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gasped, but she didn’t cry out. That was the sweet spot. Maybe fewer nerves there. Maybe just the way she was built. That place midway between ass and nape was good , even with the first startling blow.
    “You really have done this before,” Remy said, almost to himself.
    “Yes, Sir. And so have you.”
    “Hush now so we can have some fun.”
    The second blow was just as hard, like a punch rather than a whip strike. Thick. The wide leather dissipated the sensation and spread it across her skin while making her chest thump hollowly. Her bones protected her. Her skin burned.
    Remy wasn’t a dumb man, and he certainly wasn’t passive. Those two hits showed him what she already knew: her sweet spot was safe territory. He could inflict real pain there eventually, but it would take repetition. Repetition meant the possibility of breaking the skin. She fantasized about that on occasion, which had prompted Daniel’s rules about needles and blood play. He protected her from herself in so many ways.
    The next strikes were quick. Four in a row. All different places. She sucked them in and held on to the outburst of shock until he finished the set. A gasping groan of collected pain. Another flurry followed. Six, maybe seven. Again she held in the anguish until the belt stilled. She cried out.
    Remy didn’t stop for long. She had more to expel from her lungs, more fire, but he layered it on. She lost count. Strikes blasted up and down her back. She stared dead on at Daniel until that gorgeous, rhythmic assault forced her eyes to close. She needed to be alone with the ache.
    Her cries became moans, long and low and blending one into the next. She arched up toward the source of her hurt.
    Remy gave her another respite. He surprised her by running his palms over her flaming skin. His touch was almost as hot. A shudder and another moan, of pure relief this time, had her arching even more. She wanted his soothing strokes. The calm before another storm.
    Daniel gave her hands a shake and a squeeze. “Naya, let me see your eyes.”
    She pried her lids open and found her bright beacon. Why hadn’t they done this before, with Daniel taking part? She loved being face-to-face with him, when he could breathe her air and hold her steady. Excitement was mixed with his usual concern. That concern meant he would always share her greed for this sort of treatment, even though he’d never be able to provide it.
    Remy, though…
    The belt whipped down. Naya craned her neck on a surprised shriek. He chose a swath of skin along her back and aimed true, true, true for three smacks in a row. She squirmed to escape that burning echo. He grabbed her around her torso so that the hair of his forearm prickled the undersides of her breasts. Another shudder overcame her even before the next round, when he held her captive and flayed her in that same tender spot.
    She was crying. Dimly, she knew that. It wasn’t the big release she strove for. This was like foreplay, when everything felt good and right and on its way. Her eyes were simply leaking. The explosion she craved was gathering in her brain.
    Over her rough breathing, she heard Daniel’s quick respiration. More than that—she felt Remy’s. His chest had locked taut against her side. He panted with the same telling pulse of her lungs.
    She was making him sweat, making his chest heave. She was exciting him.
    Fuck, yes.
    Remy yanked her head back by her hair. “Open your mouth.”
    She did as commanded, floating now, a little bit gone. Even pain was beautiful. He shoved the flat leather of the belt into her mouth.
    “Bite. Hold that.”
    She indulged in sinking her teeth into something so resilient. Remy released her hair and pushed the damp strands down either side of her neck, parting them to bare as much of her back as possible.
    “No, not good enough.” Again, he seemed to be talking to himself. He had a vision of what needed to happen. Naya adored that idea. “Daniel, strip her top and