The Master (The Game Maker #2)(42)

“Feel you!” He gnashed his teeth. “About to . . . follow you.” He stopped thrusting, instead grinding between my legs, stirring his cock.

As I moaned and writhed, he drew out every wave for me, sending me soaring again and again. Slowly, I came back down. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watched him struggling to hold back his cum.

His muscles rippled, his grip on my ankles constricting. “When you come, I need to thrust into that grip. . . .” He trailed off, as if just talking about it would set him off. He shuddered, and his dampening torso flexed against the backs of my thighs.

He shook his head hard. Tense moments passed before he regained control. I could swear I almost felt his semen receding down his length.

“You didn’t ask permission, Katya.” He brought my legs together, coiling his arm around them. He lifted me bodily, till my * was the same height as his cock. Only my shoulders and head touched the bed.

When he’d positioned me how he wanted me, he pulled his shaft out to the tip, then used his entire body to shove back in. Over. And over. His groin slapped my raised ass with each assault.

Blood rushed to my head, my arms falling back. I could do nothing more than lie there and take his lusts. Could only receive and accept and feel. Shivers broke out over me, and I stretched back, euphoric.

He rasped, “You’re smiling, beauty. You’re enjoying your f*cking?” His hips were like a piston! “Does my cock make you happy?”

I moaned, “Yes.” The motion and my helplessness, his intensity and the sight of his muscles toiling—all combined to return me to the brink. I tried to arch into his movements, hastening my orgasm.

“You’re about to come again? Ask me for permission, Katya!”

I thrashed my head. “No!”

With a brutal shove, he commanded me, “Ask me the goddamned question!”

“I’ll ask, I’ll ask . . . How many times did you touch that key today?”

“Disobedient witch!” To punish me, he hauled up on my legs and gave me his hardest thrust yet.

“MáXIM!” I hurtled over the edge. White-hot bliss shattered me, radiating through every inch of my body. With each spasm, my * convulsed around his shaft, beckoning him once more to follow my pleasure.

“AHH! You’re f*cking wringing it from me! Can’t resist you this time! You’ll have it from me—”

His back bowed sharply, his torso muscles straining. He threw back his head to yell, “Katya!”

Semen shot so forcefully into my sheath, I whimpered; liquid heat bathed it like a balm. I watched his violent throes, spellbound by the chiseled planes of his body, those whipcord tendons. His hoarse bellows erupted from his chest and boomed off the walls.

Rocked by what had just occurred, I stared at him and breathed his name.

But once our orgasms subsided, he started to move again, still erect as he plunged into our mingled cum. He was just getting warmed up.

He lowered the weight of his body over me, pressing my knees into my chest. Gaze boring into mine, he said, “I touched that key constantly.”





CHAPTER 19




On the fifth day of my luxury incarceration, the hotel cleaning girl smuggled in a burner phone from Ivanna. Luckily, Sevastyan was away for business.

I called Ivanna at once. “I could kiss you!”

“So it’s true? Sevastyan won’t let you make calls?”

“He’s holding me prisoner.” With a permanent marker from the study, I’d drawn five slashes on the mirror above his sink, as though counting down days in prison. Sevastyan had been pissed: “Other women would kill to be in your position!”

Wearing a T-shirt, with nothing to do, and locked in chastity?

He’d put me in the belt again this morning. Then he’d assured me he would make it through all his meetings, and he would not return before sunset. He hadn’t realized that he fingered the key around his neck even as he spoke.

Ivanna asked, “What happened to cause your, er, imprisonment?”

“He’s totally paranoid! He thinks I tried to trap him by getting pregnant.” He still thought that.

“Why on earth?”

I cleared my throat. “Because we had unprotected sex when I was close to ovulating, and I’m not on birth control. Yet. I admit, it does sound bad, but I would never trap anyone. I’d never had that much champagne before—I was crazy drunk.” I r ubbed my temples. “I didn’t specifically tell him he could come in me, but I didn’t tell him he couldn’t either.”

“It’s okay, Cat. I have many escort friends who’ve ‘accidentally’ had a condom break—after they ran a pin through the client’s condom packs.”

“En serio? That’s sick.”

“It’s not common, but when you reach my age, and you realize you only have two or three good years left . . . It’s not as if I’ve been going to trade school, or saving up a pension. If I don’t wed a wealthy man, I’ll have to live off my savings—instead of bringing my family over.”

Still I gaped. “You would do it? Trap a guy?”

“If the circumstances were right.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t say that!”

“Don’t judge me, Cat. I have a seventeen-year-old sister and a sickly mother living in poverty, who go to sleep each night to the sound of gunfire. For them, I’d do anything. Trap a man? In—a—heartbeat. What wouldn’t you do for those you love?”