The Professional Part 2 (3 page)

“Say that in Russian. I love that word from you.”

“Pozhaluista!”

“Enjoy more of my kiss.” I felt his ragged breaths against my spread opening. “But do
not
come.”

Fierce licks over my clit forced a desperate cry from my lungs. Too late. I couldn’t withstand this. The wave was crashing over me—

“You’re coming?” With a growl of irritation, he sucked harder to finish me, tonguing me at the same time. My body twisted against my bonds, legs spread, hips bucking wantonly to his mouth.
Fuck. Fuck.
Sucking me so hard. Wringing from me the most powerful orgasm I’d ever imagined.

Just as he’d promised.

As before, my mind was . . . reset.

I lay, recovering from the staggering pleasure—but not sated. Instead of putting out the fire, that release had just taken the edge off, enough for my thoughts to briefly clear. The better for me to appreciate what he was doing to me.

To appreciate my submissive position. My helplessness. His mastery.

As I squirmed with after-shudders, he continued to lave me, savoring. “I taste your cum . . . could lick you forever.” His voice sounded strained. “But you orgasmed before I wanted you to,
moya plohaya devchonka
.” That meant “my bad girl.” As in naughty or . . . wicked.

And I was. For him, I was.

He pulled away. “I’m going to have to start over, to get you wild again. Are you ready for your punishment?”

In a dim part of my brain, I recognized that he’d set me up to be punished, that it was always going to fall to this—because he played games.

Was he playing for higher stakes than I could afford to lose?

Chapter 20

“I
’m ready.”
I think.
I didn’t recognize my whiskey voice. Gone scratchy from my screams?

I heard a rustle and my eyes shot wide behind my blindfold. Was that a
venik
? One of those mini leaf brooms? What would he be doing with that . . . ? My questions faded when he ran it over my chest.

The wet leaves slithered over the contours of my breasts, the texture just this side of rough across my stiffened nipples. With a cry, I arched up—

Slap.
He’d whipped one of my breasts! “Sevastyan!” Then the other. “What are you—”

And again! The sting continued to intensify, but my nipples hardened even more, as if to tempt another slap—which he promptly gave.

Over. And over.

I almost demanded that he stop—but everything he’d done to me in the past had been too earth-shattering to be missed. So I gritted my teeth and took the pain for him.

While my mind struggled to assimilate my . . . my
whipping
, he swatted those soft leaves over me repeatedly, the slapping sounds loud in the cocoon of the sauna.

As I gasped and shook, pain began to morph into a peculiar kind of pleasure. I couldn’t . . .
crave
this? I’d ended up enjoying his harsh spanking on the plane, but having my breasts thrashed with an implement was seriously upping the ante.

So why had I started rising up to meet each stroke?

He lashed me until my tautened breasts ached, my nipples throbbing as badly as my clit had.

But I couldn’t reach the brink like this. He was withholding any contact below my waist—more punishment for coming; I knew this as well as if he’d told me.

“Touch me, Sevastyan!” My inner walls clenched only emptiness. “I have to come again.”

“Do you want me inside you?”

I moaned, barely recalling why it was so important not to have sex. “Oh, God . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” My lust-stupid brain spun its wheels, gained no traction.

“If you became mine, I wouldn’t let you go.” His words were clipped, as if he was biting back frenzy. “Understand me, if I’m your first lover—I will be your last.” The ringing tone of finality chilled me. “And I would kill any man who thought to touch what was mine.”

Permanent.

“Beg me to fuck you.” He lashed my right breast.

Trap!

In my mind, I saw him at the ready, about to capture me, to chain me forever. The hunter about to strike.
This
was what he’d awaited.

This. Why now? Why me?

“Beg, Natalya.”

Can’t think!
“N-no?”

Silence. Finally: “What did you say?”

“I can’t. Not unless you can tell me it’ll only be sex. With no strings attached.”

“I said you controlled this situation.” Tone gone sinister, he grated, “But
I
control
you
. I can
make
you beg.”

I whispered, “I know.”

My admission seemed to temper some of his anger. “Then why deny us,
milaya
?”

“It’s all too much. I just . . . can’t.”

“Then I won’t fuck you till you beg me to—outside of this torment. Because I’m playing to win.”
He makes the rules.
“This is more to me than just pleasure.” Another slap of the
venik
.

“Sevastyan, I don’t . . . I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.” Just when I was about to plead for mercy—or faint—I felt pressure at my core. A warm, bulbous object nudged against my opening. Despite what he’d said,
was
he going to fuck me?

No . . . that wasn’t his . . . oh, dear God, was it the polished handle of the ladle? I whimpered, “Y-you can’t.” I couldn’t think—because he’d begun to slowly penetrate me. “You’re . . . you’re doing this to spite me?” Diabolical man!

“I promised you unmatched pleasure, yet you took away my most effective means. Come now, pet, you said you needed something inside you.”

I did. And I wanted it deeper, but he merely thrust with shallow pumps, until my head lolled. He avoided my clit completely—more punishment. Still, I was about to come.

Slap.
Even as he fucked my pussy with the handle, he whipped my tender breasts. At that moment, I couldn’t decide which stimulation I would kill for most.

I
did
crave the brand of pain this man delivered.

“Bend your will to mine.” The strain in his voice made my toes curl. He lashed me; he thrust into my clinging channel. He maddened me. “When I order you to come,
obey
.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust
to the staccato sounds of my whipping.

I sobbed from the intensity. Gone light-headed. Euphoric. “Sevastyan, oh, God,
please
.” A keening moan burst from my lungs.

“Ah, woman, your
sounds
! Come for me. Now.”

I plummeted over the edge. Core-deep contractions made me scream with abandon, made me jerk against the ties as my body spasmed.

Lost in the throes, I heard myself confessing things: how I dreamed of him fucking me. How much I hungered to take him with my mouth. How I’d masturbated to fantasies of him.

Each admission was punctuated by his ragged groans.

When the pleasure finally subsided—even more heart-stopping than the orgasm before—I was left senseless, struggling to catch my breath. To
process
what he’d just made me feel.

With a loving kiss against my thigh, he gently removed the handle, leaving me empty once more. Yet I realized I still wasn’t sated, that this need had only grown. Where would this insanity end? How could he make me into this mindless creature?

While he kept demonstrating such control, I was a slave to sensation. To
him
.

And hadn’t he told me he wanted to make me his slave?

I felt him untying my blindfold. “Look at yourself,” he commanded.

I blinked down. Didn’t recognize myself. This was a stranger’s body. Her pale skin was bright pink and slicked with sweat. Locks of stark red hair snaked over heavy breasts, coiling around lewdly protruding nipples. Her little clitoris was so swollen it jutted from her mons.

This stranger was a picture of wicked need. She looked like she’d been used. Just as Sevastyan had said.

Not a stranger.

Me
.

Revelation. The blindfold had come off—and
I
had been revealed, a new me that I hadn’t known could exist. I gazed at my abused nipples in wonderment, staring as if in a trance.

When his groan broke my stare, I twisted my head toward him.

He was revealed too. Just as my body had changed, so had his. His muscles were impossibly larger, corded with tension under his mist-slicked skin.

But nothing could compete with the view of his magnificent cock. His shaft was engorged, as if begging to be buried within hot flesh. In the firelight, moisture glistened atop the plum-colored head, making my mouth water.

He was . . . a
god
, with skin burnished by fire.

When I could drag my gaze from his body, I drank in the sight of his face. His lips were thinned, that scar a razor slash of white. His wet hair tangled over his lean, flushed cheeks. His noble face was filled with pain.

Pain earned while delivering my pleasure.

And in his smoldering eyes was his own madness. A bone-deep yearning that called to mine.

With his accent thick, he bit out one word:
Obsessed.

I didn’t know if he was talking about himself or me. Didn’t know if it was a question or an answer. Imagining it was the word foremost in his thoughts, I replied with the one foremost in mine:
Revelation.

His brows drew tight, and he hissed,
“Yes.”
When he reached for the tie at my wrists, his cock slid across my sensitive belly and streamed pre-cum from the tip. It was like a taunt, a reminder of what I’d been denied, stoking my lust even more. I was still sizzling inside, seething like him.

“And we’re not through,” he promised. He loosened the knot—enough for me to eventually free my hands?—then stepped away. Leaning back against the nearby wall, he began to masturbate his mouthwatering cock.

I was transfixed by the erotic sight: a god, thrumming with need, self-pleasuring.

Then I realized he meant to deprive me yet again. “No, stop!” Crazed for him, I struggled to free myself the rest of the way—while he watched me with golden eyes.

Always watching me.

As he slowly fucked his fist, a shining bead welled from the crown. My eyes followed it as it slid down to the edge of his hand, and I wanted to cry. I strained harder, panic making my hands clumsy. “Please stop!” I was ravenous for him. Wild with hunger. I bit down on my lip, trying to stave it off.

He didn’t stop, just continued torturing me with what I couldn’t have. To be this close to him, yet kept apart? It was
killing
me.

“Please wait for me!” I wasn’t merely stupid with lust, I was sick with it, fevered. “I
need
you!”

Then he spoke. “What you feel right now . . . I
always
feel. Since I first saw you.”

The way I felt right now?

How had he survived it for so long?

But we didn’t have to feel that way anymore. I clawed at the ties, freed my hands! Never gazing away from him, from his twisting fist and rippling muscles, I began to tear at the knots around my knees. “
Please
,
wait . . .”

And then I was free.

Brows drawn tight, he groaned in anticipation, in . . . pain.

I could ease it.
Devour him. Drain him.
Ignoring the twinges in my muscles, I scrambled up.

A split second later I was on my knees before him, my nails embedded in his pecs, his length sucked deep into my throat.

His roar shook the room like thunder. As he continued yelling to the ceiling, I bathed his cock with my tongue, worshipping it. Impaled my throat with that broad head. Moaned with every hint of cum.

I raked my nails down his torso, then used one hand to clench his ass, the other to heft his heavy testicles.

He buried his fingers in my hair. In a voice so rough I barely recognized it, he murmured Russian to me.

Ordering me to keep milking him with my hungry little mouth.

Informing me that he would gladly do murder to possess me.

Declaring that my body belonged to him alone.

His unguarded words were about to send me over the edge when he grated, “You will wait for me . . . wait for my seed on your tongue.”

His dusky sac tightened in my palm as his body prepared for release. I didn’t think the meaty girth of his cock could get any thicker between my lips. Then it did. That swelling of semen was right below the crown.

“Look at me,
milaya
.”

I peered up to find him frozen, his face a mask of agony, his body captured in perfect strain. As I tongued him, our gazes locked. For what felt like eternity, we were held suspended.

Then to the sound of his anguished bellow, heat jetted against the back of my throat.

He began thrusting furiously. I gripped his ass with both my hands to feel his muscles flexing as he worked to spend every last drop inside me.

“You”—thrust—“are”—thrust—“
mine
.”

With his cum on my tongue—my permission—I dipped my fingers to my clit and gave one sensuous slippery stroke.