The Master (21 page)

“I’m going to own every part of you,” he rasped. “Your eyes, your lips, every inch of your body. Your complicated, too-clever mind. Your pussy is already mine—even
you’ll admit that.” He thrust his thumb harder, wrenching a cry from me. “Soon I’ll claim your tight little virgin ass.” He pistoned his hips, our skin slapping.

I couldn’t think. Shutdown.

“I’m going to work my cock inside you here, and when I pump my cum in you, I’ll own this ass.”

I pushed back on him, answering him with insensible sounds. Too much stimulation.

“There you go. . . . I feel your pussy tightening up on me, about to release.
I
make you feel this way—no other man—because you belong only to me. You’re going to
scream my name, aren’t you, Katya?” He thrust his cock and thumb at the same time.

“Oh, my God!”

“When pleasure makes you mindless, you think of only one name.
Mine.
” His words tipped me over the edge.

I screamed, “
Máxim!
”

His fingers moved even faster, sending me into a frenzy, the waves of my climax overwhelming me. I clutched the bar for dear life, writhing, gyrating my hips.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. Take your pleasure from me.”

I did. Over and over.

My cries slowly dwindled. Once I was hanging limply, my body a quivering mass, he withdrew his finger to grip my hips.

Holding me in place, he stretched over my back and shoved hard inside my pussy. In a hoarse voice, he said, “I could fuck you forever, beautiful girl. I want you to come on me
again.” As he brutally surged into me, his balls slapped my clit. He railed me with all his might, going deeper with each thrust. I could only hold on for the ride.

He opened his mouth over my shoulder, almost biting me, like an animal. The touch of his teeth to my flesh—

My scream ripped through the enclosure. His cock was so swollen, my spasms could barely squeeze around it.

He snarled against me, driving harder. He released my shoulder to bellow, “Taking it from me!
AHH!
” He roared to the ceiling as he began to ejaculate, his fingers digging into
my skin. His shaft, his legs, and his hips rammed into my body.

One savage shove. Another. And another.

Until a satisfied groan sounded from his chest.

Gradually, his shudders eased, but he remained inside me, as if reluctant to leave. He coiled an arm around my waist. “Let go,
dushen’ka
.” With difficulty, I made my
fingers release the bar, and he pulled me up against him.

His breaths tickled my damp neck. His heart thundered against my back. One of his hands lightly covered my throat. He filled his other palm with a breast.

He was content to rest like this—as if being with me were the most natural thing in the world.

As if I were his long-term lover, his girlfriend. When he nuzzled my neck and pressed kisses to my shoulder, I found myself wishing I could be.

H
is phone rang yet again as I dried off and donned my new silk robe.

“My brothers.” He sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist. “I hope you’re happy. Mobsters gossip worse than old women.”

“I always heard that old women gossiped worse than mobsters.” In front of the mirror, I combed out my hair, trying to act casual about what he’d done to me. He’d told me
he owned me. For that space of time, he
had
. Máxim continued to give me fantasies—ones I hadn’t even known were
mine
. “What will you tell your brothers about
me?” I met his gaze in the reflection.

“That I’ve purchased a young Miami woman, enslaving her in my penthouse.”

Ha. “And what will they have to say about that?”

“My older brother won’t believe me. My younger will see absolutely nothing wrong with this—as long as I don’t get attached.” Dmitri. The one who brought him daily
bouts of grief.

“While it’s all fun and games to brag that you’ve purchased a woman, surely you’re done with me by now. You
did
say you would shake this.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, Sevastyan left the bathroom, returning shortly after. “Before I forget . . .” He held up the chastity belt, modified once more.

I gasped. This time there were
two
plugs.

S
evastyan was setting me up for a crash landing. And I resented it.

As I changed into my new running gear, I recalled awakening this morning—cocooned by his warmth, his arms like a shield around me.

Before him, I’d been cold and alone and wary. Guess what Catarina was returning to in four days.

It’d be all the worse because I’d tasted a different life. I’d tasted the wickedest pleasures.

Yesterday, he’d kept me in the belt for only a couple of hours, both of us too miserable to deny ourselves for much longer. I’d been on fire, and he’d been more than my match,
taking me four times over the afternoon and night.

His shower play and the second addition to the belt had left my bottom sore today—but the constant reminder of what he’d done to me turned me on anew.

A brilliant, gorgeous, billionaire sex god shouldn’t amuse himself by playing with a woman’s feelings. Maybe I’d made an error deciding on this retreat. He would let me go on
the twenty-eighth—of that I was sure. If the boundary between our bodies had fallen, somehow I had to maintain the one around my heart until then.

With that thought in mind, I snagged the marker I’d hidden in a shoe box, then marched to the master bathroom to add one more slash.

Beside my marks on the mirror, the bastard had written:
It’s so good you should be paying me.

I could all but hear him saying that in his seductive devil’s voice, and it made me tremble. How dare he take over the mirror! That was my gig! Narrowing my eyes, I drew a seventh slash,
then wrote:
You’re gonna miss this ass when it’s gone.

I left the marker by his toothbrush—
your move, Ruso
—then marched to my treadmill, intending to make a racket. He slept on, arm stretched out, again as if he reached for
me.

My chest went
pang
. My mind went
pendejo!

He’d probably be pissed that I woke him so early on Christmas Eve day. His mood had continued to go downhill—hourly, it’d seemed. But I didn’t care. If he was bothered,
then he should sleep in the master suite—instead of getting me used to his big, warm body spooning me all night!

With the room’s remote control, I opened the curtains, revealing the ocean. Today was a Miami stunner. Early morning sunlight glimmered over the ripples on the water’s surface,
making them look like diamonds.

Now that I’d feathered my gilded cage, the tower was a dream. Here, I had running, swimming, business journals delivered every morning, a new wardrobe, and an endless supply of decadent
food.

Oh, and a dream lover. Except for the fact that he would soon return to Russia, leaving me behind.

I was all but teed up for a crash landing, might as well dive from this tower myself.

With a series of beeps, I angrily set up my workout and the heart-rate monitor. When I started a walking warm-up, I
felt
his gaze on me.

“Why didn’t I buy you a treadmill on day one?”

I glanced over my shoulder.

He was in no way pissed. He sat up against the headboard, hands behind his head, with that
I command all I survey
expression. The left corner of his lips curved. I’d noticed that
side tilted up when he was amused—
and
his tricky mind was engaged. “I want to wake up like this every morning,” he said. “Ah, the views go on forever,
Katya.”

Facing forward, I started my run, determined to think of anything but his eyes on my body.
Ignore him.
I needed to get into my runner’s zone, that focused headspace I craved.

After my first mile, I glanced over my shoulder again, found his gaze transfixed on me. He regarded me as he might a gift he planned to unwrap. A distinct bulge tented the cover, but he appeared
to be biding his time.

I started to sweat, breaths shallowing. Halfway through, I glanced back. One of his arms had snaked under the cover, that bicep flexing rhythmically.
Por Dios
, he was stroking himself as
he watched me.

I stutter-stepped, the heart monitor beeping like crazy.

The devil knew what that sound meant. He chuckled.

No headspace. I was hyperaware of everything around me. My skin pricked with chills, even as I was burning up inside. I felt every drop of sweat trickling over my body. My nipples strained
against my bra.

Running always made me horny. Running with him watching? Made. Me.
Loca.

Any time I tried to take a break and process everything that was happening, he invaded my thoughts. All I could see, hear, or feel was him—as if he’d gotten a foothold in my mind and
heart and had started swinging elbows.

With difficulty, I finished my miles. As I started my cool down, I wondered what I would find when I turned again. Maybe he’d already jacked off. Maybe he’d leave me alone. When I
stepped off the treadmill, I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his swollen cock jutting. My pussy clenched for it.

But I forced myself to head toward the shower. As I passed him, he caught my hand.

“You’re going to have a seat.” He used his other hand to pat one of his thighs.

“I’m dripping sweat.”

His lids went heavy. “I
know
.” He reached forward and yanked down my boy shorts. Before I could step out of them, or my shoes, he’d lifted me over his lap as if I
weighed nothing.

With my back to his chest, he tucked his cockhead against my entrance. Grasping me behind my knees, he held me open atop his rod. “I’ll give you this slow.”

My arousal slicked the way as he sensuously . . . inch by inch . . . allowed me to glide down . . .

A gust of breath left him. “Your pussy’s searing me. Is my Katya still in heat?” His shaft thickened near the base. My core had to stretch to swallow his girth. “Or does
running arouse you?” He yanked up my soaked bra. His hands wandered all over my damp belly, breasts, and sex.

“Running,” I gasped out. With my shoes still on, my shorts around one ankle, and my bra hiked up, I arched to his touch. “But knowing you watched me, the
way
you watched
me . . .”

He kneaded my sweat-slicked tits and pinched my nipples, ruthlessly, as he had in the shower. “You get me harder than I’ve ever been. For an hour, I wet the sheet with pre-cum, my
balls laden for you.”

When he tickled my clit, I moaned, beginning to grind on him. I undulated, impaled, using his shaft.

He pressed his lips to the spot where my shoulder met my neck. With an openmouthed kiss, he licked my sweat, rasping against my skin, “
Mine
.”

Ay, Dios mío, it
is
so good!
The message he’d written was true.
Too good.
I needed my boundary!

As if he knew I wanted to resist him, he commanded, “
Surrender
,” as his fingers covered my clit, rubbing side to side, fast, hard.

My eyes slid closed, my mind shutting down, almost like that headspace I’d craved.

Sensation ruled me.

I was aware of his cock, his hands—and his rumbling voice. I held on to the sound of it, as if he were leading me home. I moved on him like I’d never moved, keening his name. I
craned my head back to get his mouth on mine, knowing he’d share the taste of my sweat and brand my mind with memories.

When I came, I was shaken, my cry against his lips plaintive.
Don’t do this to me.

In answer, his warm cum flooded me, as if to repeat, “
Mine.
”

For how long . . . ?

His body quaked with after-shudders, his arms locked around me. He clutched me tightly, as if I were a treasure he’d never part with.

“That merely took the edge off.” He nipped my earlobe. “I’m nowhere close to satiation.” There was a smile in his voice. Someone was having a great morning.

Setting me up for a crash.
I disentangled myself from his arms, levering myself off his still hard dick.

He hissed in a breath. “That was . . . abrupt.”

Without looking at him, I stepped from my shorts, toeing off my shoes and socks. I made my way to the shower.

Denying my escape, he joined me under the cascade, dragging me close. He peered down at my face, but I gazed away.

“Ah. I think you enjoyed that
too
much. I know I did. Does it make you uneasy?”

“Why do you have to sleep with me?” I demanded. “You don’t even like me. You keep your things in the master bedroom. Why don’t you keep yourself there?”

“Hmm. Maybe we should both sleep in my room, the
master’s
bedroom. Perhaps I’ll have your treadmill and your things transferred.”

I’d wanted separation—not more closeness! “You said you’d be done with me. Why aren’t you? How long will you keep me?”

His hands dropped to my ass, palms covering my curves. “I’ve observed that you’re much more affectionate with the belt—”