Chapter 11
“You know everything, don’t you? Who I am and what I do for a living?”
I needed to get away and fast. Terror seized me, and I felt like I would collapse. If his hands weren’t wrapped around my waist, I might have. I was way out of my depth. How did I think I’d ever get away with doing something so idiotic?
“Everything,” he confirmed, in a dangerously low voice.
I was having the worst kind of Stockholm syndrome reaction right now because I was alarmingly turned on. So much so that one flick of his finger against my clit would make me climax.
“Did you think a hack like you could come to Expose and tell the world its secrets?”
From behind me, he ran his hands up my arms and through my hair, gathering it into a tight ponytail. His erection pressed against my lower back and I was powerless to stop the whimper escaping from my throat. Damn my body— including my vocal chords— for betraying me by wanting him so much and showing him how much I wanted him.
“Are you one of those journalists who’ve justified their devious and dishonest tactics to themselves? Do you think by exposing the indulgences and secrets of the rich and famous you’re somehow doing the world a service?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “I thought The Reporter was a reputable paper, not a supermarket rag. Whatever your reasons for sneaking a phone in here, don’t make innocent people your victims. They don’t deserve it. You have a promising career, Little Mouse. Don’t ruin it before it’s begun.”
Was he threatening me or warning me off? Either way, he was right. A story shouldn’t make me feel guilty or like a piece of scum. A story should make me feel the way I’d felt when I left the interview with Wyatt Palmer today. A story should make me feel good about my job and good about myself, and right now I felt neither.
Before I even left Wyatt’s I’d decided to kill the story. Who was I to reveal what happened at Expose? Especially since what they did wasn’t wrong. I’d experienced one night, and because of that, I wanted more, more and more. So maybe they felt the exact same way, and weren’t so different from me.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“It’s not about what I’m going to do,” he replied, giving my hair a tug. “It’s about what you’re going to do. Tell me, why did you become a journalist? Was it to write lies and hurt people?”
I had no answer for him because it was the same question I’d been asking myself repeatedly all day.
“I wish I could answer that, but I don’t know anymore.” I pressed myself against his rock-hard body, relishing the warmth seeping through my clothes. “If you let me go, I won’t breathe a word to anyone about what happens here or about anything I saw… or experienced… last night.”
“I already know you won’t say a word, Mouse. I know you’re a good person who won’t deliberately hurt others. But you still haven’t told me what you want. Your phone, or something else?”
If I said I’d come for my phone and nothing else, he would know I was lying, and if I told myself I’d come for my phone and nothing else, I would know I was lying, too.
As much as my body and mind battled over my desires, I couldn’t help wanting to take what the man in the mask offered. I wanted him to do what he did last night. I wanted him to do more than that. So much more. The only time I had stopped thinking about him was when I was with Wyatt, but now my need for the stranger consumed me.
Fate wasn’t something I believed in. I believed you made things happen for yourself, but meeting him seemed fated. That, for some reason, he was supposed to be part of my life. Whether that reason was to teach me a lesson about where I wanted my career to go, or to teach me a lesson about my wants and desires, I didn’t know.
“Aren’t you going to take your mask off? It’s not fair that you know who I am but I don’t know your name or what you look like.”
He nuzzled his nose against the shell of my ear, and I shivered.
“Your phone, or something else?”
From the way he moved against me, I could tell he was getting impatient.
If I pushed him and refused to answer, how would he respond? Would he do what he wanted anyway?
Going against the warning voice in my head, I whispered, “Something else.”
“Did you say something, Little Mouse? I don’t think I heard you.”
“You heard me, Master.”
He bit my earlobe, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to hurt, and then said, “When your Master tells you to do something, you do it. That’s one punishment. You’ve been in my room for five minutes and have only addressed me once in the appropriate manner. We’re up to two punishments already.”
My backside clenched and a reminder of last night prickled my skin.
“Repeat what you said, sub.”
I remained silent and stared into the darkness.
“Three punishments.”
“I said ‘something else.’”
I smiled to myself because I had purposely left out the word master.
“Four punishments.”
He pushed up my sweater and smoothed his fingertips over the curves at the top of my thighs.
“Is there something you want to say to me?”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t think so.”
“Five.”
Now I knew how Alice felt when she fell down the hole, because I was dizzy and disorientated and I couldn’t believe this was happening. He stepped away from me, and a chill covered my body. I already missed his warmth.
“Sub, don’t push me any further. Go to my wardrobe and pick a paddle or a flogger.”
“I know what a flogger looks like, but I’m not sure what a paddle looks like.”
“Six. Trust me— you don’t want to go any higher than that. A paddle is a smooth board made especially for spanking disobedient little subs like you.”
I went to the wardrobe and opened it up. A light clicked on and— Holy fuck— inside was a treasure trove of toys. Crops, clamps, cuffs, lotions, and lubes. Some of the dildos must have been three inches wide or more. The vibrators had bunny ears, double heads, and soft spikes. Wet heat saturated my pussy at the thought of him using his collection on me.
I looked to my left and beneath the handcuffs was a collection of paddles. One was heart-shaped, one was made from leather, one looked like a meat tenderizer, and one was made from smooth polished wood.
I selected that one because it didn’t look like it would hurt me as much as the others. I wanted to feel some pain, but not too much pain. It was heavy and made from cedar, and to test it out I hit it against my palm.
My clit tingled at the slapping sound it made. But, I decided I wasn’t ready to have my ass walloped with a piece of wood, so I put the paddle back and selected a black leather flogger. I ran the super-soft tails through my fingers and figured it wouldn’t hurt as much as a paddle or sting as much as his hand had. After I closed the wardrobe, I turned to face him.
“This one?” I still hadn’t used the word master, and I knew I would pay for that.
The game I played was a risky one, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Something inside me wanted to push and push and push. Maybe somewhere deep inside I somehow felt like I deserved the punishment for what I’d planned to do.
“Good choice. One of my favorites.”
The masked man sat on a chair and patted his lap. “Lie over my lap, Mouse.”
Unsure if I was ready, I stood awkwardly with the flogger clutched in my hand.
He chuckled. “Seven.”
Since I hadn’t been flogged before, I didn’t know if the lashes would build on each other until the pain was unbearable, so I cut my losses because I didn’t want or need any more punishments added.
“Coming, Master.”
I handed him the flogger and draped myself over his lap. My fingertips touched the ground, and my pussy rippled at the feel of his strong thighs beneath my stomach. He splayed his hands over my ass and stroked me ever so softly.
“Why are you over my lap, Mouse?”
“Because I brought a phone into the club.”
“And?”
“I didn’t repeat myself when you asked.”
“And?”
“I didn’t address you as master, Master.”
“Good girl.”
He pulled down my leggings but left my underwear in place. “The perfect ass for flogging.”
I blushed at his compliment and then tensed in readiness for the first lash, but after what seemed like years of waiting, nothing happened.
“I like these sheer, lacey shorts,” he said, running his finger beneath the edges. “When we’re done, and they’re wet with your arousal, I think I’ll take them home.”
He tickled the tails of the flogger along my skin, and I stifled a giggle.
“Every time this hits off your ass,” he said while continuing to tickle me, “count the punishments out loud. What number were we up to?”
“Six,” I squeaked, and then instantly regretted it. Why was I purposefully giving myself more lashes?
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Master.”
“From my recollection, it was seven.”
Without warning, the flogger swished down. My little game had suddenly gotten very serious indeed.