The Professional

Though my mind screamed Resist him, my heart told me . . . Surrender.

With a defeated moan, I kissed him back, twining my tongue with his. He was caught up, and now I was too. I might hate myself afterward, but I couldn’t stop this.

Whatever happened tonight would be my grudging toll, to buy my break from him.

He cut short the kiss to snatch at the fastening of my skirt, rending that material as well. He shoved what was left of it down my legs, all but clawing away my hose at the same time. His overt aggression was turning me on, the wild edge to his touch. . . .

As he ripped away my bra, he kissed my neck—licking and sucking right over my pulse point, knowing how that drove me crazy.

“Tell me to give you the punishment you’re so wet for,” he said against my skin. “Or tell me you never want to feel my hands on you again.”

Never to feel those tattooed fingers on my skin, playing me like an instrument?

Can’t.

“Tell me no”—he scraped his teeth over that spot on my neck—“or tell me you want this.”

I choked out, “I want this.”

With one brutal yank, he ripped off my thong. Once I’d been stripped down to nothing, he released me, moving to sit on the leather ottoman. “Come here.” Though he sounded like he was on the very brink of losing control, I crossed to stand before him.

“Turn around,” he ordered me. “Then go to your knees and forearms.”

As I had in the bathroom that night? It was such a vulnerable position to be in. Was he about to go down on me again?

“Now, Natalie.” His face was unreadable.

What would he do to me? Curiosity flooded me as I followed the command, kneeling on the plush carpet—

He seized my ankles, yanking me back until I was in a wheelbarrow position over his lap, leaving me to balance myself on my hands.

“Sevastyan!”

“Lean on your arms.”

Breathless, I did, resting on my forearms and forehead, which put my ass in the air.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

I had no choice but to comply. With my legs circling his torso in reverse, I could feel his hard c**k pressing against my mons and belly. He’d told me he would spread me over his knees; he’d never specified how.

Positioned like this, I was totally bared to him, my pu**y and ass on display for him. Perfect for whipping, for exploring and tormenting. The exposure only fueled my arousal—

His palms came down, cracking over both cheeks. I hissed in a breath, but the soreness from the club had long since faded. I could take his . . . correction.

Soon, I’d no doubt beg for it.

As the sting morphed into that prickling heat, I had to bite back a moan.

“My sweet Natalie craves this.” Could he see how wet I was getting?

I cried out at another sharp crack. He was punishing me, and it was a pleasure. When I raised my ass for more, I could feel my flaring lips opening for his gaze, my clitoris jutting against the fly of his pants.

“Do you have something you want to show me, love?” With a low groan, he spread me even wider. “So—fucking—beautiful.” He delved a finger, screwing it into my slippery core.

I almost came spontaneously—without permission.

He wedged in another finger, increasing the pressure. Then . . . another? He was mercilessly working in a third. I wasn’t sure I wanted it, until he rumbled the words: “You can take it for me.”

With a whimper, I did. “Ah, God, yes.”

While I panted, he f**ked me with those fingers, growling at the view. All the while, he spanked me, rocking his straining shaft against my mons and clit.

I was so close to coming for him. . . .

Over and over, he rocked and fingered and slapped—until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I-I need to come.”

“Why should I give you that? You were leaving me.” Slap.

“Please!”

Slap. “If you want to come so badly”—he shoved his bulging c**k against me—“then use me, greedy girl.”

Gone shameless with need, I did, grinding against his hardness, taking his wetted fingers and his stinging correction. Even before he groaned, “My God, woman, look at you,” I knew the picture I presented. I knew his darkened gaze was rapt on the most private part of me, stuffed full with his fingers.

And I was turned on all the more for it, hurtling toward my orgasm.

“I could watch this all night.” Slap.

Right on the verge, I moaned, “Oh, God, oh, God—”

He abruptly removed his fingers. “Your punishment’s not over.”

I sputtered, “Sevastyan, no!” He’d never gotten me this close, only to deny me. I was quaking with need.

He grabbed my hips, lifting me to my feet, holding on to me as I swayed. “You really think I’d let you come so easily? Reward your running?” His rage didn’t seem tempered whatsoever, merely . . . delayed. “From now on, you have to earn your pleasure from me. And you’re about to.” He steered me toward the gear wardrobe, turning me to face away from it.

I heard the whisper of leather and the clinking of metal from within, could only imagine what he was searching for. I tried to summon up fear, but only felt that burning curiosity. What would this man do next?

“Bend your arms behind your back, and cross your wrists,” he said. “Keep them there for me to bind.”

He hadn’t restrained me since the club. “I don’t know—”