Whipped (Hitched, #2)

He nods.

"Are you ready for this?" I don't want to break my boyfriend just for some kink, but I'm revved up and anxious to do this, so I hope he says yes, and I hope I believe him, because if I don't, we can't do it. That's always been my rule.

"Yes, Vi, I'm ready for this."

I believe him. "Go into the room and wait for me. I'll be there shortly."

While he waits, I change into my Dom uniform. Spiked red heels. Black leather mini-skirt and a black lace corset. And I bring the whip.

His eyes get big when I come in, and so does his cock. So far, so good.

Butterflies dance in my stomach as I tell him to take off his clothes and then handcuff him to the bed. When I blindfold him, he smiles. "Turnabout's fair play," he says.

I gently lash his thigh with the leather whip. "Mistress," I remind him.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy."

I straddle him and enjoy the feeling of being in control again. Though my mind flicks back to the nights he took me hard and fast, and I know he's changed me. I'll never be 'just' the Dom again.

And I realize I'm okay with that.

I tease him with feathers and whips, with teeth and tongue, tantalizing his senses as I take control of his body and make him beg for more.

It's exhilarating.

His cock is hard and throbbing when I finally mount him. I'm still wearing my black leather skirt, but it's more of a belt now, and there's nothing under it. I tease his tip with my wet pussy, taking him in just a bit, then pulling off, over and over, as he moans and tries to thrust his hips for more. I whip him again, lightly, but with a sting. "I'll give you more when I decide."

When he settles down, I drop my hips fully onto his cock, taking his shaft entirely. He fills me, stretches me, and I want more, but I want to torture him too. So I pull off and tease the tip again. I take off my corset and let my nipples fall against his lips. He's still blindfolded, but I can tell he's enjoying the extra play.

When neither of us can take it anymore, I give us both everything. Riding him hard and fast. Deeply, completely, until we both come.

I'm about to start it again, teasing, torturing, arousing him until he's hard once more, when my stomach rolls over, and I realize the butterflies I've been feeling aren't from nerves.

"Oh my God, I have to go!"

I run into the bathroom and can't even close the door before I'm vomiting all over the floor, the sink and finally into the toilet. I'm dying. Absolutely dying. Someone tried to kill me, and now I'm dying.

"Vi? You okay? What's going on?"

I can't talk yet, my stomach is still heaving everything I've ever eaten since I was two. When I catch a breath, I scream at him. "Sick. So sick. Oh God!"

What happened? How can I be sick so suddenly? I don't know and can't really think because now my stomach is out of food but is finding some kind of green sludge from the pits of despair and vomiting that up. I've never vomited this much. Ever.

"Vi! Vi? I think I'm getting sick too. Vi, you have to come release me."

Oh no. I can't leave him stuck to the bed. I try to move from the toilet, but another wave hits me, and I lean over, heaving until it hurts. "I'm trying, Lach. But I can't stop throwing up."

"Vi. I'm going to be sick."

And then I hear him vomit. All over my bed.

I crawl through my own sick to reach him, throwing up again on the floor. I scramble for the key to the handcuffs and get them off his wrists. He pulls the blindfold off and runs to the bathroom and vomits into the toilet. We are now both covered in each other's vomit.

It feels like hours before we're both done. We can't move and no longer care we are covered in sick.

We lean against the sink together, both of us slumped on the bathroom floor, when Lach starts to laugh.

I can't help but join in, because what else can you do but laugh or cry? And Lach chooses laughter, and I love that about him.

"Is this how it usually went with your clients?"

I laugh harder, my stomach cramping from it all. "Usually less vomit," I tell him. "But not always."

He chuckles. "Oh, Vi, honey…"

"Yes?"

"You're never allowed to cook."





CHAPTER 18





LACH