He caressed her ankles, all those delicate little bones. She wanted to cry. Instead, she grabbed a pillow and shoved it her under her breasts. It would help to have something to cling to during…

“Only five, I promise.” He ran his fingertips gently over the tops of her feet.

Five.

She could take five. She could survive that.

“On each foot.”

He picked up the misery stick.

The thing about misery sticks, Nora knew from experience, was that they were deceptive little toys. They didn’t look like they could hurt much. Nothing but very long, very thin metal rods. That’s it.

Except when you pulled the tip of the rod back and let it go, flicking it against the bare skin, it hurt worse than being sliced open by a knife that had been sitting in a red-hot fire.

And she was about to take five strikes on each foot.

The metal spreader bar rested across Søren’s stomach. She could flinch and twist, but there would be no getting away from him.

“Left foot or right first?” he asked. Nora shrugged. “I wasn’t asking you. Only talking to myself. Flex your feet. No curling the toes or I’ll make it ten.”

Nora had to fight every instinct in her body to flex her feet. A hot tear ran from her eyes and down onto the Millesimo Egyptian cotton sheets.

Her entire body was tense as a violin bowstring. And Søren plucked it.

One.

He flicked the misery stick once and the strike landed at the back of her left heel.

Nora flinched. She couldn’t help it. Flinched and whimpered again as her teeth dug deep into the leather strap in her mouth.

Two.

He flicked it again, half an inch down the heel, inching closer and closer to the sensitive arch.

Three.

The arch was next. She knew it. She braced herself and wasn’t surprised when the next thing she felt was nearly the worst physical agony in her life.

She screamed into the pillow.

“I shouldn’t enjoy it so much when you’re in this kind of pain,” he confessed. “But I do.”

Four.

He struck her again, even higher, closer to the toes.

Nora’s head swam. She thought she might actually pass out.

“Flex, Eleanor. Flex.”

She couldn’t. She was in so much pain, she couldn’t make the muscles in her foot move.

“Oh, fine,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”

He took her toes in his hands and pushed, forcing her foot to flex.

“Now keep it there,” he ordered.

She did.

Five.

He hit the ball of her foot.

“Five,” he said. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He set the stick down on the table again and Nora shuddered. She shuddered because he’d started rubbing her foot, tenderly stroking all the burning places.

“I know you hate this,” he said softly. “And deep down, a small part of me hates myself for how much I enjoy it. Sometimes I wish it didn’t have to be like this. You understand?”