep inside her, sharp and relentless. Making love with him was wondrous, but sometimes…

  Sometimes I need you to whip me with that wicked crop until I scream and beg and cry. I need you to hurt me, so good, so very, very good.

  She couldn’t ask him, though. Not when it was so difficult for him.

  She pulled her fingers down the upper curve of his calf, but his boot interfered. She gripped the heel of the cowboy boot and pulled it off, then the other, and he made no protest. Now she could work his calf and the tight tendons running down to his ankle. Every muscle and tendon would be strained to compensate for the weakened ones at his knee, even if they didn’t consciously hurt him.

  When his leg was completely relaxed and putty in her hands, she leaned forward and pressed light, reverent kisses where she knew he bore the surgical scars. She rubbed her face on his thigh and trailed her fingers lightly up and down his calf, simply worshiping his strength and muscled power.

  He dropped his hand to her head and rubbed her scalp gently. With silence in the house and the Master fully at ease before a romantic, dancing fire, she could cry for being so happy. So quickly, he’d become home to her. Family. This is where she belonged, and if he ever sent her away…

  Her throat tightened and her eyes burned.

  “What can I now do for you, baby?”

  His voice sounded thick with sleep…or sex, although as relaxed as he felt beneath her hands and cheek, he was surely just tired. His fingers didn’t tighten in her hair. He made no move to drag her mouth to better use.

  Tightening her arms around his leg, she hugged his thigh and relished the feel of muscle beneath her cheek. She hadn’t worked so hard to relax him, only now to ask for something that would make him tense and worry about how far she might push him. “Love me?”

  He reached down and pulled her up into his lap. She tried to burrow into his neck—so he wouldn’t see the darkness in her eyes—but he wouldn’t let her hide. No, the Master could hide all he wanted, but he would never tolerate such dishonesty in his submissive.

  She tried to make herself angry with him, but it didn’t work.

  He kept his hands gentle, but she knew he had to see the truth written in her eyes. If he doesn’t…then he can’t be my Master, no matter how much I want him to be.

  The thought made her want to throw her head back and screech with grief at the top of her lungs.

  “I do love you, baby. I know I haven’t said it out loud, but I’ve been trying to show you.”

  His words only made her agony worse. Show me how much you love me by bringing that crop into your bed. Rip the mask away and give me the real you, all you, all night, all weekend, the rest of our lives.

  She smiled tremulously and fought to keep the stream of pleas dammed in her mind instead of reflected in her eyes. He was the Master, she the slave, at least in this. It wasn’t about what she needed; she wanted to please him. She wanted to keep the lines of pain smoothed from his face, his knee loose and comfortable, and the shadows of guilt out of his eyes.

  “You have shown me.” Every time you lift that crop. “I love you, Victor.”

  He pulled her against his chest and nuzzled his face against her hair, his breath warm on her ear. “Do you know where I keep my crop?”

  Tension rippled through her body. Of course she’d noticed where he put the crop after each taping. It hung on a hook inside his closet door. She’d wanted to ask him whether he’d always kept it there, for surely Kimberly would have noticed it. A good submissive would have taken careful note of where the Master kept his tools so they could be fetched at a moment’s notice. How could the crop on the inside of his closet not have signaled what kind of Master he was?

  “Yes, of course. Shall I get it and your cleaning supplies?”

  “I’ll clean it,” he breathed heavily in her ear, his hand sliding up her back with enough pressure to send her heart galloping faster. “After I whip you while you suck my cock.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The flare of hope in her eyes made his heart hurt in his chest. Intolerable, he
thought as she leaped from his lap to do his bidding, for a woman I care about so very much to feel like she’s unable to express her need for fear of upsetting me.

  A caring, attentive Dominant would never neglect his submissive’s needs, not unless making a deliberate point or lesson in discipline. She would not ask for what she needed, for she knew all too well his struggles to keep the sadist at bay.

  When it was the sadist she needed most of all.

  I’m falling in love with an incredible submissive who knows what I need and want better than I do. I can—and want—to do this.

  He couldn’t deny the heavy thud of his heart, the coiling need building in his groin, or the fierce joy he felt at the sight awaiting him in his bedroom. Shiloh knelt beside his bed, nude, with his crop laid on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were large and dark with her need, the same shadows he knew must be reflected back at her as he raked his gaze over her body.

  Stepping closer, he began undressing, forcing himself to go slowly and methodically. She didn’t say a word but he noticed the tenseness in her shoulders and arms, as though she fought against her natural instincts to reach out and speed him out of his clothes. When he picked up the crop, she let out a sighing exhale, and that tension in her upper body simply melted away.

  He pointed at the foot of the bed. “All fours, facing me.”

  “Yes, Master.” She did as he ordered, making sure she kept close to the edge of the king-size bed so he had easy access to whatever body part he might wish to torment first. Without being told, she kept her legs parted, her back arched to show her breasts and ass to the best of her ability. She made an offering of herself, her eyes silently pleading with him to feast upon every inch.

  Instead of fisting a hand in her hair and setting to work immediately, he forced himself to walk about the mattress and take a good, long, appreciative look at her from all angles.

  Of course, he slapped the crop against his thigh, a stinging rhythm that made him hard and eager to mark her flesh. Her, too, if the gleam of moisture on her upper thighs was any indication.

  “Let’s get one thing very clear, Shiloh. If I’m failing to meet a need that you have, you must tell me. Even if you think it’s something I don’t want to hear.”

  She hung her head. “Yes, Master.”

  “So tell me all about that darkness I’ve noticed in your eyes tonight.”

  “I need you to hurt me, Master. Hurt me real good.”

  A red-hot iron poker jabbed through his spine and stirred his innards into a steaming, boiling pot ready to explode. Before he even realized his arm had cocked back over his shoulder, he landed a blow on her ass hard enough that she quivered and cried out with surprise.

  Red bloomed on her skin, a hypnotic, addictive sight. He burned to lay Vs up and down her body, imprinting his will on every inch of her heart and soul until she was his.

  He wanted his diamond V on her throat and red Vs of pain on her body.

  Breathing too fast, he took a deep breath and held it for a long count of ten before he trusted himself to speak. “Too hard?”

  “Never, Master.” Her voice was as sultry as a Texas summer night and she bent her elbows so she could arch her ass higher in invitation. “Thank you, sir. Shall I count out loud?”

  “No.”

  He hated “thank you, sir, may I have another” formal shit. It was too much like Patrick’s demonstration, which ratcheted his lust up exponentially. He wanted her screaming and begging and crying for release, not calmly and coolly counting out his strokes. With that thought, he landed another blow on her other cheek.

  She sucked in her breath and rocked back on her knees to meet the next blow.

  He whipped her until her ass was hot, red and swollen, until he feared she might not be able to sit down for a week, and yet she lifted into every single stroke. Her moans of pained appreciation urged him onward, to strike harder, sharper, compelling him to give more pain. She’d buried her face in his bed, her cries muffled against the blankets, so he strode back around and jerked her head up by a handful of hair.

  “Oh no you don’t, baby. I want to hear every single cry you make. I want every response, everything you’re feeling. Have I taken you high enough yet?”

  “Please,” she moaned, fighting against his grip. “No.”

  His gut twisted with a sharp thrust of fear that absolutely did not feel good. In fact, he thought he might actually puke on the carpet. “Shiloh, do you need me to stop?”

  “Please don’t stop! I meant no, you haven’t taken me high enough yet. I can take more, V. I can take everything you need to give me.”

  She knows I’m still holding back.

  The thought terrified him, even while lust exploded through him so hard and violent he felt like the top of his head had blown off. He thrust into her mouth, forcing her to take him all or choke, while he brought the crop down on her back.

  Careful, he tried to remind himself. Ribs. Spine. Not too low. Protect her kidneys.

  While demons shrieked and lit hellfire through his veins.

  He kept the blows to her shoulders, slanting the crop so he could see the red Vs forming on her upper body. He drove into her mouth, his back arching with an orgasm that ripped out of his body, sandblasting every thought and doubt and fear from his mind.

  Shaking, his bad knee weakened. He leaned against the bed, grateful for her steadying hands. She licked and sucked until he thought he might expire on the spot. Or come again, he wasn’t sure. Laughing raggedly, he forced his eyes open and his amusement died.

  Blood dripped from a deep slice of the crop, trickling down her lovely back.

  “Lie down on your stomach,” he ordered in a voice that froze her heart with dread. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

  His face was hard, a statue of granite and guilt. She hated the way he averted his gaze. One minute, he was all Master, all sadist, taking his pleasure and sending her soaring into the ether, and the next, he buried her in a six-foot-deep hole in a tiny box that would suffocate them both.

  She did as he ordered and tucked her face in the crook of her arm, trying to decide what to say. She still felt too good and high on endorphins to really feel any pain, but it must be bad. Why else would he clam up like that so quickly?

  Nothing extraordinary or edgy had happened. Nothing had made her uncomfortable. She hadn’t been afraid or in doubt one moment. In fact, she’d thought she was finally seeing the real Victor, the real Master, the real sadist. Exactly who she wanted. Exactly who she needed.

  But the man who sat on the edge of the bed and carefully touched a gauze pad to her back was a cool, reserved stranger. He dabbed antiseptic on the cut and she sucked in her breath at the sting.

  He made a low sound of regret that made her eyes burn with tears. “Victor—”

  “Be still,” he replied in a rough voice unlike anything she’d heard from him before.

  “I’m not injured.”

  She felt the tremble in his fingers. “You’re bleeding.”

  “That happens sometimes.” She cocked her head back, twisting her shoulders so she could see his face. Pale, sweaty, and breathing short and fast, he looked like he might faint. “Are you all right?”

  He let out a choked sound. “No. No, I’m not. I hurt you.”

  She scooted closer and laid her head on his thigh. “I bet that’s when I came so hard I nearly passed out.”

  The stinging slashes were beginning to cut through the blissful haze, and she wanted nothing more than his arms around her. Maybe a soothing massage, his hands easing the pain he’d lovingly given her. A long soak in the Jacuzzi, cradled between his thighs.

  The muscle beneath her cheek quivered with tension and his silence weighed heavily in the air. Maybe she could lighten his mood. On that thought, she lightly bit his thigh.

  He jerked away and stood up to pace. Tightening his hair, limping on that knee, he radiated pain and guilt. His right hand slapped against his hip, and then his mouth twisted int
o a grimace of self hatred.

  Throat aching, she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. Her backside throbbed and it felt like it’d swollen to twice its size. It hurt too badly to sit, but she didn’t want to stand here naked and hurting, aching for some cuddling, if he was only interested in punishing himself for hurting her.

  When that’s exactly what I wanted. What I needed. What he needed.

  She pulled on her pants, not bothering with underwear. She had a feeling the elastic bands would hurt like a bitch. Same with her bra, so she simply jerked her T-shirt over her head.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” She grabbed her shoes and sat on the foot of the chaise. “And before you start in on your guilt trip, it’s not because of my back. You hurt me, Victor, but not with your crop.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I wanted this to happen. I asked you to bring your crop into your bed and show me what you could do with it when it’s just you and me. I loved every minute. Don’t you understand? I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t anywhere near begging you to stop. You were my Master, exactly what I wanted and needed you to be. So for you to shut down like this hurts me more than anything you could do with the crop in your hand.”

  “I hurt you too much.”

  “Not until I needed you to hold me and you pulled away.”

  He stared at her, his jaws grinding and the column of his throat working. “I didn’t want to push myself on you after I’d just hurt you.”

  She snorted and jerked the laces of her shoes tight. “That’s what I needed most of all, Victor. I needed you to hold me, and you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

  His eyes flared with indignant surprise. “I wasn’t—”

  “Yes, you were. Every time I think I’m finally seeing the real you, you decide to flail yourself with guilt instead of my ass with your crop. Maybe you’re a bigger masochist than I am. Admit it. You’re sickened by what we just did.”

  He opened his mouth but no words would come. Eyes wide and dark, face pale, he looked stricken, as though she’d just announced his entire family had all been killed.