Desire Unchained

He swallowed. Sweated. Panicked.

“You thought you could trick me? You thought I’d cave in after a little spanking? Like I haven’t had the ever-living shit beaten out of me before? Well, fuck you, Shade. Fuck you if you think I’m such a wuss.” She struck out, knocking the bat from his hand. “Get something serious. That.”

He followed her gaze to the bullwhip. Bile bubbled up in his throat. He picked up the bat. “No.”

Runa said nothing. Merely wore him down with the force of her will. Which was far stronger than his. What a fool he’d been to ever think of her as weak. He’d never met anyone stronger.

Focus. Bluff.

“First,” he said, making damned sure his voice was forceful, “you’ll tell me who beat you.” He had a feeling he knew, after her brief comment about her father, but he wanted to get as much out of her as he could without hurting her, and the beating thing had been an unexpected revelation.

When she said nothing—now she decided to be quiet—he slid the bat up the inside of her leg. He made slow, small circles on her inner thigh until she began to tremble. He could smell her anticipation, but whether it was because she was waiting for pleasure or punishment, he didn’t know.

“My father, okay? It was my bastard father.”

He slid the flap of leather up to lightly brush her sex. As far as rewards went, it was minor, but her moan of relief made it seem much larger.

“Spread your legs more … oh, yeah, that’s it.” He kept stroking her, feathery brushes over her core. “And what did you do to deserve it?”

She squirmed, but her feet remained rooted in place. “Nothing.”

“Then why did he do it?”

“He was … an alcoholic.”

This was going well. She seemed to have forgotten the bullwhip crap. He increased the pressure, letting the soft leather slide between her folds so each stroke kissed her clit.





“Alcohol rages, then.” A sudden, alarming vision of her beneath her father’s fists plowed through Shade’s brain. During sessions like this, memories often popped into his head, but this was something he felt to the soul. He wanted to kill that man for what he’d done to Runa.

And now it made sense, why she was encouraging him to use violence against her. She truly had hated her father, was probably hoping the same treatment would help her to hate Shade. She had to know it wouldn’t work, had to know this was about getting to the root of her pain, but her logical mind hadn’t brought her to that place where she could admit it yet.

“Where is he?” he growled, before he could stop himself.

“Dead.” The pain in her voice made him fumble the bat, and it clattered to the floor. “He took off when I was a teen. Didn’t see him again until he was on his deathbed.”

“Why … why does it bother you that he’s dead, if you hated him?”

She swiveled her head around so she was glaring at him. “I didn’t hate him at the time he died, and if you want more, you know how to get it.”

He eyed the bullwhip. “You don’t need that,” he said, in a final, desperate attempt to change her mind, but she shook her head.

“You know that’s not true.”

Unfortunately, she was right, and he hated it. Hated himself. With heavy steps, he moved to the wall and removed the whip from its hook. It felt like lead in his hand, which, naturally, chose now to be solid, and he swore upon everything that was holy and unholy that he would destroy the whip after tonight. He would destroy everything in the room.

Breathing deeply, he turned back to her. “Where was your mother when your father was abusing you?”

Her eyes sparked. There was a story there, but it was a story she wasn’t ready to share. Not without enticement.

He walked over to her and used the whip, coiled like a rope, against the back of her thighs. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make her yelp in surprise. “Tell me.”

“At work. She never knew.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked softly, because he grew up with a mother who knew every time one of her young sneezed, even if she was a thousand miles away, and he suspected that human mothers were no different.

“She didn’t know,” Runa said through clenched teeth.

“You’re lying.” He slapped her with the whip again, a little harder.

“No.” Her voice held a tremor, because now they were getting down to it. Her fears were surfacing.

“She knew, but you’ve never been able to admit it to yourself.”

“No!”

A shockwave of need hit him so hard he had to take a step back. She wasn’t going to go any deeper into her fears unless he got tougher on her. The whip vibrated in his palm with the force of her need, and his arm raised no matter how urgently he whispered, “No,” over and over.