I cock my head. I’m good at reading people, but I have no idea where she’s going. I can detect lies; I can’t read minds. “Say it,” I command in no more than a whisper.
She swallows like she’s nervous to ask me.
“What do you need, malysh?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
I don’t wait. I tuck my forearm under her hips to boost her up and carry her, straddling my waist toward our hotel room. I’m still trying to decipher why she hesitated to ask. “Did you mean just fuck you?”
She nips my earlobe. “Please, Master.”
I manage to extract and tap the keycard against the handle then kick the door open. “How do you want to get fucked?”
“Hard. Rough. Underneath you.”
I set her down and peel off her dress. She’s flushed, her hair tousled.
The ugliness of the convenience store seeps away. Maybe the night’s not so ruined.
“You want missionary sex.”
She checks my face, and when she sees I’m teasing, gets flirty, “Yes, but with a very rough missionary.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure those exist.” I unbutton my shirt and toe off my shoes. “Lose the clothes. Missionaries definitely don’t wear heels and thigh-highs to bed.”
She scrambles to obey as I strip out of my clothes, too.
“Open the bed. We have to be under the sheets, right?”
“N-not necessarily.”
I reach past her and yank down the bedcovers. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Get in bed, printsessa.” I follow her in and crawl over the top of her. “Close your eyes.”
I wait until she’s obeyed before I part her thighs and lower my head to lick into her. She’s already wet and juicy. “What got you wet, blossom? Me fighting for you?”
“Yes,” she admits.
I want to ask more, but she tastes too good to continue the interrogation. I roll my tongue around her clit, lick her sex like a juicy peach. I don’t stay long enough to make her come—my cock aches to be inside her already—again.
Always.
I climb over her and slide in, groaning inwardly at how good it feels. “You need it rough, baby?”
She rocks her hips up to meet mine. “Yes, sir. Yes.”
I pull back and slam in hard, bracing one hand against the headboard. “This hard?” I thrust again, throwing out my free hand to catch her shoulder when I realize her head is going to hit the wood.
Her eyes roll back in her head. “Yes.”
Well, damn. Missionary never felt less vanilla. The same heady power courses through me as when we scene. Her moans mingle protest with desire as I hold her in place to drill her.
I move my hand from her shoulder to her throat. I’ve held her throat before but loosely, symbolically. Now I have to hang on to keep her from hitting her head. Her eyes fly open, alarm registering.
The sadist in me fucking loves her fear, and I slam in even harder. I know I won’t hurt her, but she doesn’t know how far I’ll go.
She cries out, so I know she can safe word if she needs to. I’m not cutting off her air. Her cries grow frantic, needy. Her legs thrash beneath me.
All the adrenaline that pumped through my veins at the convenience store finds its release now—given a far more delicious purpose the moment Kayla made her request. I’ve never needed to fuck so hard. To violently pleasure myself and a partner.
Kayla sobs with desperate desire. “Master.” I don’t know if she’s begging to come or for me to stop, but the pleading word brings on the hardest orgasm of my fucking life.
I come and come and come inside her, forgetting to give her permission.
“May I—?” She’s already coming, her tight channel squeezing my dick in quick pulses.
“Come.” I keep rocking into her, slowing the force and speed of my thrusts but still nowhere near gentle. I keep my hand wrapped around her throat as I claim her pouty lips, kissing the hell out of her, my facial hair reddening her baby soft skin.
“Was that what you needed, blossom?” My voice sounds rough, as if I’d been the one shouting a release.
“Yes.” She pants, a sheen of sweat making her tits look slick and inviting. I release her throat and trail my hand over one of them, thumbing her nipple.
I lower my body over hers, blanketing her as I nuzzle into her neck. “You’re beautiful when you come without permission.”
Her breath stalls for a moment, and then she gets defensive. “You said yes.”
“Mm.”
She wriggles beneath me, and I roll us to our sides, still connected. “I said yes to save you from punishment. Don’t expect I’ll always be so merciful.”
The room is dark—I never turned on the lights—but I think I detect a blush.
I ease out of her and roll onto my back, the post-orgasm relaxation settling in swiftly.
“You’re mean,” she murmurs, nestling against my side and scraping the tip of her nail over my nipple.
I cover her hand and pull her fingers to my lips. “You like it.” I close my eyes, listening to the hum of pleasure running through my body. Marveling at what Kayla does to me. How sex with her can flip a situation so completely. “Well, this went in a totally different direction than I expected,” I tell her, uncharacteristically open with my thoughts.
She pauses a moment. “What did you expect?”
I make a non-committal sound, then I just admit it. “I was pretty sure you were going to call red on the whole thing.”
She sits up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts like she’s feeling vulnerable. She stares straight ahead. “Do you want to end this?”
I roll to my side to see her face in the shadows. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why she sounds hurt.
I also can’t explain the alarm that spreads through me. When we were walking back and I was assigning odds to the chance of her ending things, I was troubled but still calm as hell. Right now, adrenaline spikes through my system, and my skin prickles like I’m in physical danger. Or like she is.
She’s asking me point blank. I could end things right now. Do what I planned to do. Before things get serious. Before I have to choose between the brotherhood and love. Between atoning for my sins in Russia and staying here with her.
I should say yes. Explain how this is a bad idea. Right now. There won’t be a better time.
“No.” I sound angry.
She finally looks at me. “Then stop suggesting it.” Her voice is soft, but she’s never sounded so firm. Like she’s giving me an ultimatum that I hardly understand.
Stop suggesting it.
Fuck.
4
Kayla
After a morning of torturing my body in the best possible way, Pavel tries to book a spa appointment for me at the Four Seasons.
“I’m sorry, but we book weeks in advance, there’s simply nothing available,” I hear the spa attendant tell him over the hotel phone.
“That’s okay, I’m good.” I sidle up to him. “Feeling pretty relaxed already,” I murmur.
He hangs up and loops an arm around me. “What should we do?”
I have this strong urge to get us out of the hotel room. I think that’s why I wanted to walk with him to the convenience store last night. All of our interactions are in the bedroom or BDSM club, which is amazing. But I want more. Or I want to find out if there’s the possibility for more.