Shit, fuck it hurt.
One stripe after the next, the whip flicked and licked at Bern’s back, splitting his skin. Thank god he was a wolf or he’d have been at the hospital come the end of the night. In the morning, the only remembrance of the evening would be traces of blood if he didn’t make sure he thoroughly scrubbed.
Xavier took another swipe, the crack of leather reaching his ears before the pain flowed through his veins.
The Dom knew what Bern needed, knew that he reveled in the pain, the joy of taking what his dominant dished out and then some. He had a safe word. He’d use it, if needed.
Xavier had never made it necessary. Not that the male didn’t give it his best shot.
Bern’s arms ached, stretched high above him and secured to the St. Andrew’s Cross with leather cuffs. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from his Dom’s blows.
The male was fierce, strong and determined.