What is wrong with me??

As I sputtered protests, he stripped off my messenger bag and coat—still too much between us?—then he clasped me harder, inhaling the scent of my hair, like we’d been parted for ages. In a distant tone, he asked, “Why would you leave?”

“You know why! I didn’t sign on for a one-sided relationship, didn’t sign on to be treated like a thing. You don’t confide in me, you order me around, and you lie to me!”

As if he hadn’t heard me, he grated in Russian, “You’re not to leave me, Natalya. I’ll never let you go.”

“My God, are you hearing me at all? You sound like a freak! You can’t keep me if I don’t want to be kept!” I managed to draw back a couple of inches to glimpse his face—then wished I hadn’t.

A professional hit man had fixated on me, and now seemed to be experiencing some kind of mental break because I’d left him. It was as if he couldn’t make out my words because some bomb blast was repeatedly going off in his head.

Realizing how futile it was to try to communicate with him, I fell silent. But he wasn’t done.

“For now, I’ll discipline you.”

I swallowed. “Putting the D back into BDSM?”

Against my hair, he said, “I told you that if you ran from me again, I’d catch you. I told you I’d spread you over my knees and whip your ass until you knew better.”

His text had said he’d whip it raw. At the thought, I tensed even more in his iron embrace.

“And don’t I always do what I say I will?”

Chapter 42

Sevastyan kept me trapped in his arms as he climbed the steps to our suite. He only let me go to slam the doors behind us.

As his threat replayed in my mind, I wondered if I should make a dash for the safe room. Yet even now I couldn’t manage to be afraid of this man.

“Never run from me again!” He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “The thought of not having you . . .” He punched the wall near the hole from his last show of fury. As his fist made impact, he loosed a short, violent yell. Like an animal in pain.

“Sevastyan, just wait.”

Flexing his hand, he twisted around to face me. “Strip.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“STRIP!”

I snapped, “Sure thing!” and stepped out of my shoes, scooping them up. “Here we go!” I flung the first one overhand like a dagger. Missed. He batted away the second.

“Why don’t you arm yourself with your shirt next, sweet?”

“Fuck—you!”

“Fuck me?” Though his pupils were still blown, his sexy lips curled. “We’re getting to that.” Underneath all this pain and frenzy, Sevastyan was still Sevastyan.

Seductive. Undeniable.

He prowled closer, running the heel of his palm over the straining bulge in his pants. I’d been conditioned by him; seeing this man’s erection would always make me grow wet to receive it. When he was just before me, his body heat and addictive scent wreaked havoc on my senses.

“You won’t remove your clothes when I command it? I think you don’t want me to discover what you’re hiding.”

Hiding?

He seized my hip with one hand. His other hand was climbing under my skirt. “Will I find you wet? If so, you’re going to get whipped. If not, I won’t touch you.”

Not fair—I couldn’t control my response! I squeezed my thighs together, but he forced them apart.

When he felt my damp panties, he grunted with satisfaction. “I think you want your punishment very much.”

Was I already so lust-stupid that I . . . did ? He rubbed me with his slow, hot fingers, sending my thoughts into chaos.

Maybe I should use him for the pleasure he always gave, then figure out what to do afterward. So what if he was going to spank me? It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before—with a flogger. I could get through this.

Or maybe I was making excuses for him—yet again! I shoved at his wrist and twisted away from him.

He let me get a step away before his hands landed on my shoulders to jerk me back. He leaned down, his mouth descending on mine.

My cry was his access.

His tongue flicked . . . deliberate, sensual. Leveling my resistance. Even as he tore my blouse from me like it was tissue paper, he was giving me his mind-numbing, toe-curling lover’s kiss—as if he couldn’t help himself.

As if his mind was saying Discipline her, while his heart was saying Kiss her.

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*ck 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*ck 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—”

“You always think I’m asking, pet.” He gave my ass a smack. “Obey me now.”

To be bound and helpless with this man? How could I want that so much?

I had to feign hesitation as I crossed my wrists behind my back. I kept them there for him to wrap with leather cuffs. They were attached to each other, trapping my arms in place.

An instant later, cool leather met my throat; I startled, but he’d already stretched a collar around my neck.

Collar and keep you. The leather in the front dipped down to a V, reaching the hollow above my sternum. The interior was lined with what felt like cushiony silk. As he buckled it in place, I shivered.

He attached another strap of leather to the cuffs, pulling upward. What would he—

Click.

He’d connected the cuffs to the back of the collar. When I tried to move my arms, I felt a definite tug at my throat, which—I could admit—only added to my dark thrill.

Without a word, he lifted me, depositing me on the bed. I shifted onto my side to watch him stride back to the wardrobe.

He returned with a black drawstring bag, a ball gag—and a bottle of oil. “Facedown, Natalya. I’m going to gag you, then open you up. Just as you described for me when we first got here.”

He wanted anal sex? Now? “Sevastyan, you can’t.” I maneuvered myself to my knees. As horny as I was, and as curious as I’d been . . . “You’re too angry. You’re going to hurt me.”

With silky menace, he said, “I won’t hurt you—not like you did me when you ran.”

“Will you just listen for a second?”

He tossed the gear to the bed and seized my upper arms. “Submit to me!” He crushed me against his body, my ni**les raking the cloth of his shirt. He kissed my neck again, his hands descending to grip the cheeks of my ass. He ground me against his pulsing cock—until the idea of him taking my ass didn’t fill me with alarm.

It filled me with need.

He released me, grating, “Open your mouth for me.” He held up the ball gag before my widened eyes.

I could have clenched my jaw; I could have screamed at him. Instead, I found myself parting my lips.

“That’s it, milaya. Now look at me when you lick it.”

Lick? When I gazed up at him and swiped my tongue over the ball, his lids went heavy with satisfaction. So I did it again.

He rubbed the moisture over my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth, then fitted the ball between my teeth. While I tried to get used to the foreign sensation, he fastened the straps behind my head.

Though I’d been gagged, collared, and bound—he wasn’t through with the gear. He moved me to lie on my front, then began pulling something else up my legs. Whatever had been in the drawstring bag?

I thought I felt more straps. These didn’t seem to be leather—more like . . . elastic? He shimmied them past my calves and knees, then higher, until one hugged each of my upper thighs.

What is this? What could it be? God, the curiosity . . . Maybe it was another dildo like the one he’d used at the club?

When he secured a third strap around my waist, I felt something spongy between my legs. I realized what it was with the first vibration—one of those wearable, remote-control vibrators.

Fitting it snugly over my clit, he turned it on at a frustratingly low speed. “You’ll enjoy this.” The sensation made me moan against my gag. “But not too much.” He set it to pulse on for a brief period, then off for much longer, then on again at that slow, slow speed.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

This was really about to happen? Could I actually do this? If I was honest with myself, I’d admit that I trusted him to keep me safe, to take care not to hurt me. Hands still locked behind my back, I made my way to my knees.