“No. Number seven is kneeling, one of the only fucking rules you haven’t broken.” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him. “Number three. Eyes down. Four. No clothes.”

“I’ve got number four covered.” He tried to check his smile, but his cheeks were persistent.

“Good job.” Her monotone response matched her disapproving stare.

Hard to believe he’d considered her vicious. With the set of her stubborn jaw and her lips in a plump flat line, she looked decisively non-threatening. “You’re adorable.”

She spun, striding to the locked cabinet where she kept her crops, whips, and paddles. “You’re patronizing me, you little prick.”

Oh, he’d really ticked her off. Her aggravation vibrated with the slap of her feet on the floor. He peeked at his lap, and the sight of his come tightened his chest with guilt. Dammit, he needed to try harder.

She unlocked the cabinet and returned with something he knew existed but had never seen in person. Shaped like a cone and made of black rubber or plastic, the phallic shape sent a shiver of dread down his spine. “No. No way. Go get the flogger.”

“I could beat you until you’re bruised and bleeding, but it’s ineffective.” She squatted before him, her pretty features etched in thought. “You know why?”

The ropes suddenly felt tighter, scratchier. “Because I’m a terrible slave.”

“The worst.” Her free hand drifted to his ball sac, reawakening his bottomless well of arousal. “How often did you get a woody after a hard hit at football practice or during an excruciating exercise?”

He shifted his weight on his knees, her question poking at experiences he’d never spoken aloud. Feelings he’d wanted to express but never had a tolerant ear to whisper them to. Until now. “On the farm…” He coughed, unable to loosen the discomfort tightening his throat. “Some of the grueling chores worked my body pretty good.” His muscles would burn with exertion, his penis would rub against his jeans. He met her eyes.

“It made you hard.”

As the room filled with weighted silence, he examined the expression softening the peaks of her lips and rounding the depths of her eyes. He knew her features wouldn’t harden and twist with judgment. “Yeah.”

She dipped her head, her breath tickling over his cheek, lifting her hand from his balls to toy with the hair behind his ear. “You get hard every time I punish you.” She kissed his jaw and nibbled on his ear lobe, whispered, “Kinky pain whore.”

Her teasing tone and the playful bite of her teeth on his neck exposed the girl she kept tucked away. His already excited heart hammered against his ribs.

“The problem is—” she turned her head to glower at him “—the whip lost its thrilling danger after the first time I used it. It takes you to an out-of-body place, and all that’s left is the thrill.” She held up the plug. “But this—”

“Is not going inside me.” His pulse accelerated, and his rectum contracted.

“It is.” She smiled, soft at the edges, but no less determined. “It’s up to you if I’ll lube it, if I’ll be gentle, if I’ll prepare you.” She licked the tip of the plug, wetting it. “Requirement number ten.”

His heart rate redoubled. Sweet mother, he didn’t know that one. Sweat beaded on his nape, and his pecs twitched, ready to fight.

“Shh.” She brushed a kiss on his chest between the crisscross of rope. “This is a new one. Slave will show gratitude for punishment and discipline.”

His lungs sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mistress.”

And just like that, their roles reverted. He understood why she rose and stripped down to her panties, why she tied a black kerchief around her nose and mouth, and why she gathered her composure into the unnatural stillness of dominance. It was her masked persona, the Deliverer who performed without mercy or emotion. To enforce the training. To deliver the punishments. To protect those she cared about.

But who protected her? Now he was one of the people she would come to defend. This certainty was a visceral grip of faith, and it filled him with a new sense of purpose. Her hidden expressions, costumes and nudity, and penchant for restraints were meant to disarm a slave. It was her cross to bear, and he would help her carry it.

As she repeated the rules over and over, he kept his eyes down with respect, his mouth shut in obedience, and his mind focused on memorizing her words.

Liv sent the text to Van, and thirty minutes later, she walked to the door and put her hand on the keypad. Josh was ready. As long as he didn’t look at the yet-to-be-used butt plug she’d left on the mattress.

She glanced back, her shadowy gaze peering over the kerchief. “You can guess why I’m only in panties.”

He raised his eyes, swallowed. The test with Van would be sexual in nature. Since she wasn’t asking a question, he kept his guess to himself and drew a deep breath.

“I don’t know what Van has planned, but he will test your limits.” With her chin tilted up, she faced the keypad.

As she punched in the code, he knew she would do what was necessary for her family. He returned his attention to the floor and girded his spine.

Chapter 24

The aroma of greasy food followed Van into the room. Josh’s mouth watered. He couldn’t stop the growl escaping his stomach, but he kept his lips clamped, his eyes down, and his knees on the floor.

A takeout bag dropped within grabbing distance, not like he could steal a lone French fry. The rope-entwined straight jacket held his arms firmly around his torso.

Van’s ratty sneakers paused in the space between Josh and Liv, and the toes turned toward hers.

Without moving his head, Josh strained his upward line of sight, marking the tension in Van’s legs as they flexed against the denim.

The man’s broad shoulders curled forward, his hand lifting her chin gently. “Liv.” His whisper was strained, presumably from the sight of the bruises on her neck.

The distraught reaction set Josh’s blood afire, considering the yellow-purple marks around her eye still lingered.

“Don’t.” She stepped back and turned away. Good girl.

Van stood motionless for a moment. Then he reached for her hand. She pulled it away before he made contact.

“What can I do to fix this?” Van gestured between her and himself.

She was impossible to read with her body turned away and her voice so damned wooden. “You could’ve warned me what he was planning before you left me unconscious, bleeding, half-strangled.”

Van kept his back to Josh, his fingers flexing at his side. Seconds passed, indicating some kind of deliberation. “You’re right, Liv. I fucked you over, and I hated every fucking minute of it.”

As much as Josh didn’t want to believe him, his voice cracked with soft-spoken guilt.

Eyes on the floor, Josh held his spine straight as Van shifted and sat before him.

He pulled a paper-wrapped burger from the bag. “Sorry about the gun thing last night. That was a dick move on my part. We cool?”

Was this guy for real? If he glanced up, he’d probably get nicked by the sharp silver gaze of crafted bullshit.

“She’s starving you, isn’t she?” Van held the burger beneath his nose, taunting him with the heady fragrance of grilled meat and ketchup. “Go ahead. It’s yours.”

Not gonna lie. It was going to chafe like hell to eat from that hand, but he needed energy more than his pride. He opened his mouth.

“That pleasure belongs to his Mistress.” Liv’s bare feet moved into his periphery.

God love her. He would thank her later. With his mouth. On her satiny skin. Something to anticipate. His penis jerked.

Van lingered, the burger hovering before Josh. The hesitation produced a burgeoning hum that dragged beneath the skin. Unable to see their expressions, Josh was excluded from whatever unspoken communication passed above his head. Not peeking was torture.