His hand slaps at my ass again, even harder than the last time, sending a thrilling jolt through me.
“Green.” The word comes out on a light moan. His harsh slaps do the opposite of what I expect, but I don’t know why. The few times I’ve touched myself since that night, I haven’t been able to be gentle about it. Something about the soft touches and sweet little bursts of pleasure sends me into a frenzied panic that I can’t control. I tried to be slow and easy with myself, but I only ended up in tears. I should have expected that allowing Ian to touch me would be no different than when I touched myself.
Ian drags the back of his hand up my spine from my ass to the middle of my back. His touch is featherlight and once again I’m saying, “Yellow,” and fighting back tears. He pauses, turns his hand over, and drags his nails up to the base of my neck. A rush of excitement fills me as I say, “Green.”
“My girl doesn’t like it gentle, do you, Melinda?”
“No, Sir.”
“You’re learning. This pleases me.”
Gathering my hair in his hands, he places a soft kiss to the crown of my head, and it’s the first sweet touch that doesn’t make me panic. He always kisses me sweetly, and I never freak out about it, but the sexual stuff is another story entirely.
“Place your hands against the wall in front of you and open your eyes.
I do as I’m told and wait for the next touch. My hair falls against my back, and he steps away from me and lifts something that makes a slight scratching sound against the floor. Hard bristles drag along the back of my slightly spread legs from my ankles up to the backs of my knees where he places more pressure on my skin. A round of gooseflesh breaks out.
“Green.”
The bristles disappear before they’re back and dragging faster and harder up my legs and to my ass where they disappear only to slap at my sensitive bum with a swiftness that takes my breath from me. My chest is working overtime to keep me breathing, and my legs feel weakened by the excitement of it.
“Green,” I say louder than before as a wetness pools in my core. This is happening and I can do this. I can really do this. The bristles slap at me harder now, several times. He drags them to the other cheek, and I hear the whistling of the instrument fly through the air before coming down hard on my ass. I gasp, and my eyes fly closed for a moment before remembering his instructions to keep them open.
“Color, Melinda.”
“Green, fucking hell, green!” My nipples are hard and I’m panting heavily now. Without thinking about it, I push my ass at him, desperate for more.
“Spread your legs, greedy girl.”
“Yes, Sir,” I respond and spread them as far as I can while remaining steadily on my feet. I feel exposed but not in a scary way. It’s empowering, accepting what he wants to give me. Willing him to give me more of it, harder and faster. I need more. I tip my ass up again, practically begging for his touch.
The bristles roughly drag up in the inside of my leg to my inner thigh and swoop across my open core. And now I know, without a doubt, that the instrument of my pleasure is a broom. I’m never going to be able to use a broom without remembering how exciting it is to be spanked with one.
He drags the bristles of the broom down my other leg and then back up as he slaps it at my core. The surge of pleasure is wonderful, but an underlying fear tickles at the back of my neck. I don’t want to say it, but I know I have to.
“Yellow.” I scrunch my eyes closed in fear that he’ll stop what he’s doing entirely.
“What do you fear, Melinda?”
“The handle.” Tears well in my eyes. They used a prop and it hurt me. It took more than just my blood. It took my future, and it took me a long time to heal from it. A panic attack settles in, and I can’t breathe.
“I will never put anything inside of you that will hurt you,” he says, sets the broom down beside me, and places his hands on top of mine against the wall and presses his chest into my back.
“Listen to me, Mindy,” he whispers in my ear. “I remember every single thing those sick fucks forced Holly to tell me. Every word and every terrified cry replays in my head every single night. I lay awake, fantasizing about killing those men and hating myself for not having been the one to do it. They hurt you in a way I can’t ever make right, but I will never, not ever insert anything into you that isn’t my flesh.”
Chapter 19
Sobs rack my body and I cry out, frustrated, with the ruined moment. He called me Mindy, and he told me the scene would be over when he did that. And I cry harder, but not for the fear of the broom handle—that’s gone now. I’m crying because I don’t want this to end. I need to have this with him. For the first time in a damn long time, being touched sexually doesn’t just feel good, it feels perfect.