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me.
    He leaned in close and wrapped the soft material around my head. Darkness closed around me when it slipped over my eyes. He knotted it firmly, securing it in place.
    “I didn’t ask for your permission.” His voice was a low rumble in my ear. “I asked how it makes you feel. Vulnerable? Aroused?”
    I sucked in several shallow, rapid breaths, my breasts pressing against the inside of my corset. My peaked nipples rubbed against it, making them throb and ache.
    The cool leather tongue of the crop touched the side of my neck. Sensation lit up my nerve endings, making my skin dance. I was hyper-aware of his closeness, even though he wasn’t touching me directly. The crop traced a slow line down my neck, across my collarbone, before caressing the upper swell of my breasts. I gasped as my core contracted, lust spiking.
    “I asked you a question,” he prompted. “Are you aroused?”
    I pressed my lips together, holding back the embarrassing admission. Something was passing between us, something unsettling in its intensity. It was as though energy was being pulled from my body, as though he claimed it for himself as I helplessly ceded it to him. I tried to resist, grasping for control.
    The crop left my breasts, and the smooth leather suddenly touched my inner thigh. It trailed slowly upward, and my clit pulsed madly as it neared. He didn’t stimulate me where my body craved it most; instead, he brushed the tongue across my soaked labia.
    He took away the pleasure almost as soon as he’d inflicted it, and a strangled moan of protest worked its way up my throat.
    “Definitely aroused,” he said, his voice imbued with cocky satisfaction. “You might not want to admit it, but your body answered me.”
    The crop touched my mouth, and the salty wetness of my lust painted my lips. He trailed the slick leather across them, making them tingle.
    “What…” my voice wavered. “What are you doing?”
    “You might have played before, but you don’t know the first thing about real BDSM,” he informed me, his tone roughening with his own lust. “I’m dominating you, princess. And you will learn the meaning of submission by the time I’m finished with you.”
    A high, keening noise that I’d never made before slipped through my lips. It sounded like an animalistic whimper. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. The crop left my mouth to press beneath my chin, lifting my face for his scrutiny.
    “That’s a very pretty color,” he remarked softly. “I like you blushing. I wonder where else you’re a lovely shade of pink,” he mused. “I’m going to make your pretty pussy nice and flushed.”
    He paused for a moment, letting the crass words hover between us. They sank into me, burning through my insides and sending heat flashing through my body.
    “Your safe word is red, ” he told me. “Can you remember that?”
    “Of course I can.” A hint of my indignation returned. Did he really think I was so dim that I couldn’t remember a simple safe word?
    The pressure of the crop beneath my chin increased, tipping my head back further and forcing me up onto my toes.
    “Don’t be so sure. I’m going to take you so high, you’ll forget your own name. But don’t forget that one word.”
    I wanted to say that I doubted his arrogant assertion. No Dom had ever sent me into subspace. I might play the role of a sub for my scenes, but I never truly submitted.
    But something deep within me whispered that I’d already lost. I’d made the mistake of engaging in a power play with him, and I’d ceded to his will. I’d thought I was fully in control of the scene, but what had seemed like small changes—the blindfold, the gentle caresses of the crop instead of painful strikes, his low, firm commands rather than barked orders—had made me come undone.
    “Good girl,” he said again before I could gather my wits enough to formulate a flippant response.
    “I didn’t say anything,” I protested weakly. I’d done nothing to