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Zevon tried to breathe, tried to focus. This was what he'd waited for, what he'd longed for. How could he be aroused, so needy? For a woman whose only thought was to break him, punish him?
    His throat was clogged with repressed emotion. Christophe's surrender to her had been beautiful, absolutely incredible. The only other time he'd seen Christophe drop that fast into subspace was with him.
    "Zevon?” His lover's voice was filled with fear for him. That shockstick shot should have killed his arousal, made him angry. And if it had been random violence, then he would have been pissed. But her hand, her discipline, only made him fall into an abyss he'd only glimpsed.
    "You're...turned-on,” Christophe said in wonder.
    When he heard the words out loud, Zevon knew he was in big trouble. What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't talk about it, address it. He couldn't even say it was a surprise.
    Pain had always been his kink, his secret turn-on. It was something Christophe couldn't do, and Zevon had never asked him to administer. Maybe that's why he'd ended up taking a beating in prison before his trial. Hell, the guards had wanted to kill him, and the harder they pushed it, the more relief Zevon felt. It was sick.
    Once, in the distant past, he'd played sub to a man who took a cane to him. Best fuck he'd ever had other than Christophe's. How could he both need the lash of a whip and the submission of his lover? He shook his head. As much as Christophe hid his submissive tendencies, Zevon hid his need for whipping, for clamps on his tender skin, for stripes on his back.
    This woman was going to break him wide open.
    "Zevon—"
    He stopped Christophe's question with one direct look. He flicked a glance to the camera, and Christophe followed the line of sight. He frowned, his handsome face wrinkled with worry.
    "I'm all right, Chris.” He swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I'm fine."
    Christophe's fingers flexed in the restraints, and Zevon focused on him. Did he have any idea how fucking amazing he looked hanging from those cuffs, his muscles clenched and the curve of his ass against the wall? And his submission to the Mistress had been...incredible.
    He had to get out of here. His very soul might depend on it. Around and around, his thoughts spun. Time passed but had no meaning, and Christophe dozed.
    Zevon's arms ached. He knew when the restraints were released, he'd be helpless, his limbs numb and strained. Fuck. The worst part wasn't that he couldn't escape, but that he wasn't sure he wanted to escape.
    The door slid open. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He didn't know anymore. She was here. That was all that mattered.
    Her boots clicked on the floor, but he still couldn't see her. The light shone in his eyes, the shadows hiding her. Zevon heard Christophe's breath catch, and his own was short gasps. She had them right where she wanted them.
    When she stepped into the light, he noted she'd changed her clothes. The black silk drape was gone, replaced by black leather that clung to every curve and gleamed in the artificial light. In her left hand was a crop, and it was clearly more than a prop.
    The scent of leather and a light perfume filled his nose as she slid closer to him. She flicked the straps on the cock harness, and Zevon gritted his teeth against the pain from blood rushing back into his dick. He squeezed his hands into fists. To distract himself, he tried to read her face, but she turned away to unhook Christophe's harness.
    Zevon hadn't managed to breathe through the pain from the harness's removal when she pressed a button on the wall to her left. The restraints clicked open. Helpless, Zevon dropped to the floor and couldn't hold his body weight up with his arms or legs. On his belly, he resisted the urge to get up, knowing his strength was gone.
    Christophe rolled until his head was near Zevon's. “Z—"
    The crop swished through the air and caught Christophe across his shoulders. “I did not give you