The Master (The Game Maker #2)(47)

I exhaled a shaky breath.

“All this golden skin.” He traced the tan line beside my areola. “If I lick your flesh, will I taste the sun?”

Shivers coursed over me.

“Turn around and hold on to that bar.” He indicated the metal towel rack. “Prepare for your punishment.”

Was I really going to try another type of BDSM? I’d relished the belt, but that hadn’t hurt.

“Don’t fight me.”

“Por Dios, just wait.”

“For what?”

“I’m doing a risk/reward analysis.”

He froze, a gust of breath leaving him. “Indeed? The courtesan who hardened all the cocks in that meeting would now like to perform an analysis?”

Shouldn’t I brave this out for a few minutes? Just to see what all the fuss was about? Hadn’t I decided to experience as much of his mind-blowing sex as I could in my limited time with him? To explore my sexuality?

He was looking into my eyes, studying me. Would my pupils truly flare now that I’d surrendered?

He gave me a cocky smirk. “There it is.” He grabbed my hips and turned me around. “Hold on to that. And do not let go, or I’ll deepen your punishment.”

With a swallow, I reached for the towel bar, bending over, baring myself to him even more.

I could feel his gaze on my ass and *. “Risk/reward,” he muttered. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or whip you harder.”

Positioned like this, I felt utterly vulnerable. So why was I having a hard time keeping my hips still?

Especially when he followed the tan line across my ass with a reverent finger. “You made sure I saw this, revealing it in a room full of men. But it was for me.”

“Maybe—”

He slapped one cheek.

The sound was loud in the enclosure, startling me as much as the hit. “Whoa!” No warning? It stung—until he began kneading me with his big hands, transforming the strike into . . . heat.

His cock pulsed against his leg just before he slapped the other side of my ass. The rap echoed off the tile.

“Look at your ass moving with my strikes.” Again, he kneaded me, generating that sublime heat. “For days, this flesh has begged to be chastised.” A harder slap. More massaging. “I can see how wet you’re getting. You were made for this.”

I was beginning to think he was right. That bloom of heat spread from my ass to my thighs and *, to low in my belly.

With his next slap, I turned my head and moaned against my arm. He massaged me so perfectly.

“If you make me jealous, Katya, you play a dangerous game.” Slap. He was breathing more heavily. “When those men leered at you in that thong, I had the impulse to tear off that bell with my teeth and f*ck you in front of all of them—so they’d know who makes you scream.”

His jealousy hit me like a drug. I shook.

“I am f*cking you. No one else. I alone own your body.” Slap.

I should be appalled by what he was saying; I could listen to his dark musings for days.

“You are my prized possession, and they coveted you.” Did he just call me a possession? “When other men covet what’s mine, I want to punish them. And you.” SLAP.

The fiercest one yet. I hissed in a breath through my teeth. But right when I raised my ass for another, the devil stopped.

“Why did you quit?”

“Because now I need to f*ck this”—he rubbed his cock along the wet lips of my *—“more than I need to chastise your ass. Spread your legs.”

I eagerly did, and he pressed the crown to my core. With his heated palms, he clutched my hips. Without warning, he shoved forward and snatched me back at the same time.

The thrust ripped a cry from my lungs and sent me up on my toes—but I was slick, ready for his invasion.

“I knew you would love that.” He reached his hands around, cupping my breasts. Then he pinched one peak, hard.

I gasped, and when my * clenched in reaction, he made a pained sound. “This as well.” He seized my other nipple, tweaking both between his merciless fingers—so why was I arching for more?

“I’m going to clamp these, dushen’ka.” He squeezed them as he thrust. “It will drive you crazy. We’ve got time.”

When he released my nipples, I moaned as blood returned to them. I gazed down, marveling at how engorged they were, how lurid a sight. I could feel my own breaths fanning over the hypersensitive tips.

While I hung on to that bar, he poured some kind of bath oil over my ass, continuing his massage. One hand gripped my hip to hold me steady. With his other hand, his seeking fingers dipped between my curves. Would he touch my ass as I had his?

Even expecting the contact, when he stroked me dead center, I jerked, trying to tuck my hips.

His laugh rumbled. “You really are a virgin there. Your other man doesn’t play with you like this?”

I didn’t bother arguing.

“His loss.” Sevastyan resumed his exploration, circling me with the pad of his slickened thumb. “Do not release your grip on the bar. No matter what I do.” He dipped his thumb down, pressing. Was he going to penetrate me?

The pleasure was unknown to me, peculiar—but no less intense. I arched my back down, sending my ass even higher. He pressed and oiled, pressed and oiled, while I shook from the onslaught of sensation.