Drawn to You — Volume Two by Vanessa Booke Read Free Book Online

cross, but eventually, gives in. His gaze washes over me as I wait with anticipation for him to recognize me. To say my name, but sadly, he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.
    Instead, he focuses on the cross behind me.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, leaning in.
    No.
    “Yes.”
    A small smile escapes his lips.
    “Take off your shirt.”
     
     

NINE
    EMILY
     
    I’VE NEVER BEEN the type to enjoy being in the spotlight, but this is a completely new way of being on display. I’m grateful for the mask given to me by the beautiful redhead at check-in. It provides a small amount of relief to the anxiety that filters its way through me as I stand half naked on stage. As hard as I try not to let them, my nerves get the better of me as I watch Tristan’s face as his eyes slowly trace over my hot pink bra.
    Eventually, he turns me and gently places my hands in the restraints at the top of the cross so I’m facing away from the crowd. I jerk each time his hands run across my body as he checks my positioning. The feeling of the rough edge of his skin sends my head reeling with memories of the past.
    “Are you ready?” he asks, standing behind me. “If at any time you want me to stop, just say RED.”
    I silently nod. I have the feeling I’m not sure if I’ll want him to stop when he’s finished. A bright flame warms my cheeks as I feel Tristan step back to assess his masterpiece. Despite my inability to see him, I can feel his gaze on me. I tug on my restraints, but they don’t budge. I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
    “I’m going to give you thirteen lashes on your back, butt, and thighs,” Tristan says next to my ear.
    He says the words so matter of fact that a streak of fear runs through me. Why thirteen lashes? Most people seem to associate the number with bad luck.
    “Remember to call out RED if you want me to stop.”
    The fact that Tristan is repeating what he’s already said makes me believe this is probably going to hurt. Is this what Tristan’s been doing— whipping women at some BDSM club? Although I can feel the hungry, watchful eyes of the other club members on me, my anxiety quickly fades. My attention is swallowed up by the sensation of Tristan pacing around me. I wish I could say that over the years, I’ve gotten over him, but it would be a lie.
    The sound of the whip resonates through the air as it goes flying with a swivel of Tristan’s wrist. A loud snap fills my ears as the pressure of the lash hits my unmarked skin. Delicious warmth spreads across my thigh as the sharp sting licks me. My limbs tense as I wait for the inevitable strike to follow. I feel my skin heat at the impression left by the lash. The next one that follows only deepens the sting of the first. The room around me is quiet with the exception of the occasional moan or throaty groan of approval.
    My sex tightens at the realization that there are over a dozen people watching us right now. Somehow, I thought I would feel embarrassed coming up here, but there’s something liberating about being watched. It’s as if my skin is a blank canvas and Tristan’s whip is the brush. The finished product is the pleasure of witnessing my unraveling.
    My skin starts to tingle as the endorphins in my body release with each lash. I bask in the feeling of Tristan’s hands behind each stroke. My body feels like putty permanently molded to the cross by the time he’s done. I try to move, but my limbs refuse to comply.
    I feel Tristan’s breath wash over me as he steps behind me once again and loosens the restraints from my hands and ankles. I collapse against him as he holds me, petting the side of my face. His thumb snakes underneath my mask and pulls it forward. Our eyes collide as his gaze melts into mine. The intensity behind his eyes, both delight and scare me.
    “I could never quite forget those eyes,” he murmurs. “Come with me.”
    I watch as he takes off his leather vest and pulls on a