Chapter 16

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

HARPER

Walking into the penthouse suite at the Bellagio, I’m suddenly second-guessing my choice to hop back into bed with Edmund.

Or at least having second thoughts about him tenderizing my ass again.

Staring out of the window, overlooking the fountain below, I try to reel in my thoughts. Edmund steps behind me, and I flinch when his knuckles drag along the bare skin of my upper arm.

“Nervous?” He spins me around and swiftly pins me to the cool sheet of glass before lifting my hands above my head.

“A little.” I swallow hard.

“Don’t be.” He wraps his hand around my throat and tips my face up toward his. Dipping his head, he presses his lips to mine for the first time. They are soft and supple, and I already know I’m going to miss the feel of them.

With one hand firmly around my throat and the other pinning me to the glass, his tongue slips between my lips. He massages his tongue against mine, claiming my mouth with a silent confidence until I’m moaning into him.

Pulling back, he nips at my lower lip. His bite has such force that I can’t help but lick it to make sure he didn’t draw blood. He’s hovering so close that my tongue drags along his lip as well, causing him to let out a light growl.

“I want to push you.” His lips vibrate against mine as he speaks. “Do you want to see how far you can go?”

I shake my head lightly.

“If you want to know the heights to which my pain can take you, you need to use your words. While you still can.”

“Yes,” I muster my response as I hang on to his final words.

“That’s a good girl.” Edmund loosens his hands on me before roughly spinning me and pushing me face-first to the glass. His fingers are immediately on the zipper of my dress, and he takes his time drawing it down my spine. Every breath he takes expels his warmth across the now bare skin of my back, eliciting goosebumps.

Reaching the base of the zipper, he slips his warm hands between the slit in the fabric. His fingers travel up my spine and across my shoulders, setting my skin on fire as he lets the dress fall down my arms. It slides down my body, quickly pooling at my feet. Smoothing his hands over my skin, he follows the same path of my dress until he’s kneeling behind me, and his hands are resting on my thighs.

He lifts my feet, taking them out of the pool of fabric and spreading my legs wide. My heart races in anticipation—and a little fear—of what is to come.

“Look at you.” He runs his hands along the strap of my garter as he retakes his place standing behind me. “Pressed against the glass for everyone to see. Do you think they know what a little whore you’re going to be for me? Or do you think we need to show them?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. His hand presses firmly between my shoulders, shoving my face and bra-covered breasts against the icy glass as his fingers slide inside me. His hand slides up my neck, and his fingers tangle in my hair as he wraps it around his fist. He vigorously thrusts and curls his fingers, demanding my orgasm. He nips at my neck, pulling at my hair until my scalp burns as he deeply whispers, “This one will be easy, but you’re going to earn the rest of them.”

Easy?

The pain radiating around my crown only accentuates the pleasure building from his skillful touch in my pussy. My nails claw at the pane of glass before me, needing to cling desperately to something as my release begins to build in my core. It shoots through me, and my screams fog over the glass as my knees buckle .

“Hands and forehead on the glass, Harper,” Edmund commands as he slips his fingers out of me and pulls my panties back in place. “Do not move.”

The hard soles of his shoes click against the marble floor, moving away from me and then slowly returning. Stopping a few feet behind me, he stands silently for what feels like an eternity before instructing, “Hands down, face on the glass.”

Lowering my hands to my sides, he undoes the clasp of my bra. Quickly sliding it down my sides, he discards it to the floor.

“Hands back on the glass.” His voice is deep and gravelly. “We’ll start off light. This is a Wartenberg wheel.”

He places it on the back of my hand. Lightly rolling it down my arm, it leaves a sharp, tickling sensation in its wake.

This is nothing like the other night.

“Like any of my toys, it can be light…” He rolls it over my hip and along the edge of my panties. Reaching the fleshy part of my thigh, he increases the pressure, causing each tine of the wheel to feel like a tiny bite. “Or it can hurt.”

I wince at the tiny, sharp pains as he drags the wheel back over my hip and along my back. Flexing my fingers against the glass, my back arches from the sensation as I let out a deep, garbled breath.

“You like the bite,” he presses hard as he rolls it over my ass and down my thigh, causing me to yelp, “don’t you?”

“Yes.” My response is quick and breathy.