“I have a friend in the Coast Guard. I’ll get you his number.”

“I’d rather have your number, Lance. Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time to decide. I need to pick a whip.”

Nora left him standing in front of the cross as she perused her single-tail collection.

“You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking, Mistress?”

“Nope.”

“Fifty.”

Nora smiled as she picked out one of her heavier single-tails.

“Smart. Split the difference. I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many lashes you get with this nasty bitch.” She let the whip flick the cross about six inches from Lance’s shoulder. She missed on purpose, hoping to see if he’d jump. He didn’t.

“Seemed the smart choice,” he said. “But I’ll change my answer if you want me to.”

“No...fifty is perfect.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a stopwatch. “Fifty is how many minutes I’m going to make you wait until I let you inside me. Starting...now.” She programmed fifty minutes into her stopwatch and hung it on the wall by the cross.

Nora stood behind him and pressed her corset-covered breasts into his back.

“Do you wish you’d picked a different number? Maybe one?” she asked him as she wrapped the whip around his chest and pushed him back against her.

“One part of my body wishes I’d picked one. The rest of my body can live with fifty, Mistress. I’m a man with a good appreciation for foreplay.”

“Foreplay. Good way to think of it. Ready to play?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” She curled up her whip again and sat it on a table while she pulled out wrist cuffs. “Got a safe word?”

“I do. Semper Fi.”

“Semper Fi? Isn’t that the motto of the Marines?”

“It is. Why do you think I equate it with surrender?”

“You know, my father was a Marine,” Nora said, cuffing Lance’s left wrist to the cross. She had to get on a step stool to reach high enough.

Lance winced. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I have nothing but respect for the Corps. I’ve served with them, and they’re all brave and honorable men and women. It’s all good-natured rival—”

“I’m just fucking with you. My dad was a lowlife, two-bit crook who never made a legal cent in his life.”

“You’re the devil, Mistress.” Lance sounded impressed.

“I might have forgotten to mention that. Glad you noticed.” She cuffed his right wrist and picked up her whip again. Pausing, she took a moment to study his back. The scar tissue ended about six inches above his back belt loop. That tissue was tough, but she didn’t want to fuck with surgical scars. Dominatrixes hurt but they didn’t harm. She pictured landing the lashes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and down to the second-to-last rib of his rib cage. With his arms bound high up on the cross, she could see all the taut muscle of his back and arms and count his ribs. The man had a beautiful back. All it wanted for was a few dozen welts.