Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Slowly, his eyes roam over my naked body, dragging down my neck to my chest, an appreciative once-over that makes me feel impossibly more exposed. In silence, he reaches the very tip of his finger to the underside of my breast. A gentle caress that's no more than a whisper, and my breasts swell in response, my nipples pebbling before he's even so much as breathed on them.
"So responsive," he mutters in a thick, husky whisper. "I've hardly even touched you and I can already smell the intoxicating scent of your arousal." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he draws his finger over my naked skin. Under the swell of one breast before he explores the valley between them. "I will taste every inch of you," he promises. "From your taut little nipples to those secret folds between your thighs."
This is punishment? Oh, but it is, as my heart beat races and my mouth goes dry, but there's no pleasure in sight. I try to tamp down my arousal, but I have no more control over it than I do over a wild stampede of horses.
I begin to shiver when his finger travels just to the very edge of one nipple, not touching the most sensitive parts but just teasing. Leaning in, he exhales, warm breath caressing my nipples. In silence, he reaches behind me, anchors his hands on my naked backside, and grips each cheek with the possessive grip of a dominant lover. Before I can register this, before I can react, he's got one of my nipples in his mouth. When he suckles, I keen with instant, vivid pleasure, a low whimper escaping me. His fingers dig into my ass, a reminder that I no longer own my body, just as his teeth clamp down on my nipple. A reminder that punishment and pleasure are irrevocably entwined.
He releases me so quickly I stumble forward, but he catches me effortlessly by my elbows. Steadying me. Staring at me.
Glaring?
The brief flirtation with tenderness has gone as rapidly as it came. One tattooed knuckle comes to my chin and lifts my gaze to his.
"Remind me again how many you've earned," he says. I grit my teeth. As if he's forgotten.
"Ten?" I suggest. His eyes narrow in warning, and with a sigh I amend. "Fifteen."
"We'll make it twenty for the dishonesty."
Shit.
"I wasn't really being dishonest," I tell him. "I was just... you asked how many and maybe I forgot."
"And maybe you didn't."
Nodding like a stern schoolmaster, he still holds my chin. I'm so close to him I can see the faintest flecks of gold in his chestnut-colored eyes. The wide expanse of his powerful shoulders. The way dark hair dots his chest, his arms, his whole damn body a temple of power and destruction.
He leans in, his mouth to my ear, his voice reverberating over me like the pounding of a bass drum. "Allow me to remind you."
Releasing me so I nearly stumble backward, he gracefully, effortlessly lifts me and drapes me over his sturdy lap. I'm falling, flying, suspended fully over the rough fabric of his jeans. I feel him lean over me and I hear something scrape along the tiny bedside table before I remember the brush.
Oh, God. I wondered why he brought that in here. I didn't follow his sadistic train of thought, but hell, I maybe should have.
My hands flail out in front of me, but there's nowhere to grasp onto. He's too tall for me to touch the floor and strewn helplessly over his lap I can't reach the bed.
"Maksym," I gasp, my heart thundering in my chest. Fear ricochets through me at this total loss of control. God, I'm so stupid. I'm going to bite my tongue until it fucking bleeds if it will help me shut the hell up. I don't like being overpowered like this. I don't like the way his eyes hold the promise of pain I can't escape. Not those eyes, that I know are capable of so much more. I don't like being humiliated and naked and so fucking exposed.
"Olena," he responds. "You've gotten very free in your speech, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir," I say, and to my shock I feel a tear drip down my nose. I didn't even realize I was crying, and he hasn't even struck me yet. "I'm sorry," I say, even though I know it's far too late to stop the inevitable.
"Ah," he says. "Already apologizing before I've even punished you?"
"We can do this another way," I suggest foolishly.
"We can," he says with flinty nonchalance. "I could hogtie you and cane you. I could make you stand against the wall and take my belt to you. I could have you stand in the corner until the sun sets, thinking about the punishment that awaits you." He pauses. "Should I go on?"