The night wore on, punctuated by the rhythmic, sharp crack of leather meeting skin and the steady, strained sound of Alexander's voice as he called out the numbers.
Each strike left a new, burning line across his back, turning his granite-like skin into a map of my ownership.
"Nineteen..." he choked out, his forehead pressed hard against the cold stone, his breath hitching in a way that told me he was right on the edge of breaking.
I watched the way his muscles quivered, the way his black wolf ears stayed pinned back in total submission.
My own heart was hammering against my ribs, fueled by a dark, heady rush I had never felt with Maegel or the brothers sleeping in the other rooms.
This wasn't just a game of influence; this was a man handing me his very soul to do with as I pleased. Delicious.
I raised the whip one last time, my golden eyes glowing with a final, wicked spark. The last strike landed with a heavy, definitive thud.
