“No kidding,” Francesca said, distracted, still looking over the prayer bench. “You want a medal?”
Liz looked into my eyes. “No, but I’d like something else.”
That got Francesca’s attention. She stopped her inspection of the prayer bench. “Oh, go ahead,” Francesca said. “From what I hear, you’ve been dying to since you two met at Tartarus.”
Twin gleams formed in Liz’s eyes. She had me, right where she wanted me.
Liz untied my legs. I struggled, strained against her strong arms, but soon my legs were spread wide, short chains locked onto ankle cuffs and the chains’ other ends locked to the rings sunk into the broad, wooden base of the whipping post. “Okay, honey,” Liz breathed. “Let’s find out just how sweet you really are.”
She lifted her hood just enough to expose full, wet lips. A w
