Kinked (Elder Races, #6)

She tore off the sweatshirt. She didn’t wear anything underneath, her racy, streamlined torso bare. “I need you to do this. I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something. I’m like an addict. It’ s—” She looked outside at the sky, her face stark. “It’s my food, water and air. It’s all of that, and we aren’t even paragliding.”


They had talked about trying to paraglide, and had decided against it for the two-week wait. She didn’t trust herself not to shapeshift if she got into the air.

“I get it,” he said, and he did. Her pain crawled in his marrow. The waiting and the uncertainty were a cruel combination. If they only knew one thing or the other, they could take steps to deal with it.

Her face clenched. She kicked off her shoes, tore off her jeans and came to stand in front of him.

“I have to get this feeling out,” she said through her teeth. “Help me get it outside of my body.”

Slowly he picked up the crop and he turned away as he looked down at it. That whip she had inside of her that was so like his—it wouldn’t stop driving at her until she got some relief.

“I love you too,” he said. He turned back around and struck at her, a fast, controlled blow across one thigh.

She jerked and bit back a strangled sound. She said, “Again.”

He walked around her, struck at her buttocks and watched as a reddened welt raised against her pale skin. While he was no stranger to whipping scenes, his experiences had always before had a sense of playfulness to the game.

This wasn’t playful. This was raw. He felt so strange, heavy and aching and his chest started to burn again, and all he wanted was her inner pain to ease so that she could get some peace for a little while.

“Come on,” she said. Her nose sounded clogged. “Do it.”

The crop rose and fell across her back, that beautiful back with the etched muscles that was so strong and feminine at once. He said from the back of his throat, “Please tell me if this is helping.”

Her head nodded jerkily. “ I—I think so.”

His arm rose and fell.

Rose and fell.

Every time he watched her jerk under a blow, he seemed to step outside his own body. He struck her again, and the crop almost fell out of his nerveless fingers. He honestly didn’t know how much more he could take.

Then he walked around to face her. Her eyes were closed and her face had turned peaceful. All strain had eased from her features. As soon as he saw that, his own crisis of strain eased until he felt light-headed.

He asked her softly, “Do you need more?”

She fingered the welt on her thigh. “No,” she whispered. “The pain’s all on the outside now.” She looked up quickly and searched his gaze. “Did we go too far?”

He shook his head. “There isn’t anywhere I wouldn’t go with you.”

The truth, laid out between them.

Wrapped in a double negative.

Perfect. Kinked.

Her mouth pulled into a wry smile. She walked over to him and kissed him gently, her lips caressing his. “There isn’t anywhere I wouldn’t go with you either.”

“You owe me now,” he said. As he licked her lips and caressed her breasts, his cock hardened.

She didn’t even try to quibble. “I do, don’t I? What do I owe you?”

“A collar around your neck, and your wrists handcuffed,” he whispered.

She drew back her head and looked at him askance. “We’ve had that conversation already.”

“Yes, and we’re not finished with it. Remember—I said, what would it take? You said my soul for all eternity.” His sense of humor surfaced. Brimming with sensual mischief, he cocked his head and held out both hands. “I’ve lived up to my side of the bargain. I thought that might mean something to someone like you, since you revel in legalistic thinking.”

She started to laugh, her face creased with genuine humor. “You got me. You rotten son of a—”

He put a hand over her mouth. “Stop talking. There are much, much better uses for your mouth than that.”

I agree, she told him telepathically.

She ran her hands down his body as she knelt and unzipped his jeans. He stroked her hair, staring without blinking as she pulled out his penis and kissed the tip. Then she took him in her mouth and suckled at him until his breath sawed in his throat and he pumped into her.

She reached up with one hand. He laced his fingers through hers and held on until his own climax ripped through him. A harsh, shaken groan broke out of him as he spurted into her mouth.

Afterward, he whispered, “My turn.” And he nudged her onto the couch so that he could spread her legs wide. Her fluted sex was so beautiful, so drenched, he bent his head and feasted on her until her body jerked underneath his hold. She gave her own climax to him, crying out sharply as she shuddered.