The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(15)
Author: Kresley Cole

“Understand?” His palm cracked across my ass again.

“Ow!” That one hadn’t been a love tap either. “Yes!”

“Say, ‘I understand, Sevastyan.’”

“I-I understand, Sevastyan.” But I didn’t. His eyes were flashing with excitement, his chest heaving; the tip of his bulging c**k had moistened the material of his pants. He got that turned on from whipping me?

Did I? Obedience was one thing, but this was corporal. Yet I was as wet as I’d ever been, my ass tingling so deliciously that I craved another slap.

Which couldn’t be right. How could I crave something I should fear?

Between breaths, he said, “Don’t like a man giving you a correction?”

My body screamed, Yes! But my mind resisted. The truth? “I’m undecided.”

That made him scowl anew. “Hands, Natalya.”

When I twined them behind me, he positioned me on my back again. Grasping my br**sts once more, he lowered his head, mouth almost to my nipple.

Suck it. Make me come. “Please, your mouth.” I could hardly utter my thoughts. “Your tongue.”

“If you were mine, I’d pierce these. Force you to wear my gold.”

Pierce. Mine. Force. His gold.

Every word was dripping with domination. He was talking about piercing me—and merely imagining it made me undulate up to his clothed crotch for relief. But he kept that beautiful bulge in his pants from touching me.

His hot hands continued to squeeze. Just when I thought my tits couldn’t get any bigger, any pinker, any more sensitive, when I was rocking my hips in abandon, he rubbed his stubbled chin over one nipple.

“Sevastyan!” I was almost levitating with pleasure, babbling, “Please, please, please.”

“What would you give me to suckle you?”

Easy. “Anything.”

Voice rough with lust, he demanded, “Would you be my slave? I’d want to bind you, make you helpless. I’d use you in unspeakable ways.”

As long as he made me feel like this—with my ass on fire and my br**sts so swollen I could hardly think of anything but my own inflamed flesh. “Yes, yes!”

“You’d feel the bite of leather across your br**sts, its sting between your legs.”

I arched to him. “Okay!”

His grip tightened even more. “This was supposed to punish you, to punish me. But you f**king love it. You need it, even if you don’t know how badly.”

My head thrashed, and I murmured over and over, “I love it, need it.”

“Put your hands over your mouth. Muffle your scream.”

My what? Still, I did as he said.

In Russian, he muttered, “God help us both.” Then he sucked one of my engorged ni**les between his firm lips, into the waiting heat of his mouth.

His wet tongue lashed the peak as his teeth grazed—

My orgasm ripped through me. Violent, scorching, startling. Melting me as waves of pleasure contracted my untouched pu**y—clenching inside, clenching so hard. Bucking my hips, I pressed my hands tight over my mouth to muffle my ecstatic screams.

The release was so intense, two tears spilled down my temples.

He sucked my other nipple, and the waves returned, my core convulsing.

Rapture . . .

When I was spent, he released me and drew back on his knees. I struggled to catch my breath and marshal my thoughts—failed on both counts—so I gave him a tentative grin.

As his gaze swept over my body and then to my curling lips, he looked like he struggled with rage—with actual rage. Which couldn’t be right.

I scrambled up to kneel before him, my br**sts feeling so lush. My ni**les were damp and throbbing against his rock-hard torso. I whispered, “More.”

I could feel his body shaking. So why wasn’t he throwing me down, plunging inside me?

My hand tripped down his body. When I palmed his huge, hot cock, he made a growling sound. As I traced it with my fingers, I found the wet spot from his pr**cum, and shivered with want. “More.”

Between gritted teeth, he said, “Fuck—you.”

“I don’t understand. What did I do?”

He grabbed the length of my hair, wrapping it around his fist. “Ty ne dolzhen byl byt’ takym.” You weren’t supposed to be like this.

Tugging my head down to the side, he slanted his mouth over mine. He kissed as wickedly as he did everything else, with sensual flicks of his tongue stroking mine. I threw my arms around his neck, pressing our chests together.

His skin felt like it burned with fever, his heart thundering. When one of my ni**les glided across one of his, he groaned into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

Tongues tangling, breaths mingling. Slow, sinful, shattering. Until I was rubbing my body against his in abandon.

Yet then he broke away. “You don’t know better, but I’ll teach you.” I heard him tear open his zipper. He used his grip on my hair to tug me down to my hands and knees; with his other hand, he yanked out his shaft. Bigger even than I’d imagined. Exquisite.

Under my captivated gaze, his veined length bobbed. I watched it pulse even harder. A bead of moisture clung to the head, glistening in the moonlight, and I was hungry for it.

He merely waited while I stared, his hand shaking in my hair. If he’d wanted to frighten me away, why hadn’t he forced my mouth onto it? Shoved it back in my throat?

He muttered words in Russian, his voice so hoarse I had trouble understanding him. Something about needing to drive me away, while faltering to.

I wanted to pay attention, to ask him to explain, but that bead taunted me. Unable to help myself, I eased forward and swiped my tongue along the tip, tasting his arousal, stoking mine to a fever pitch all over again.

A guttural sound broke from his chest. I glanced up, saw his head thrown back, the muscles in his chest rippling with strain. His arm muscles twitched.

I’d given blow jobs before, but was by no means an expert. Yet I’d always thought enthusiasm trumped lack of talent. Encouraged by his reaction, I sucked him into my mouth, tracing those veins with my tongue.

He began to rock his hips in a sensuous rhythm, slipping his shaft deeper between my lips. Holding me in place with his grip in my hair, he leisurely f**ked my mouth.

With his free hand, he brushed his knuckles along my jawline, then the shell of my ear. As if he couldn’t help himself.

One hand gripped my hair, demanding I obey; his other caressed my face as if to thank me for it.

The contrast was maddening. This man was maddening. And he tasted so sublime, I found myself tending him . . . lovingly.