They were watching him. Still watching, still judging, and he couldn't make straight what they must have been thinking. For his Domme to berate him so viciously and work on destroying him, there might have been a kernel of truth to his defectiveness. He certainly wouldn't appear to be someone worthy of being collared by Cross. It took a good amount of willpower not to turn away again, expression set firm in the face of an unknown number of faces before him.

When her footsteps disappeared, something caught in his throat. That was dangerous. He knew she was still moving, her gait hadn't been ready to stop when the steps had, but it took all of his concentration to catch the whisper of leather bending and rubbing along a body nearby. He was ready for the first lash, and maybe for the second, but the pain throbbed along his back in a confusing mix of stinging pain and distracting pleasure with the same rhythm as his increasingly awkward erection to the point where he couldn't help but stumble at the next lash and cry out again at the fourth. He was losing track far too easily.