The Master (The Game Maker #2)(37)

Then came a last shudder. A final spurt of hot seed.

A long ragged groan . . .

He pulled out of my mouth, drawing away to return to the other side of the bed. Between breaths, he said, “Now it’s your turn.” Again, he seized an ankle and dragged me to him. As he leaned down, his harsh exhalations heated my jutting clitoris, my swollen lips, and the sensitive opening between. “You’re already on the verge. Deep-throating me got your * even wetter? Or maybe you liked exploring your master’s body? Ask permission to come.”

Despite my need, I wasn’t going to obey. “Can I come”—I bucked up, offering myself—“is what I’m supposed to say. But don’t you want to make me orgasm?”

Accent thick, he said, “I’ll punish you for that later. You want me to, don’t you? For now, I’m going to lick your needy little clit.” He lashed it with his tongue—once, twice, three times—and I screamed as my climax began.

Coiled tension exploded. I fisted the sheets and thrashed my head. Mouth hot and tongue hungry, he forced my aching * to contract again and again. . . .

He kept kissing me. Too sensitive! Too much! I had to twist my hips before he released me.

He sat on the bed and collected me in his arms. Claiming my lips, he gave me my taste, taking his own, our tongues lazily twining.

I was soon primed for round two, but he drew back. He affectionately tucked a curl behind my ear, making me sigh. “You just sucked me off, and you didn’t negotiate a price. I think you’re beginning to like me.”

“Pendejo!” I disentangled myself from his arms.

“Should I start a ‘donation’ tab?”

“Bésame el culo!” I stormed into the bathroom. Inside, I gazed at my reflection, attempting to process what had just happened.

I’d never felt safer with a man—or cheaper. How could he be so tender, so praising? Then so cruel? Everything with him was an extreme. The pleasure was extreme.

As was my love life. Between my two lovers, I’d gone from “I plan to murder you at my earliest convenience” to “I own you.”

The latter of which aroused me insanely. Why? Why? Why?

I sensed, with a sick feeling in my chest, that Sevastyan was the only man who could make me feel this passion and intensity. In my limited time with him, maybe I should ignore his dickish comments and explore my sexuality? Experience as much of his heart-stopping eroticism as I could?

To last a lifetime.

After washing off, I returned. He was on the bed, gloriously naked, with a shiny metal contraption in his hands. “You touched yourself against my command, and you came without permission.”

I swallowed. “What is that?”

“Your descent into BDSM.”

I backed up a step. “You’re going to hurt me.”

That angered him. “I am not a man who would ever hurt a woman.” “Then what is that?”

He rose, stalking closer. “It’s a chastity belt. To keep you from coming.”

“Are you joking?” How archaic! “You just had that lying around?”

“Hardly. I couldn’t have cared less if a partner got off or not. Plus, I never would’ve been around one long enough for it to matter.”

The glimmering metal captivated my eyes. “Where did you get it?” And why couldn’t I look away? Intrigante. So intriguing.

“From the maker. A rush order.”

“Why me?”

“Because I own your body now. I bought it, and I’m owed it for what you did. I want control over it.”

My back met the wall. “You mean control over my sexuality.”

He planted a hand above my head, leaning in. “Yes.” I was about to tell him where he could shove that belt, when he said, “It’s only fair since you control me to this degree.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You make me hard at a glance and have me dripping pre-cum like a randy lad, though I never did before. You do this to me. Minutes ago, I shot down your throat till my eyes rolled back in my head, and yet . . .” He jerked his chin at his rebounding erection. “Why would I not want to control you in turn?”

My lips parted at his admission. I was affecting him like this. Me. A man of his experience, who’d known so many women all over the world, found something special in me.

Just as I did him.

“I’m going to put this on you, and you’re going to like it.” The wicked promise in his eyes made my heart race with excitement. He sounded so confident, as if he knew something about me—something that I didn’t.

After a hasty risk/reward assessment, I decided to try it for a bit. I could always take it off.

“Spread for me, dushen’ka,” he said, reading me so well.

As I stared up at his face, I found myself spreading my legs.

The strap he ran between my thighs was wider in the front, tapering to a G-string in the back. Cushioned on the inside with inflexible metal on the outside, the belt fitted over my clit, leaving part of my lips exposed, then slipped between my cheeks. Both ends of the strap fastened into a circle of metal around my waist. I was surprised by how tight it was, by how seamlessly it fit me.

He jostled the belt to make sure I couldn’t get out of it. Before I could protest, he’d secured a small padlock on the side.