“Yes,” she heard him say after a pause. “And how I deserved it, I’ve never figured out.”

“You don’t have to figure it out, Ian. Just believe.”

He grunted softly, backing away from her and removing the paddle. She whimpered at the loss of his solid heat, but remained in position, fighting her emotional upheaval, not to mention her curiosity as to what he was doing. She bit her lip at the sound of his zipper lowering, stifling a shaky moan of anticipation. A moment later, she felt his legs brush the back of her calves.

“Brace yourself against the wall and bend over. I didn’t fuck you then, but I certainly will now. Because I can . . . and because you are mine, no matter what happens.”

She swallowed to ease the congestion in her throat at the sound of his stark dominance mixing with the hollow sound of the acceptance of his fate. It seemed ridiculous to deny what he said. Even if he left her for good, part of her would always reside in him, and he would forever be in her heart. Her blood. Her spirit.

She repositioned herself, her hands pressed against the wall, bending at the waist, her panties still stretched tightly between her spread thighs. She felt the hard, tapered head of his penis probe between her thighs, finding her slit. He firmed his hold on her hips.

She cried out when he entered her completely, slapping his pelvis against her ass. He still wore his clothing, having just unfastened his pants and lifted his cock free. She could feel part of his exposed, round testicles along with the fabric of underwear pressing against her outer sex. He paused at the sound of her cry, fully sheathed in her, throbbing at her core.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She gave a muffled assent. He transferred one hand to her clit, rubbing her firmly with the ridge of his forefinger. She glanced down between her legs and saw the cricket paddle suspended in the air. He’d looped the leather cord around his wrist. For some reason, the vision of the paddle swinging beneath her as Ian rubbed her clit sent a thrill of excitement through her. She mewled in pleasure and pulsed her hips.

“You’re still sore from last night, aren’t you?” he asked knowingly.

“A little,” she admitted, although what he was doing to her felt so good, she was quickly forgetting the slight discomfort of harboring his large, erect cock so deep, so suddenly. He stayed completely still for the next moment. It was she who began to bob her ass against him, burning against his circling, pressing finger, fucking his cock several inches back and forth and getting the delicious pressure she required. He said nothing, either, but she felt his tension mounting behind her as he caressed her ass with one hand and set her on fire with his other, and she pumped on his cock, her moans and whimpers and the occasional smack of her ass against his pelvis on a forceful backstroke interrupting the silence. When it became clear as day that she was no longer uncomfortable, but very aroused, he gripped her hips, immobilizing her. The paddle tapped gently against her thigh where it fell. His hand moved between them, readjusting his underwear beneath his balls.

She bit her lip and keened deep in her throat when he began to fuck her on his terms with long, deep strokes. He flexed his hips up slightly every time he penetrated her completely, giving her a delicious jab of pressure on her clit. God, the man knew how to fuck, she thought distractedly as she pushed harder against the wall to keep from spilling over from his forceful possession. He smacked her ass with the paddle as he rode her, making her gasp. She was so hot . . . everything was burning—her ass, her clit, her pussy, her nipples, the soles of her feet . . .

She cried out brokenly when he withdrew his cock.

“Shhh,” he soothed, rubbing her hip as he moved beside her. She felt his cockhead brush against her hip, leaving a smear of wetness, and moaned. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I want to stretch things out a bit, that’s all. Straighten up, lovely. Press closer to the wall again.”

Panting, she tried to do what he directed, most of her brain focused on the terrible absence of his cock. He filled her so completely, fired such deep, secret flesh, that when he was gone, it was jarring. When she took a similar position to the one she’d been in before, he placed the paddle on her bottom.

“No, closer yet. Move your feet closer to the baseboard and brace yourself with your forearms. Press your cheek against the wall,” he instructed, her voice sounding thick with lust. “Now press your pretty nipples there, too.”

She moaned at the impact of his arousing words even before she did what he said. Her body quivered at the sensation of the cool, hard surface pressing against her fevered flesh. She turned her right cheek to the wall, glancing down at Ian. He’d unbuttoned the bottom buttons of his shirt. He still wore his clothing, but his cock poked out of the fastening of his pants between the plackets of his white shirt. She clamped her eyelids shut at the sharp pang of arousal that stabbed at her clit. He looked magnificently aroused, his cock deliciously full, heavy, and slick with her juices.

“No more of that,” he murmured, stroking her hip and ass. “Open your eyes.”

She followed his order, meeting his blazing stare. He began to paddle her ass, the smacking sounds filling her ears, the sharp burst of mild pain and prickling nerves crowding thought out of her brain, her consciousness drowning in the vision of Ian. He didn’t strike her hard with the whippy paddle, and for Francesca, the sharp strikes only mounted her arousal. The experience was only exponentially more exciting because he stared at her point-blank. He usually preferred she turn her head when he spanked her.

Now she knew why. Looking into his eyes, seeing how rigid his facial muscles grew, how his stare grew hot enough to burn, she realized what a fragile thing his control was . . . How desperately he worked to restrain it.

He groaned harshly and she blinked, her gaze flying back to his face. She realized her stare had dropped to his flagrant erection and she’d been licking her lip hungrily. He gave her bottom a good pop and she jumped.

“Sorry,” she said, unable to keep her amusement hidden.

“No, you’re not,” he muttered thickly, but she noticed his tiny smile. “Just for that, go up on your toes and turn your forehead to the wall. You can lower your hands and rest your head on them.”

“What?” she asked, confused, even though she was already lowering her hands and resting her face in the cushion of them.

“You heard me,” he murmured. “Go up on your tiptoes. It’ll tighten all your muscles. You’ll feel the paddle even more.”

She flexed her calves, going up on her toes. He landed the paddle. Moisture surged at her core. She saw what he meant. The position tightened her leg muscles, but even more so, it was a somewhat awkward, vulnerable position. He paddled her bottom several more times, then paused to rub the stinging flesh.

“You’re turning nice and pink,” she heard him say.

“Ian,” she pleaded in a strangled voice when he parted her cheeks and she felt his stare on her asshole. She held her breath in her straining lungs when he touched her—not penetrating her, just rubbing the sensitive area. In a flash, it all came back to her: her lying on the bed in the penthouse, her legs and arms trussed by rope, utterly vulnerable . . . completely open to him. She’d fleetingly wondered if she was wrong to give so much of herself to another human being, but love had silenced her doubts.

He’d left later that night.

She moaned in a mixture of misery and arousal.

“What is it?” he asked sharply. She realized he’d sensed her sudden uncertainty.

She swallowed in order to speak, but couldn’t think of what to say. Her calves strained, the pain making it difficult to concentrate.

“Lower your heels,” he said, stroking her buttocks and thighs soothingly. “Francesca?” he prompted when she kept her forehead pressed to her hands, her breathing coming erratically. “Do you not want me there tonight?”

She shut her eyes, knowing he referred to anal play. She could refuse him, and he wouldn’t question her. It wasn’t a matter of physical discomfort, though. In fact, his touch had electrified her with excitement. But she’d also experienced a powerful flashback relating to the trauma of giving herself . . .

. . . and being abandoned.

But hadn’t she decided this afternoon that it was childish to withhold herself from him in order to punish him for her hurt, though? . . . To deprive him as if it was a crime for being himself.

“No,” she said in a muffled voice against her hand. “I do want you there.”

She felt his hand moving her hair. He swept it over her far shoulder and smoothed it from her forehead and cheeks.

“Look at me,” he said.

She turned her chin reluctantly.

“You’re afraid to give too much, aren’t you?” he asked starkly, his blue-eyed gaze roving over her face, seeming to read her expression like the fingers of a blind man.

“I don’t want to be left alone again,” she said simply.

“I don’t want you to be alone, either, nor do I want to be alone,” he said, and she heard the note of desperation in his voice. “I’m trying, Francesca. Please know that. I’m trying so hard.”

She closed her eyes. “I know it.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want, you know that. But I don’t want to walk away from intimacy with you because I’m afraid, either. I’m trying to have faith, lovely,” he added in a more subdued tone, his voice thick with emotion.

She opened her eyes slowly. “I have faith enough for both of us,” she whispered. And when she said it, she felt the truth of her words. She believed he could find his way back to her. She knew he had what it took inside him to find his way out of his darkness.

He nodded once, holding her stare.

“Just a moment,” he said, and she sensed him walking away. He was back in a moment, the paddle set aside, a bottle of lubricant in his hand. Her vagina tightened. She turned her face against the back of her hands. Should she feel ashamed for giving permission for this . . . for her need?

She wasn’t sure. Suddenly, Ian was stroking her sore bottom tenderly and parting the cheeks. He penetrated her with his finger, and she sighed, her doubts lightening and flickering away like insubstantial moths. They were both silent for a taut moment while he slid his finger in and out of her ass, the caress intensely pleasurable, sacred because it was forbidden . . . and because it was Ian. Their silence continued while he prepared her to take his cock with his fingers—not just by penetrating her ass, but by using his other hand on her clit and pussy to mount her excitement.

“Ian, I’m going to come,” she said breathlessly a minute later as he rubbed between juicy labia and thrust two fingers into her ass.

“Come then,” he said hoarsely. “Let me feel your heat.”

She crunched her facial muscles tight at the peaking pleasure, whimpering as she came against his hand.

“That’s right,” she heard him say as she shuddered. He inserted a long finger into her pussy while continuing to press against her clit and plunge into her ass. “Oh yeah, I can feel you coming perfectly,” he rasped. He slid another finger into her ass and she cried out, a thread of pain ramping up her orgasm. “Shhh,” he soothed. “That’s right. Your ass is on fire. You’re so sweet,” he said, milking her climax for all it was worth.

When she finally collapsed against the wall, sated, he withdrew his fingers from her pussy and ass. She let him guide her into position so that she was bent at the waist again, her bottom in the air. She blinked her hair out of her eyes, listening to the sound of his clothing rustling. He was removing his pants. Her ass clenched tight in renewed excitement, sending a sympathetic twinge to her clit. With her head down, she could see when he moved behind her. She exhaled some pent-up tension when she felt his touch at her hip, reassuring and warm.

“I’m going to go slow since I didn’t have anything to prepare you,” he said, referring to the fact that he usually got her ready for anal sex by penetrating her with a plug first.

She nodded, her long hair rustling around her like a stirred curtain. She stared blindly at the baseboard, every ounce of her awareness pinned to the feeling of Ian’s cock pressing against her ass.

“You know what to do,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “Press back against it.”