“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
“My absolute pleasure, little one.”
And she believed him.
Chapter Eight
Ryker
He played with Cosima alone regularly now, although Hudson or Ian or both would be around if he requested it. They also frequently played downstairs. For today, though, he had her downstairs all to himself before the club opened. So he best get on with it because they only had a few hours before Ian and Hudson would be opening the place up for their busiest night of the week.
Normally he wasn’t much for role play because what was the point? He didn’t need a reason to flog or whip or spank or fuck someone. Aside from that they’d both enjoy it. But Cosima loved it, liked to play dress up in all things and really, what was the harm in indulging his precious little one once in while?
He liked surprising her, and she’d been shocked when he put her in a dress that was barely opaque, made from layers upon layers of diaphanous, gossamer fabric. Covered her from the yoke of her shoulders all the way down to her ankles. Blinked those wide, curious eyes but hadn’t said a word because she was a good, compliant girl.
Now that they were downstairs, he twisted a hank of her hair around his fist, used it to drag her through the door to the club and then to a whipping post he tethered her to. Watched her squirm and wriggle as he shucked his pants and tugged on a kilt. Not, like, a plaid one. Just black. Because as much as he loved her, there was only so far he was willing to go. But it’d do the trick.
He gripped her by the hair again and yanked her head back, putting a hand to her throat and growled in her ear.
“What do ye have to say fer yerself now, lassie? Not so brave away from your father’s keep now, are ye?”
Yes, his face flamed hot when Cosima laughed because this was ridiculous. He was ridiculous, and unlike Ian, he didn’t enjoy making a fool out of himself. But it was nothing compared to the joy he felt when Cosima got herself under control and squalled back at him. “You’re wicked and evil. I’ll never agree to marry you, ever!”
“Who said anything about marrying,” he murmured darkly into her ear and thrilled at the shudder that ran through her body. “But if it’s marrying I want, it’s marrying I’ll have. You’ll change yer tune about kissing me once you’ve tasted the kiss of my whip.”
He’d mainlined Sean Connery movies and practiced this accent for hours upon hours but he still wasn’t getting it quite right. Thankfully, Cosima did not seem to give a single shit. She was playing the feisty maiden now but she’d give in to him eventually. A bit of resistance was fun but they both enjoyed it more when she willingly handed herself over.
Ryker didn’t give her a chance to respond but picked up a flogger from the bench he’d set up nearby this morning before he retrieved Cosima from Hudson. It wasn’t harsh at all, and he’d warm her up with it before getting into the more serious implements.
He flogged her on every inch it was safe to do so, over and over again before picking up his next implement, another flogger that wasn’t as gentle and repeated the treatment. Over and over until he’d worked up to an instrument that was harsh enough that the thin layers of her dress started to come apart. And once he’d got as much mileage out of that as he could, he picked up a whip.
Yes, he’d whipped her since that awful day when he’d abandoned her. Many times. But it was still edgy—for both of them, he thought—and this was the first time he’d dared without Hudson and/or Ian with them.
His heart beat hard and his ribcage felt as though it was being squeezed by a vise, but it was a heady sensation too, knowing she’d agreed to this. Had never actually taken it off the table despite his reprehensible behavior. And if she could be brave and resilient, then to be so in return was the least he could do.
Cosima hadn’t given in yet, and this was how he intended to break her. Break was a relative term though because she never would, not really. Not from anything he’d be willing to do to her anyway.
She was tougher than the platinum lock he’d clicked into her collar and he loved that about her. Countered his sadism with her masochistic side but also her gorgeous submission. His beautiful love, being stripped increasingly bare by the bite of his whip as he shredded her gown, left it in lovely tatters on the floor. And yes, sometimes hit her bare skin with it to hear her strangled cries and watch red welts rise from her skin. Had his blood thrumming through his veins, the extent of his power over her the deepest, meatiest taste he could imagine.
And then it happened. Again.
Cosima had been leaning against the post, face pressed to her bound arms for quite some time now. Hadn’t moved much except to jerk and shudder at the feel of the whip. But when he threw the next strike, it didn’t hit at the fleshy part of her back below her hipbone as he intended. No, she twisted and the whip did not. Not until the fall hit her side and the tip wrapped around to catch the tender, vulnerable skin of her stomach anyway. Shit.
That was absolutely not what he intended and her gasp followed by a wail had a different quality to it than the ones she’d let out before. Like nails on a chalkboard instead of a sweet symphony, it stopped his heart.
* * *
Cosima
What had possessed her to move? She could blame it on being exhausted, but she could’ve asked for a break. Hadn’t.
And now she was hesitating when she shouldn’t. The flogging and the whipping had put her in a trance so deep she hadn’t wanted to swim up from the depths of it. But the bite on her tummy was unexpected and yanked her up from the floaty, peaceful space. Made her cry out and try to double over to protect herself, but her wrists were bound.
She should say it, knew she should. Daddy and Papa would be so disappointed if—who was she kidding,when—they found out. They would make sure she was okay, comfort and coddle her, but eventually she’d be disciplined. Probably lines for this and oh, how she hated that. Sitting there weeping over a piece of paper while she scrawled out something horrible like “I am loved and I am worthy of being kept safe. My daddies trust me to use my safe word when I need it and I will honor that trust.”
Okay, when she put it like that it didn’t sound awful but it would be because it might kill her. Judah hadn’t been able to but guilt might.
But the thing was, would she be able to survive any better if she said “sassafras” and Sir ran away again? She’d be devastated in the moment, but worse it might ruin her family. Her family that she loved so, so much. That wasn’t much of a choice.