Her shoulders relaxed, her spine dipping as if my words had caressed her.
Bending down, I secured a blindfold over her eyes. I didn’t want to feel their penetrating gaze on me as I worked. Then I helped her stand and guided her to the bed.
Once I bent her over my knee, I could feel the heat of her skin through my jeans. I noticed her fist was clenched around something.
“Open your hand,” I ordered.
She did. A small stainless steel butt plug rested in her palm. She wasn’t leaving much guessing room about what she wanted, or needed, tonight.
“Look at you,” I growled. “Offering yourself to me. On display like this.”
I took the plug from her and slowly stroked the cold steel down her spine, over the cleft of her ass, raising a trail of goose bumps.
Daniella shuddered.
Her biggest kink was bondage—exposure, helplessness, objectification—and I knew how to hit it hard. The sight of her presenting herself to me didn’t stir my cock like it used to, but I could still give her what she needed.
I slowly pushed the plug into her ass, pausing whenever her breath caught, then easing forward again when she adjusted to the stretch. When I’d worked it in all the way to its flared base, I patted her hip in silent praise.
I brought my hand down against her bare ass—soft taps at first and then harder, until my palm cracked against her skin. The forceful blows jostled the plug in her ass, sending sparks through her every nerve.
Daniella cried out with each slap, a wild, shapeless noise of pure sensation, before whimpering out loud. Her voice grew fuzzier and her body relaxed as she sank further into subspace.
I was concentrating so hard that I didn’t hear the knock at the front door. I didn’t hear the soft footsteps down the hall, the creak of the bedroom door swinging open.
But I did hear the startled gasp.
I whipped my head around to see Lacey frozen in the bedroom doorway. Her hand was clamped over her mouth. Her wide eyes darted back and forth over the lurid scene—me, a naked Daniella draped across my lap, spanking the shit out of her red ass.
Lacey’s expression hit me like a gut punch; I could barely breathe. In her eyes, I saw pure horror and heartbreak. She was so scared, so disgusted—and it was all because of me. In that moment, I hated what I saw in her eyes.
Then she ran, darting out of the room just as quickly as she’d appeared.
I eased Daniella off my lap and onto the bed, and she gave a soft sigh. When I pulled off her blindfold, she looked drained, drowsy, as she rested her head on the pillow.
Daniella was riding a serious endorphin high, swaddled in the warm fog of subspace. As badly as I wanted to go after Lacey, I knew I had to handle Daniella’s aftercare first.
I brought her a mug of hot, sugary tea, sat with her while she drank it, and rubbed her back until she fell asleep.
Then I wrote her a note—Let’s talk in the morning—and left it on her nightstand. It was kind of a cold move, but I had to do some damage control before Lacey freaked out even worse. Or called the police on me.
I had no idea what she could be thinking. What she’d just witnessed had obviously confused and frightened her. I thought I’d made Daniella’s kinky desires clear before . . . but evidently, being aware of BDSM was different from stumbling into a scene up close.
Did Lacey think I was a monster now? How much of our relationship could I salvage?
Hardly daring to hope, I hurried outside toward my truck, hell bent on getting to her apartment.
Chapter Fourteen
Lacey
Uncontrollable shaking racked my body. Anger. Fear. Disappointment. Confusion. Jealousy. The sheer number of emotions warring for my attention were overwhelming.
I paced my living room, my hands still trembling. It was a miracle I’d driven home without crashing. Tonight, on my way home from work, I’d spotted that same white sedan in my rearview mirror, and I panicked.
Instead of leading him to my home, I’d driven straight to Nolan’s. I heard the TV playing inside and let myself in when there was no answer at the door. The last thing I expected was to interrupt a scene between him and Daniella.
The scent of sex was burned into my nostrils. As was the sight of Daniella, bound and blindfolded, her ass splotchy with large red handprints. Nolan’s handprints.
Chills swept down my spine as I leaned against the dining room table for support, unable to banish the vision from my brain. My fingers curled around the edge of the table and I drew a few deep breaths, trying to calm my rioting heartbeat.
My own visceral reaction to seeing them startled me with its intensity. I’d told myself all along that I didn’t care what they did in bed, but now I knew that had been a bald-faced lie.
The reason it mattered so much? The reason my heart felt like it had just been ripped in two?