“How does that feel?” I ask. Her breathing accelerates, and she glances at me before looking back at her palm. “Answer me.” “Okay.” Her brows knit together. “Don’t frown,” I warn. “Did that hurt?” “No.” “This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?” “Yes.” Her voice is a little shaky. “I mean it,” I stress, and I show her the crop. Brown plaited leather. See? I listen. Her eyes meet mine, astonished. My lips twitch in amusement. “We aim to please, Miss Steele. Come.” I lead her to the middle of the room, beneath the restraining system. “This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” She stares up at the intricate system, then back at me. “We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” I point to the Saint Andrew’s cross. “Put your hands above your head.” She does, immediately. Taking the leather cuffs that hang on the grid, I fasten one to each of her wrists in turn. I’m methodical, but she’s distracting. Being this close to her, sensing her excitement, her anxiety, touching her. I find it hard to concentrate. Once she’s cuffed I step back and take a deep breath, relieved. Finally I’ve got you where I want you, Ana Steele. Slowly I walk around her, admiring the view. Could she look hotter? “You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I like that.” I stop, facing her, curl my fingers into her panties, and oh so slowly drag them down her long legs until I’m kneeling at her feet. Worshipping her. She’s glorious. With my eyes locked on hers, I take her panties, crush them to my nose, and inhale deeply. Her mouth pops open and her eyes widen in amused shock. Yes. I smirk. Perfect reaction. I slip the panties into the back pocket of my jeans and stand, considering my next move. Holding out the crop, I run it over her belly and gently circle her navel with the keeper…the leather tongue. She sucks in her breath and tremors at the touch. This will be good, Ana. Trust me. Slowly I begin to circle her, drawing the crop across her skin, across her belly, her flank, her back. On my second circuit I flick the tongue at the base of her behind so it makes sharp contact with her vulva. “Ah!” she cries, and she tugs against the shackles. “Quiet,” I warn, and prowl around her once more. I flick the crop against her in the same sweet spot and she whines on contact, her eyes closed as she absorbs the sensation. With another twitch of my wrist, the crop snaps against her nipple. She throws her head back and moans. I aim again, and the crop licks her other nipple, and I watch it harden and lengthen beneath the bite of the leather keeper.