finished.
Her nipples were a little sore and her clit pulsed like the dickens. Still, she was very proud of herself. It was almost a disappointment that he didn’t praise her.
But that was stupid.
Wasn’t it?
When he finished, he turned away. She could hear him rummaging with items over by the cue stand but she didn’t dare lift her head to peek, too afraid she would dislodge the ball on her belly.
When he came back, he held something behind his back. “Close your eyes, Bella,” he said.
She did as he asked. And then she waited. Holding her breath. What would he do now?
The sensation, when she felt it, almost made her leap out of her skin. A rough scrape over one nipple, and then the other.
Oh. God. He had the baize brush.
A whimper escaped.
“Hold still.” A murmur.
She held her breath as he tormented her with that brush, scraping it over one swollen nipple and then the other. She didn’t wrench away, but it took everything in her to hold still. Her clench on the egg, thrumming away deep inside her, tightened though. It nearly made her crazy.
Oddly enough, the abrasion of the brush didn’t hurt. Not really. But it sent a scalding heat along every nerve. Though when he skated it down and around her breasts, it tickled. She nearly wrenched away then. Even when he traced her tender underarms, up to her elbow and down again, she was able to maintain control, but it cost her.
It wasn’t until he teased the brush down her leg, to the bottom of her foot, that she had her next accident. It was a knee jerk reaction. Literally. When those soft bristles danced over her a rch, she couldn’t—just couldn’t—stop herself.
The cue ball, between her knees hit the floor.
He stopped immediately and picked it up.
Tsked again.
She glowered at him, even though she was still supposed to have her eyes closed.
“Five lashes.”
Yeah. That horrified her, but not as much as his next move. He spread her knees and stepped between her legs and slid his fingers through the folds of her labia, holding her open. “Here, I think.”
She sucked in a breath. Let go a little mewl. But said nothing. She lifted her head and watched, stared, as he lifted the little crop. The first one was gentle, almost tender. He looked up at her, waiting.
She licked her lips. “One.” A croak.
The second was a little harder. It landed directly on her clit. She winced. The 8-ball wobbled. “T-two.”
The third actually echoed around the room, in concert with her wail. “Three!”
The 8-ball fell with the forth. And she lost all the balls with the fifth.
That was a total of five balls.
He’d upped the ante with each drop.
Dear God. How many would it be this time?
He let her stew, massaging the sting from her aching clit.
“H-Holt?” Her voice was small. Way too small.
He stilled. Their gazes l ocked. “You’ve earned a pretty big punishment, Bella. Do you-do you want to continue?”
She swallowed. God, he was giving her an out. She could take it. She should…
“Yes Sir. I want to continue.”
A muscle bunched in his cheek. His tongue peeped out. His lips trembled.
And then he regained himself. His persona. His role.
“All right then. I think it’s time to get serious.”
She nearly howled.
“Turn over.”
He helped her stand—her knees were wobbly—and draped her over the edge of the table. Her breasts, still in the constricting harness, ached and the baize scraped her nipples as she positioned herself. Her mound brushed against the edge of the table.
He adjusted her. “Hips up a bit. There.” Something cold touched her clit. Shit. The damn 8-ball. He set it between her body and the table. If she released any pressure on it at all, it would fall to the floor. And then what would he do?
“Got it?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Hold it steady.”
“Yes Sir.”
He stepped to the other side of the table and stretched out her arms, again, placing balls in her hand. “Hold on tight.”
“Yes Sir.” Her voice
Her nipples were a little sore and her clit pulsed like the dickens. Still, she was very proud of herself. It was almost a disappointment that he didn’t praise her.
But that was stupid.
Wasn’t it?
When he finished, he turned away. She could hear him rummaging with items over by the cue stand but she didn’t dare lift her head to peek, too afraid she would dislodge the ball on her belly.
When he came back, he held something behind his back. “Close your eyes, Bella,” he said.
She did as he asked. And then she waited. Holding her breath. What would he do now?
The sensation, when she felt it, almost made her leap out of her skin. A rough scrape over one nipple, and then the other.
Oh. God. He had the baize brush.
A whimper escaped.
“Hold still.” A murmur.
She held her breath as he tormented her with that brush, scraping it over one swollen nipple and then the other. She didn’t wrench away, but it took everything in her to hold still. Her clench on the egg, thrumming away deep inside her, tightened though. It nearly made her crazy.
Oddly enough, the abrasion of the brush didn’t hurt. Not really. But it sent a scalding heat along every nerve. Though when he skated it down and around her breasts, it tickled. She nearly wrenched away then. Even when he traced her tender underarms, up to her elbow and down again, she was able to maintain control, but it cost her.
It wasn’t until he teased the brush down her leg, to the bottom of her foot, that she had her next accident. It was a knee jerk reaction. Literally. When those soft bristles danced over her a rch, she couldn’t—just couldn’t—stop herself.
The cue ball, between her knees hit the floor.
He stopped immediately and picked it up.
Tsked again.
She glowered at him, even though she was still supposed to have her eyes closed.
“Five lashes.”
Yeah. That horrified her, but not as much as his next move. He spread her knees and stepped between her legs and slid his fingers through the folds of her labia, holding her open. “Here, I think.”
She sucked in a breath. Let go a little mewl. But said nothing. She lifted her head and watched, stared, as he lifted the little crop. The first one was gentle, almost tender. He looked up at her, waiting.
She licked her lips. “One.” A croak.
The second was a little harder. It landed directly on her clit. She winced. The 8-ball wobbled. “T-two.”
The third actually echoed around the room, in concert with her wail. “Three!”
The 8-ball fell with the forth. And she lost all the balls with the fifth.
That was a total of five balls.
He’d upped the ante with each drop.
Dear God. How many would it be this time?
He let her stew, massaging the sting from her aching clit.
“H-Holt?” Her voice was small. Way too small.
He stilled. Their gazes l ocked. “You’ve earned a pretty big punishment, Bella. Do you-do you want to continue?”
She swallowed. God, he was giving her an out. She could take it. She should…
“Yes Sir. I want to continue.”
A muscle bunched in his cheek. His tongue peeped out. His lips trembled.
And then he regained himself. His persona. His role.
“All right then. I think it’s time to get serious.”
She nearly howled.
“Turn over.”
He helped her stand—her knees were wobbly—and draped her over the edge of the table. Her breasts, still in the constricting harness, ached and the baize scraped her nipples as she positioned herself. Her mound brushed against the edge of the table.
He adjusted her. “Hips up a bit. There.” Something cold touched her clit. Shit. The damn 8-ball. He set it between her body and the table. If she released any pressure on it at all, it would fall to the floor. And then what would he do?
“Got it?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Hold it steady.”
“Yes Sir.”
He stepped to the other side of the table and stretched out her arms, again, placing balls in her hand. “Hold on tight.”
“Yes Sir.” Her voice
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