Page 33 of Pretty Little Thing

“People forget to—?” The flogger hits my back and I accidentally bite down. “Ouch.”

“I barely tapped you,” he says.

“I bit my tongue!”

He sighs. “Relax and stay quiet.”

I force my lips together, stifling my laugh. He hits me again, this time just a little bit harder. It really is just barely a tap. More like a tickle than a—

It hits again, this one more forceful and quick. I exhale hard, tensing up as he gives me another hit. He’s right. It doesn’t hurt but my body isn’t used to this. It keeps flinching and flexing, preparing for a pain that’s not— ouch!

Okay.

That one actually hurt.

My mouth sags and I gasp loudly as a bolt of pain fires down my left side. It fades quickly, sending heat throughout my core and I relish in the sensation.

“You felt that.” I hear Clive behind me, just mere inches from my neck. “Do you know why?”

I look back in confusion, prompting him to raise the flogger again. I spin forward in time for it to snap along my back. It hurts — but not as much as before.

“Did I say you could turn around?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

“Then, don’t turn around.”

I fix my neck, holding still.

“Do you know why you felt that?” he asks me again.

I nod. “Because you wanted me to,” I answer, recalling his words from before.

“Good girl.” He taps me, light and fluffy, and it almost makes me smile. “Bad girl.”

He swipes me harder, making my knees lurch and I yelp in response.

“Understand?” he growls.

My voice shakes. “Yes,” I say.

“Say, I understand, Mr. Snow.”

A laugh rattles my ribs and I feel like a different person. His voice, his words. I can’t remember the last time someone else told me to do something — and I had to obey. It feels so new and unnatural, but completely free at the same time. I let go of everything — work and stress. I’ll let go of life itself if it means pleasing him.

“I understand,” I say, “Mr. Snow.”

Clive leaves several pleasant raps along my upper back. I close my eyes, lulled into a sense of security — even if it might be a false one. It’s an odd feeling. One of trust and encouragement but I still find myself bracing for anything.

He whips me harder. “Hands.”

I cringe, realizing far too late that my palms have slid down the cross. “Shit—” I murmur.

“What was that?” He leans over, his warm breath grazing my ear. “Did you just curse?”

I bite down, unsure whether or not I should speak. He hits me again and again, three times in rapid succession and my eyes sting with the threat of tears.

Dammit.What did he tell me?