Genevieve didn't mean to stop. Her legs just... stopped on their own.
She watched as the man ran a leather whip lightly across the woman's breasts, trailing lower to her thighs, slow, teasing strokes, before he snapped it across her hip in a swift motion. The woman yelped, her body jerking, legs twisting against the ropes. The man then reached down and traced his fingers along her arms, so gently it was almost reverent.
Genevieve's breath hitched.
She wasn't disturbed by the sight.
She was disturbed by how much she liked it.
A tightness bloomed low in her stomach, spreading like a fever, her thighs pressing together instinctively as heat gathered at her core, sharp and insistent. Her throat dried. Her fingers twitched.
She needed to touch herself. Right then. Right there.
But she couldn't. She'd never done that before. Not even alone, let alone in the middle of a place like this.
She was about to force herself to look away when,
