That being that she wanted more.
And more.
And more.
He gave it to her, his cock pulsing with each fall of the crop, his balls tightening with each red welt that rose against the beautiful skin of her ass and thighs.
She even rode the handle of the crop like he ordered.
His princess at his command.
He watched her work the crop in and out of her wet cunt, her teeth sunk into her lower lip, her tits bouncing, the nipples he’d worked first, taking his time doing it, hard and straining.
So fucking pretty.
She gave him that, he gave her what she’d needed and never been able to have, he’d give it to her again.
Now, enough was enough.
So he pulled the crop out of her, tossed it aside, wrapped an arm around her belly, cupping her pubis with his other hand to tip her back for him, and he drove his cock home.
Her held fell back against his shoulder, her lips whimpering, “Nicky,” she came for him the instant he filled her.
He fucked her strung up, holding her tight to take it, after she came down going after her clit to make her come for him again.
She did.
Then he did.
He didn’t move, stayed buried, his arms wrapped around her as she hung for him, filled with him, her head still back, turned, her forehead in the side of his neck.
“You good?” he murmured.
“Yes, Nicky,” she murmured back.
“Good they had a decent hook at the hardware store,” he teased.
He felt her smile against his skin but she only replied, “Mmm.”
He slid a hand up to her breast and cupped it.
“Who do you belong to, Livvie?” he asked.
“You, Nicky,” she whispered, pressing her forehead in harder.
“Who do you love?” he asked.
More of her whisper, “You, sweetheart.”
“Whose heart do you own?”
She shifted her head back and he tipped his chin down, lifting his hand from her breast to pull the blindfold away so he could catch her eyes.
Her beautiful voice wrapped sweet around the word, “Yours.”
That was when he kissed her, slow and wet.
He’d barely broken their kiss, his lips still to hers, when she murmured, “You forgot my plug, master.”
Nick caught her eyes.
Olivia, naked, strung up, red-assed from his crop, still full of his cock, he couldn’t hold back.
He burst out laughing.
Pressing her face into his neck, he heard it and felt it when his girl did the same.
* * * * *
Four Days Later
Nick was tossing a log into the fireplace when he saw movement in his peripheral vision.
He looked that way and caught it as Whiz entered, doing it galloping, puppy ears flopping.
Not long after, Olivia came in holding a shoe.
“You are correct,” she announced haughtily. “He’s fast. The name Whiz suits him.” She shoved the shoe toward him, a shoe he now saw was chewed to shit. “I’m also correct. He’s also a punk.”
Whiz made a whining sound.
“He doesn’t like Punk, baby,” Nick told Liv something she knew because the dog spoke fucking English and whined every time that word was uttered in reference to him.
“Then he should stop being a punk, sweetheart,” Liv shot back.
Another whine from Whiz.
“He’s not a punk, he’s a pup,” Nick pointed out.
“The closet door was closed,” she returned. “He’s not only a puppy punk. He’s a puppy magician punk.”
Fuck.
He’d gone in to get a flannel to wear when he brought in wood and hadn’t closed the closet door.
Liv read him and her hand dropped to her side as her eyes went to the ceiling.
“Nick,” she snapped at the ceiling.
“I’ll buy you another shoe.” He grinned. “Two of them, if you’re a good girl.”
She returned her gaze to him. “You’ll need to. This shoe,” she shook it at him again, “isn’t suitable to country living. But when we’re back in Denver, I’ll need it and the meager other selection I brought with me that didn’t go up in smoke.”
Taking in the strappy sandal that was minus a number of straps, some of a spike heel and a good deal of its sole, he mentally considered a visit to the vet as he advised, “Best to stock up for country living. Time we’re in Denver, you won’t need that many of those type of shoes.”
“Sorry?”
He looked to her. “Does Whiz have half your shoe in his belly?”
“No, Punk decorated our bedroom floor with half this shoe so it’s now in the garbage.”
Thank Christ for that.
Whiz whined.
“Nick,” she called.
He turned his attention back to her, straightening from the fireplace to take his feet.
“The time we’re in Denver?” she asked.
“Yeah. We should think about when we can go back. A visit. Knight’s gettin’ impatient and Kasha’s definitely—”
Her head tipped sharply to the side. “A visit?”
“A visit,” he confirmed. “Maybe a week. But we gotta think of Whiz. Whether he comes with us, which means drivin’ with a puppy, which might be the seventh circle of hell. Or he stays, which means we don’t have him for very long and then we take off on him. I don’t think that’d be cool. So we should wait a few weeks, a month, long as I can push it with Knight and Kash, and then not be gone too long.”
She stared at him so long it was his turn to call, “Liv?”
“A visit,” she said.
“Yeah, a visit,” he reiterated. “What the fuck?” he asked when she kept staring at him.