“Georgia, you don’t have to—” Keats began, but Colby let the first stroke fly diagonally across her back, the resounding thud against her skin cutting Keats off.
The soft exhalation of air from Georgia was like a drug to Colby’s system. Nothing sweeter than the sound of a submissive taking what he gave with grace.
“You better tell your boy to stop protesting for you,” Colby warned. “Every time he opens his mouth without permission, you earn another minute.”
He crisscrossed another few strokes over her back in quick succession, increasing the level of sting.
“Keats, shut up,” Georgia managed in a choked voice. “I’ve got it.”
Colby felt his dominance rising fully to the surface. She’s got this? Well, that sounded like a challenge if he’d ever heard one.
—
Georgia realized she’d been too confident. On the next hit, Colby must’ve put a flick in his wrist because the recoil of those tips of leather snapping against her felt like a hundred tiny licks of fire across her ass. Georgia gasped and arched in her bindings, her natural human instinct to get away from the source of pain kicking in without her conscious effort. Her heels lifted off the floor.
“Reach down and cuff her ankles with your hands, Keats,” Colby said, the pleasant, nonchalant tone in direct contrast to the swats he was meting out. “I don’t want her to hurt herself moving those pretty feet.”
“Yes, sir.” Keats scooted forward on his knees and peered up at her, his eyes holding a hint of apology, though his body looked to be responding just fine to the show. He was already fully hard again, the cock ring standing out in relief against the taut skin. He locked long fingers around her ankles and provided downward pressure, fastening her to the floor and giving her a nice view of those tattooed arms and muscular shoulders.
“No escape for you yet, gorgeous,” Colby said from behind her. “You’ve still got six more minutes.”
“Six?” He had to be kidding. Surely she’d been standing there an hour. Already every part of her back and ass was throbbing and tight. Not necessarily in a good way. Maybe she wasn’t a masochist after all. Maybe a spanking was as much as she could handle. But she also wasn’t going to back down. She’d endure.
The leather strips came down again, and she cried out with the biting sting. Keats’s grip tightened on her ankles when she tried to shift forward. Goddamn, Colby wasn’t going to be shy about it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath.
But Colby didn’t let her. No more one hit and pause. The flogger was coming down again already, a figure eight of fiery pain lighting her up. Wham. Wham. Wham.
Blood was rushing through her head, and a buzzing started in her ears. But Colby didn’t let up. He was in a steady, focused rhythm. Her vision began to blur a bit, and vaguely she registered that she might be crying. But her mind was fuzzing around the edges.
“Put your tongue to use, Keats,” Colby said, his voice terse. “I know she can take more, but she may need a little added motivation.”
Before Georgia could line the words up in her head to process them, a hot mouth was sucking and laving at her pussy. Oh, yes. Her knees softened and a shudder of relief chased up her body. She whimpered as the next hit landed but it wasn’t from the sting. No, her skin was going tingly and fever hot, her body converting the pain into something other, ethereal and erotic, as Keats lapped at her.
The two men seemed to be in sync somehow. The rougher Colby got, the more lovingly sensual Keats got. Soon, she found herself anticipating the next swing and teetering on the brink of another release. Instinctively she knew coming was not allowed right now. This was supposed to be punishment. But with the next blow, she came anyway—the rolling power of it impossible to fight.
Colby didn’t even pause, and Keats just rode her orgasm with his mouth, softening his assault but still pushing her higher. Another hit came and sensation cracked wide open, spilling over her, making her near-delirious.
God, it was so . . . she couldn’t even find words. She let out a choked laugh, which sounded hysterical to her ears, as she imagined her writer brain being emptied of words, letters soaking into the floor. Yep. They’d officially hijacked her mind and shipped it to another place.
Another hit came.
She let her eyes fall shut and fell into that lovely, floaty space. Time passing without a desire to mark it.
—
Keats couldn’t help but gaze up and be awed at the transformation in Georgia. She wasn’t flinching away from anything anymore. In fact, she’d pitched her body more toward Colby in full surrender. Keats knew what it meant to be masochistic—suspected he had a strain of that, too, since he’d been known to get hard while getting inked—but he’d never expected to see someone look downright high from it.
Colby set down the flogger and peeled off his shirt, a faint sheen of sweat marking his brow. He looked like some wicked god, standing behind Georgia and admiring his handiwork. He stepped up and pressed himself to Georgia’s sure-to-be-burning back, laying a kiss on her shoulder. “Beautiful.”
“Please,” she murmured.
“What do you need, baby?” Colby asked. “Ready for me to get you down?”
A quick shudder went through her. “I just . . . I don’t know. I need . . .”
Colby closed his eyes and inhaled against her bare shoulder like he was savoring the words. “You need a break.”
She shook her head, but it was erratic, like a horse shaking off a fly.