A/N: As a possible warning, there is some light flogging & bondage in this chapter.

The blood pounds through her veins as the lock on the door quietly snicks behind her.

For months, Deacon had been asking - pleading, really - to go to a proper sex club with proper tools, and when he'd finally come to her this past weekend with one that seemed discreet enough, she'd relented. Though, in truth, it didn't take all that much convincing. She'd been loving their power play for the nearly two years since they started, but she was worried something might get leaked.

Rayna was hardly a good girl, except in the way Deacon meant when he praised her during their filthy times together, but her fans didn't need to know that.

But this time, they were on tour, scheduled to be in San Francisco, and Deacon had done all of the legwork including getting NDAs from Bucky who insisted they were iron-clad and dear god, he didn't need to know what they were for.

At sunrise, Rayna and Deacon were sitting in the tiny living room on the tour bus they called home more often than not these days just as it pulled up near the hotel for their three-day stint in the Golden City when Deacon quietly floated the proposition as everyone tiredly disembarked.

"Why do they call it Syn, babe?" Rayna had asked, smiling at him as she took the iron-clad NDA paperwork from him.

"Sin with an i is just too on the nose?" He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her, "Is that a yes?"

He looked so hopeful, Rayna couldn't help but nod her head in agreement, "That's a yes."

He'd threaded his hand through her hair and kissed her deeply on the mouth as the airbrakes on the bus engaged and their sleepy band members rolled out of their bunks to check into the hotel – home – for the next three and a half days.

After rehearsal that day, Deacon had disappeared for hours on end, simply telling Rayna he had business to take care of. The glint in his eye made her simultaneously curious and thrilled. In the past, Deacon's disappearance would have been reason for her to worry, to wring her hands and wonder when she should start caling hospitals, but he was sober now, doing well.

He came back just before the show and quietly whispered in her ear backstage that they would be skipping the after party, because they'd be otherwise engaged.

All throughout the show, butterflies had flitted in her stomach, the nerves coursing through her body carrying arousal right along with it because she'd learned since she started dating Deacon that she quite enjoyed being dominated. By him.

There was something about the loss of control, about the fact that she didn't have to think about anything that just made her unbelievably wet in a way few things rarely ever had. Except Deacon, of course. And combining them? It meant she was in a near-constant state of arousal just thinking about the power games they played together.

When he'd led her through the back door of an honest-to-god sex club, she'd felt exhilarated and scared and on the precipice of something she didn't even understand.

And as her mind snaps back to the present and the reality sinks in, the dark walls surrounding her and making her feel oddly safe –this is really happening, tonight, here, with him – she knows instantly she would follow him anywhere. She has, and she will. She always will.

"Clothes off, baby. Everything." Deacon commands, and Rayna's heart lurches in her chest as she looks back at the door, the window shade not pulled down. Anyone walking through the club's halls can see inside. Reading the expression on her face as he is so apt to do, Deacon smirks "If I want everyone in this club to see what I'm doing to you, they damn well will. Clothes. Off. Now."

The shift into the dominant role has become easier and easier for him and Rayna doesn't hesitate again. At his words this time, her hands fly up to the buttons of her blouse and she unbuttons them one by one, trying to steady her nervous fingers. She shrugs the blouse off and it flutters to the floor behind her. She glances at Deacon's face, and he's staring at her impassively - as though she's doing little more than pouring tea.

He does that sometimes, remains outwardly unaffected by her and it shouldn't turn her on so much, but it does. Her eyes drop to the floor as she reaches behind and undoes her bra, dropping that next to her shirt before her hands flit to her jeans where she pops the button and undoes the fly before shoving them down her legs. The material piles at her feet and she steps out of it, kicking off her shoes and awaiting instruction.

"Good girl," Deacon praises, his voice stern in just the way she likes it, "Now kneel."

Rayna drops to her knees immediately, the floor hard beneath her bones, but she doesn't care. The discomfort is part of what turns her on.

"So sweet when you obey me," Deacon steps forward, and she can see his dress shoes – not his usual choice, but god dressed up looks good on him – as he steps in front of her, "Who do you belong to, Rayna?" His voice is cold, hard, but not without affection and it's a balance that has mesmerized her since they began playing like this. His ability to slip into this role fascinates her nearly as much as her ability to slip into the submissive role does.

"You, Sir," she whispers, and the truth of it strikes her all at once, same way it always does. She belongs to him like this, yes, but in so many other ways too.

"That's right," Deacon drops his hand and gently caresses her hair, twining a loose curl around his finger before he tugs on it, "And people will watch you tonight, Rayna, right through that door. They will watch you submit to me."

Rayna had never been into exhibitionism in any real sense of the word, but there's something about the way Deacon says it now – something about the fact that it's his choice and not hers – that makes her so unbelievably wet. She shifts a bit, trying to ease some of the pressure building between her thighs, but it's no use.

She nods, "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," he releases her hair from his finger and touches his shoe to her knees, "Spread."

Rayna spreads her knees apart, leaning up to sit on her heels with her legs spread.

"Wider," Deacon instructs, and Rayna complies, her blood hot with arousal. "Good. Now look at me."

She glances up to see him staring down at her, half of his mouth curled up in a smirk – she isn't sure why until she feels his shoe against her, "And whose cunt is this? Is it yours?"

"No, Sir."

Deacon arches an eyebrow at her, the top of his dress shoe rubbing against her as he presses a bit more firmly.

"It's yours." Deacon makes a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat. "Sir," Rayna corrects.

Deacon's foot moves again, swirling around her cunt as he stares down at her, "That's right. This cunt is mine." He drops his foot and pulls it back, "And tonight, everyone who walks by this room is going to know it." He looks behind him to the corner of the room, but Rayna doesn't fall into the trap – she doesn't look, and she can feel his pride emanating as she keeps her eyes on him, "Because I'm going to have you strung up on that Saint Andrew's cross, hands above your head, ankles spread, so you're mine to do with as I please." He smirks, "Whatever," He taps his foot against her, "I," he rubs her clit and she inhales sharply, "Want."

Rayna pants, arousal coursing through her thick in her blood as she nods.

"But first," he draws the words out as he draws his shoe back and she nearly moans at the loss, "It seems you've made a mess."

Rayna's brow furrows in confusion until he pointedly looks down at his shoe. The shiny patent leather, once clean, is now covered with her.

"Clean up your mess, Rayna. Use your tongue." When she hesitates, his eyebrows shoot up and he narrows his eyes, his voice firm, "Now."

The sharpness of his voice propels her into action and she leans forward, balancing herself on her hands as she eases towards the ground. She feels the coolness of the ground against the flesh of her breasts and her nipples pucker in response. She extends her tongue and runs it along the top of his shoe, following his instructions, and as she does, her own taste bursts across her tongue.

She should be humiliated – and somewhere, she is – but more than she is that, she is turned on, and she continues licking his shoe until her taste is gone, until she has swallowed every trace of it. But she only stops licking when she feels his hand gentle against the side of her head.

"Good girl," he murmurs, pulling her head back to look in her eyes, "God, I love you like this." And there are so many things he could say: submissive, on your knees, following my orders, but his eyes burn into hers as he speaks, "Mine."

The words send a jolt of pleasure between her legs, and she simply nods because yes. She is his.

Deacon tugs her head back a bit farther, her hair pulling at the roots sending delicious tingles down her spine from the bite of pain, and he smirks down at her. "Crawl. To the Saint Andrew's Cross."

He releases her head and she positions herself higher off the ground on all fours, and as he steps out of the way, she begins to make her way to the cross pulled out from the corner of the room. It's the first time she's had a really good look at it, and it looks foreboding and enticing all at once. She nearly stops at the tremor that slides through her body, but she keeps going, keeps crawling.

The floor, slightly padded though it is, bites into her knees as she moves, her hips swaying seductively as she crawls.

She wants to turn around to see if he's watching her, and she nearly turns her head over her shoulder until she remembers that wasn't part of the directive. Besides, she doesn't need to turn to look – she can feel his hot gaze on her flesh as she makes her way to the corner of the room. She is utterly exposed to him like this, not a bit of her hidden, and it sends a little thrill through her.

When she gets to the foot of the Saint Andrew's cross, she stops, her back straight, her knees slightly spread. She listens for movement, but she can't hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears.

She jolts when she feels a large, warm palm smooth over her ass.

"Shh," Deacon whispers, his callused palm abrading her skin in the most pleasant way. His hand traces her ass again, dipping low, and then lower still. Bracing one hand on her arched lower back to steady her, he slides one finger into her, slowly, all the way in and she clenches around him. "So wet," he swirls his finger inside of her, curling it up and her hips buck. "So eager for me like this aren't you, baby?"

Her skin is on fire and she can do little but nod her agreement as a little whimper escapes her throat. With a dark chuckle she feels deep in her veins, he pulls his finger out of her and presses gently on her lower back; she takes the non-verbal instruction and drops her body down so she is sitting on her heels, and her hands automatically go to her thighs, palm-up. His hand trails up her spine and then he steps around to the front of her body, his hand circling around her collarbone before locking around her throat.

He tilts her head back with a firm pressure and her pupils dilate in arousal, "Oh yes," he murmurs, "So eager." He traces his finger, still slick with her arousal, over her bottom lip, and then down her chin before he pulls his head back, hand still around her throat, and surveys her – taking in her glistening lips, her submissive position –"Such a good girl," he says, his own eyes blazing with arousal, "Taste yourself."

Her tongue darts out and she runs it along her lower lip, noticing how his eyes follow the path with longing.

"My cock is aching for you, baby, do you see it?" She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and her gaze drops to his pants where his cock juts out. She nods, "It's all for you. Do you know what I want? What I'd love to do to you right now?" She has guesses, all of them good. All of them hotter than sin and exactly what she wants from him, but she loves his dirty talk so she shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement, and he smiles, the corners of his mouth pulling up in that sexy way he wears so well, "What I want – what I'd love to do - is to shove my cock down your throat right here," at the flutter of her eyelids, he laughs, and then continues, "I see you'd like it too – you'd like me to fuck your face right here, wouldn't you? Just take your mouth like it's your cunt until I come down your hot little throat, isn't that right?"

A noise she doesn't recognize – but that is so clearly agreement – spills out of her mouth and into the air between them, and she shoves her knees together, pressing down against her heels, trying to ease the ache between her thighs, but Deacon clucks his tongue and his hand tightens ever so slightly around her throat, "ah, ah, ah," he shakes his head, "That pretty little cunt only gets relief – only comes – when I say it does. And did you hear my permission?"

Rayna squeezes her eyes tight before she opens them again, shaking her head, "No, Sir."

"That's right - no. And as much as I'd love to give you what you so obviously want – my hard cock down your throat – I've got plans for you, baby," the way he says plans coils a knot tight in her belly, "So, up you go," he squeezes her throat one more time before releasing her, "Let's get you all strapped in. And then we'll get you nice and punished for trying to control your cunt when we both know that's my job."

Rayna stands up, and Deacon's eyes trail down her body, his gaze hot and dark and full of pure sin that sends a shiver down her spine. His eyes linger on her knees and he smirks.

"Your knees are already red, baby," he reaches out and pushes her hair back over her shoulder, trailing his index finger along her delicate collar bone, "Just like they should be, for me." He nods his head behind her, to the imposing apparatus she can feel at her back, and the energy pulses between them, sucking up all the air in the room, stronger than it's ever been before. Thick with desire, she feels like she could drown in it.

She wants to drown in it. In her desire for this man – powerful, foreboding, and yet still somehow tender – standing before her.

Rayna steps up to the Saint Andrew's cross, then turns to look at Deacon, her eyebrows raised in silent question.

"Face front." He commands, and she does, stepping up to it, a tingle crawling up her spine even as the nerves coil low in her belly. "Arms up, legs out."

Rayna draws a deep breath, and then lifts her arms up against the cross, padded where it needs to be, and looks at Deacon, his dark gaze locked on her.

"You remember your safe word, baby?"

Biting her lip, Rayna nods.

"Give it to me."

"Bluebird."

Deacon grins, and then sets about cuffing her to the cross. Bending down, he secures her legs first, his fingers gently circling her ankles one at a time as he locks her in. The feeling should panic her, but it doesn't. It calms her, instead, her mind somehow quieter. He reaches up and runs his fingertips along her inner forearm, stopping when he gets to her wrist. He eases his fingers over her pulse point and cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Excited?" When she nods, he shakes his head, "Use your words and answer me."

"Yes, sir." She whispers, and she's not surprised to find that it's true. So much about the man cuffing her wrist to the cross exhilarates her.

"Mm," he hums his response and then sets to work on her other wrist, locking her in before he stands back and surveys his work, "Excited to be at my mercy?"

"Yes, sir," she answers again, as though she isn't always at his mercy.

"Look at you," Deacon whispers, more to himself than to her as his eyes trace her body, "God, I never imagined you'd be so beautiful strung up like this for me, but look at you." He inclines his head to the side and back a little and Rayna follows the path to a mirror set up perfectly so she can see herself.

Her mouth drops open in surprise as she takes in the sight – her hair is in disarray, her lips are swollen, her knees are red, and a flush covers her chest. Her nipples stand out, begging for his attention.

She looks wanton, wild, free despite how she is bound and an unexpected wave of emotion comes over her, floods through her body; she is bound to more than just the cross – she is bound to him in ways she never thought possible. She looks at Deacon, tears glistening in her eyes.

He cocks his head to the side, studying her, and if there happened to be any doubt that this man understands her in complex ways that should be impossible, they're removed when he reaches out and swipes his thumb gently over her cheek and whispers, "I know, baby. I feel it, too."

The moment is unspeakably tender, and Rayna relaxes even more in to the cross at her back, stiff and sturdy behind her holding her up, tying her down.

The moment is gone as quick as it came and Deacon steps back into his role – steps back into his power, and Rayna feels her blood heat at the sight. The change is so subtle, yet so absolute.

He walks over to a little row of instruments hanging up on the wall and runs his fingers casually along the ends of them, "Do you know where I was today, Rayna?"

He tosses the question casually over his shoulder, but there's no doubt that he wants an answer.

"No," she shakes her head and when he turns his head over his shoulder and stares at her, she corrects herself, "No, sir."

Smirking, he turns back to the wall, "That's 10 more." Removing an instrument from the wall, he speaks again, "I was here, today. Learning," his fingers catch on another instrument and he takes that down too, inspecting it before nodding and turning back to face her. He strides over to her, but sets the instruments down on a table directly behind her before she has a chance to look at them, "I was here," he repeats, "Learning how to properly – and safely – dominate you."

Rayna lets out a little whimper at the revelation. She'd wondered where he'd been all day, and now she knew. He'd been here, learning to do something she'd come to discover she needed from time to time. The idea was incredibly erotic, and she shifted on the cross as much as she could, tightening her muscles to no avail.

"I see you like that idea."

"Yes, sir."

He smiles, "I thought you might." He nods, "And now I've got you up here for me, Rayna," he steps forward, and the fact that she is completely naked and he is fully clothed adds another layer of eroticism to everything going on that she never would have expected, "And I can do anything I want to you, isn't that right?" As if demonstrating, he reaches his hand out and traces his fingers over the swells over her breast, smirking as goosebumps break out along her body.

"Yes, sir," she answers, and she knows it's true. She will let him do anything he wants to her because she wants it too – she needs it, and she knows only he can give it to her. She only trusts him to give it to her.

Deacon traces Rayna's nipple with a calloused finger, looking into her eyes as her nipple stands erect from his attention, "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, don't you baby?" When she nods, he smiles – it's gentle, sweet, before it morphs into a smirk and he pinches her nipple, hard. She cries out as her back arches as far away from the cross at her back as possible, "Good," he whispers, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

He leans forward and takes it into his mouth, laving with his tongue until he bites down on it gently and then again, harder this time, his eyes fixed on the pleasure-pain spilling over Rayna's face as her eyes glaze over. She watches him, transfixed as he attends to first one nipple, and then the other, lavishing them with attention from his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

Wetness slicks down her thighs as her head lolls back against the structure she's strapped to, and she wants to squirm to get away from him or closer to him, she can't decide which.

"I love your tits," he whispers against her skin before he plants a soft kiss and then reaches behind her and grabs something off the table. "These," he says as he produces an item for her inspection, "are nipple clamps," at her widened eyes, he chuckles, "They're mild. We're going to start small, but eventually I'm going to want to see you in something a bit more…" he trails off, considering his words, "Heavy duty," he smirks at her as he pinches her nipples with his fingers, making sure they're both hard enough to take the clamp.

Satisfied, he finally opens one and affixes it to her nipple – watching her face intently as he lets it go and the pinch begins. Rayna's eyes widen and her nostrils flare as the sensation fully hits her and she lets out a light moan as Deacon attaches the second one, still staring at her as he fingers a delicate gold chain linking the two clamps.

"How does it feel?" He asks, his eyes filled with arousal and concern for her – he always checks in with her when they try something new.

"It hurts," Rayna whispers, but then she smiles, "But it feels so good."

He smiles then, gripping the chain between his fingers, "And you look so fucking sexy like this, Rayna," he runs the fingers of his free hand over the skin of her breasts, "So fucking sexy."

Deacon steps back to look at her, his eyes tracing up and down her body before he reaches behind her again and retrieves the second item he set on the table: a black leather flogger.

Rayna feels her blood rush through her body at the sight of the instument – they'd only used a flogger one time before, a few months ago, but she'd liked the sensation so much that she'd come harder than she could remember that night as Deacon struck her with it and fucked her hard with his fingers.

Erotic.

It looked and felt erotic to have the flogger used on her – it heightened sensation, brought the blood just below the surface of the skin so every touch felt like fire. And, perhaps best of all, it let her see in real time this strange and sexy secret bond she and Deacon had forged through these games they liked to play with one another.

Correctly reading her thoughts, he holds the flogger out, letting it catch the light. It looks menacing in its promise of pain to bring pleasure, "Remember this?" his voice is quiet, and she wonders if his mind is back in that Dallas hotel room where he bent her over the bed and flogged her ass.

Biting her lip, Rayna nods.

"You liked it, didn't you? Feeling the flogger on your beautiful, sensitive skin?" When she nods again, Deacon reaches out and runs the tails of the flogger lightly over her stomach – it's cold, unused, and it screams sensuality to her. "You liked wearing my marks on your ass the next day, didn't you? Liked performing in front of fifty thousand people knowing I'd claimed you as mine the night before?"

"Yes, sir," Rayna whispers, a shiver running through her body because she had liked that, more than she ever thought she might.

"You'll know it tomorrow, too, at our last show in San Francisco." He reaches up and tugs lightly on the chain between the clamps on her nipples, "You'll be up there singing," tug, "Wearing your tight little dress talking about almost turning around on Highway 65," tug, "And your mind won't be able to help but to be back here in this room with me," tug, "Thinking about your beautiful tits at my mercy, your entire body at my mercy," he tugs the chain again and Rayna feels it between her legs, feels it intensely, like he's touching her there even though he isn't.

She aches, and the pressure from the clamps makes it that much worse – that much better.

"Now," Deacon tugs one last time before he lets go, "I believe I owe you some punishment," his eyes gleam as he steps back – still within striking range – and clutches the handle of the flogger. "Or, rathe, you owe me. How many do you owe me, Rayna?"

"Twenty," she whispers, watching as the strips of leather fall through his fingers – fingers she wants inside her.

He nods, satisfied, before he lifts the flogger and brings it down across the front of her thighs. It isn't very hard, but it still stings. At her silence, he gives her an admonishing look, "Count," he commands, "And that one didn't count."

He raises the flogger and strikes the same spot, harder this time.

Rayna counts as the slap of the leather against her skin reverberates in the small room, "One."

Deacon nods, "Good girl," he lifts the flogger and brings it down on Rayna's other thigh, the crack loud and satisfying through the air.

"Two."

He raises it again, and again, striking her skin adeptly – bringing the exact right amount of pain to enhance the pleasure – the pleasure of being bound, of submitting to the man she loves.

The only sounds in the room consist of their heavy breathing, the sound of leather smacking against skin, and Rayna's voice counting out her punishment after each strike.

Near the end of the last ten, Deacon picks up the pace, giving her the final three lashes one right after the other and then stepping back to survey her thighs, angry and beautifully mottled pink and red from the flogger.

"Look at that," Deacon whispers, "Look at your pretty thighs, Ray," he reaches out and touches the skin, finds it hot beneath his fingers, "All red for me, aren't they baby?"

Rayna nods, "For you, Sir," she breathes the words out, "Only ever for you."

His eyes bore into hers, "That's right baby," he traces his finger along a particularly red mark on her skin, "Only ever for me," his fingers dance up her thigh until they slide between her legs, "And this," he slips a finger into her – it slides in easily – "Only ever for me, hm? I'm the only man whose ever been inside you, Ray. The only man who knows how this sweet cunt feels, how it tastes," he slings the flogger over his shoulder as he slides another finger into her, filling her with two of his thick fingers as he tugs on the chain again, pulling her nipples out and away from her breasts. He chuckles and smirks as her cunt clamps around his fingers, "Oh, you like that." He leans forward and licks the valley between her breasts, "Tell me how much."

She squeezes his fingers again, aching for something bigger, something more, but knowing he won't give it to her – not yet, "I fucking love it, Sir," Rayna speaks around a moan as Deacon fucks his fingers into her, his thumb glancing quickly over her clit in reward before he removes his fingers entirely.

"Good girl, Ray," he murmurs, tugging on the chain one final time as he slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean and enjoying the taste of her arousal on his tongue, "Good fucking girl."

He reaches out and fingers the clamp of one nipple, "You ready for this, baby?" he watches her as she stares at his face, "It's going to hurt, but then it's going to feel so good." Like loving you sometimes, she thinks, but she doesn't speak it.

When she slowly nods, he unclamps one nipple and then the other, pocketing the clamps in his jeans.

The sensation of blood rushing to her nipples overwhelms Rayna and she stares wide-eyed as Deacon leans forward and grazes one nipple with his teeth as he lightly pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger, making her cry out. He does it again – bites and pinches - harder this time, and Rayna pants with the sensation – he was right. It hurts, but it feels so good. Every sensation heightened from the blood flow, and she's never felt anything like it.

Without warning, Deacon steps back and he takes the flogger to her breasts, bringing it down in rapid succession, aiming so the tips of the leather hit her nipples, and Rayna shudders at the feeling, calling out his name, arching into his strikes as much as possible.

"Can you come from this, Rayna?" Deacon asks, pulling up on the flogger and landing a light blow against her left breast, "Can you come from this?" He teases her right breast with the flogger and grins as she whimpers.

In truth, she thinks she could come from this but she doesn't want to, not tonight. She only wants to come tonight with his cock buried deep inside of her, so she bites her lip and moans, trying not to answer.

Seeing through her, Deacon laughs, "Oh, you could come from this, but you don't want to? Is that it?"

Rayna hesitates, but then nods.

"Sweet Rayna," Deacon whispers, dropping the flogger to the table behind her, "Lucky for you, that's not what I want tonight, either." He steps forward and places his hand near the cuff at her wrist, "What I want is for you to come with my hard cock deep inside of you," he tilts his head, "Is that what you want?"

Rayna nods, her pulse hammering in her throat, "Yes, sir. God, yes."

Deacon traces the cuff at her wrist, "And you think you've earned it? My cock?" When Rayna nods again, Deacon taps his finger against the pulse point of her wrist, "Then beg me for it," he whispers, his breath fanning over her face, "Beg me to fuck you with my cock."

Rayna doesn't even hesitate – she doesn't even think about the words pouring from her mouth as she speaks, "Please, Sir, please fuck me. Please fuck me with your cock." She looks him in the eye, letting him see how much she really wants it, "Pleae let me come on it – let me come on your cock, sir, please."

"Oh, good girl," Deacon praises, releasing the cuff from her wrist before moving to undo the other one, "And how do you want me to fuck you?"

Rayna moans as the cuff is released, but she doesn't move – like the good girl she is, her hands stay exactly where Deacon put them when he locked her on to the cross. She knows the answer he wants – and it's the exact one she wants to give, anyway, "However you want, Sir."

He smirks, "I see you've learned your lesson, then," he reaches down and undoes both of her ankles, "I see you've learned that your cunt belongs to me." He stands upright and nods his head toward the center of the room, "Hands and knees, over the spanking bench." His hands drop his belt buckle, "I'm going to fuck you from behind tonight."

A shiver runs through her body as she steps down from the cross and drapes herself over the bench in the center of the room, staring at the wall straight in front of her. She hears the rustling of clothing and knows that Deacon is undressing himself – it takes every ounce of self-control she possesses to not glance over her shoulder and watch him, but she knows better.

And, as much as she wants to see him – as much as she longs to see his thick, hard cock aching for her the same way she is aching for him, she doesn't want to take any chances that he will deny her exactly what she wants: to come as he fucks her fast and hard and with exactly zero mercy.

Rayna feels his warmth at her back a moment before she feels his hand on her ass, "Look at this ass," Deacon strokes her flesh with his thumb, "Presented for me so pretty like this," his thumb eases between her cheeks and he traces her opening, "Maybe I want to take you here tonight, hm? Bury my cock in your ass while you scream for me?"

Rayna's breath catches in her throat because fuck, they haven't done that yet – they've just talked about it, decided it's something they'd both like to try together.

"I can see it now," Deacon whispers, "Your tight ass stretched out around my cock," he leans over her body and speaks in her ear, "But not tonight, tonight…" his hand falls away from her body and she feels him, she feels the head of his cock up against her, "Tonight," he murmurs inside her ear, "I want your sweet cunt."

With that, he slams into her to the root, his cock thick and hard inside of her and she cries out, buries her head into the leather of the spanking bench because she is so fucking full after being so achingly empty all evening long.

Deacon pulls out and slams back in to the hilt, rocking forward, his body warm and heavy over hers, "You feel so fucking good, Rayna – your cunt feels so fucking good," he shoves his cock into her over and over again, harder each time, her body moving with the force of it until his hands brace her shoulders, holding her in place as he fucks her, "Is this how you wanted it, baby? Is this how you wanted me to fuck you tonight?"

"Yes," Rayna cries out as his cock fills her, "Fuck yes, Deacon, fuck me hard," she calls him by his name, the game falling away a bit as he pounds into her, taking her.

"That's it, baby," Deacon moans as he fucks her fast and hard, "Take every inch of my fucking cock in your sweet, tight cunt," he thrusts into her deep, groaning at the sensation, "I want to feel you come on my cock – is that what you're gonna do?" He asks, his voice rough with gravel, "You gonna come for me, baby? Hm? Are you gonna come all over my cock as I fuck you with it?"

"Yes," Rayna moans, feeling herself climb higher and higher until she's almost there, but it remains just out of her reach as Deacon pumps into her.

He drops his hand to her clit, and she feels her arousal ratchet up even higher, moaning as he works her clit with the rough pads of his fingers – he knows how to make her come, knows her body intimately, and she wonders why he's holding off, what he's waiting for because she has no doubt that he is.

"I'm almost there, baby," Deacon says, "I'm going to fill you with my come – are you ready to take it all? You ready for every single drop I have to give?" Rayna nods, and Deacon presses her clit, "I'd ask you where you want it, but we both know that isn't up to you."

The idea that she doesn't have a choice unless she says her safe word drives Rayna wild in the best possible way, and she fucks herself wantonly back onto his cock, "Please make me come, Deacon – fuck, please let me come."

Deacon changes his strokes from shallow and hard, to deep and hard, and Rayna's body rocks forward with every thrust of his hips against hers – "Don't you worry. I'll let you come, baby, and you're going to do it, aren't you?" When she doesn't respond, he leans forward, dropping his mouth to her ear, "We've got an audience, you know," Rayna moves to look over her shoulder, but Deacon catches her jaw and clicks his tongue in reprimand as he roughly directs her head forward, "Ah, ah – eyes ahead, but we've got an audience."

Rayna tightens around him and he chuckles into her ear, never breaking his rhythm.

"Oh, you like that, don't you? There are people gathered outside that door right now, watching me fuck you hard, Rayna. Men with hard cocks, stroking them to the sight of me fucking you like this, bent over and submissive to me – they're watching me fuck you and now," he runs his teeth along the shell of her ear before he bites down, "Now they're going to see you come for me," the pressure on her clit picks up and Rayna feels herself barrel rapidly to the edge, "They're going to see you come on my cock, baby. Come. For. Me. Now."

He punctuates each word with a press against her clit, and on the last word, he fucks into her hard and she shatters around him, crying out loudly as she comes, milking his cock as he continues to fuck her.

"That's it, baby. That's fucking it," he grunts as he slams into her one last time and then groans as he comes, his body going rigid and taut as he fills her up.

When their breathing has returned to normal, Rayna glances over her shoulder as Deacon pulls out and stares at her, a clear look of awe and satisfaction on his face. She looks at the door, but no one is there.

"Were they really there?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She still does not move from her position draped over the bench.

Deacon looks at her, carefully watching her face before he tells her the truth, "They were there, baby," at the flush on her skin, equal parts embarrassment and arousal, Deacon grins, "They saw everything," "Saw me clamp you, saw me flog you, saw me fuck you," his eyes heat, "Saw me come inside you."

It's a lot to process – but the idea of an audience doesn't bother her; quite the opposite, it turns her on knowing that people saw her like that – that people saw them like that.

Rayna rolls over, her ass now on the spanking bench as she stares at him before she pouts and Deacon reaches out and pushes her hair back from her face, "What is it, baby?"

Rayna smirks at him, "I wanted to taste you."

Deacon arches his eyebrow, "Oh, really?" His finger drops to her cunt and he lightly traces his finger around her opening, teasing her, "And do you still?"

Her eyes widen as she understands his meaning, and another bolt of arousal shoots through her, "Yes," she looks at him, "I always want to taste you."

He smirks at her, two of his fingers slipping inside her cunt, "Your wish," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing up against her sensitive clit in the exact way he knows gets her off, "Is my command," he presses on her clit hard and he sees the change, watches it roll over her face as he fucks his fingers into her once, twice, three times, still working her clit with his thumb before he removes his fingers, bringing them up to the dim light in the room so that she can see they're covered with them, and brings his thick fingers to her lips, "Open," he whispers, "Open that pretty little mouth and taste me," he whispers as his free hand drops to her clit.

Rayna opens her mouth and he slides his fingers inside, rubbing them over her tongue – as his taste hits, she closes her eyes and he presses his thumb into her clit and she comes again, a slow orgasm rolling through her body as he watches the pleasure change her features.

"Fuck," she murmurs, when she comes down and Deacon chuckles, leaning forward and kissing first her forehead, and then her nose, before her mouth.

"I can taste us," he whispers before he pulls her into his arms and lifts her up, taking a seat on the bench and pulling her into his lap, her ass directly over his semi-erect cock.

"Mm," she nuzzles into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she closes her eyes and sighs contentedly.

"Jesus Christ, I love you," Deacon kisses her temple, "So much."

"Love you too," Rayna murmurs quietly before she presses her lips in a sweet kiss against his neck, "Love you so much, babe."

"You know, don't you?" Deacon's voice is quiet in the now-silent room.

"Know what?" she asks, her body tired from the two orgasms he wrung from her.

"That I belong to you as much as you belong to me," he kisses her temple again, "Probably even more."

"Yes, babe," she nods, her eyes fluttering closed, "I know," she tightens her hands around his neck, hugging him, their bare chests pressed together, "We belong to each other, and that…" she smiles against his skin as his hand caresses her arm – she falls silent, waiting.

Rayna can hear the smile in Deacon's voice when he finally speaks, "Ain't ever gonna change."