The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(6)

“I promised you unmatched pleasure, yet you took away my most effective means. Come now, pet, you said you needed something inside you.”

I did. And I wanted it deeper, but he merely thrust with shallow pumps, until my head lolled. He avoided my clit completely—more punishment. Still, I was about to come.

Slap. Even as he f*cked my * with the handle, he whipped my tender breasts. At that moment, I couldn’t decide which stimulation I would kill for most.

I did crave the brand of pain this man delivered.

“Bend your will to mine.” The strain in his voice made my toes curl. He lashed me; he thrust into my clinging channel. He maddened me. “When I order you to come, obey.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust to the staccato sounds of my whipping.

I sobbed from the intensity. Gone light-headed. Euphoric. “Sevastyan, oh, God, please.” A keening moan burst from my lungs.

“Ah, woman, your sounds! Come for me. Now.”

I plummeted over the edge. Core-deep contractions made me scream with abandon, made me jerk against the ties as my body spasmed.

Lost in the throes, I heard myself confessing things: how I dreamed of him f*cking me. How much I hungered to take him with my mouth. How I’d masturbated to fantasies of him.

Each admission was punctuated by his ragged groans.

When the pleasure finally subsided—even more heart-stopping than the orgasm before—I was left senseless, struggling to catch my breath. To process what he’d just made me feel.

With a loving kiss against my thigh, he gently removed the handle, leaving me empty once more. Yet I realized I still wasn’t sated, that this need had only grown. Where would this insanity end? How could he make me into this mindless creature?

While he kept demonstrating such control, I was a slave to sensation. To him.

And hadn’t he told me he wanted to make me his slave?

I felt him untying my blindfold. “Look at yourself,” he commanded.

I blinked down. Didn’t recognize myself. This was a stranger’s body. Her pale skin was bright pink and slicked with sweat. Locks of stark red hair snaked over heavy breasts, coiling around lewdly protruding nipples. Her little clitoris was so swollen it jutted from her mons.

This stranger was a picture of wicked need. She looked like she’d been used. Just as Sevastyan had said.

Not a stranger.

Me.

Revelation. The blindfold had come off—and I had been revealed, a new me that I hadn’t known could exist. I gazed at my abused nipples in wonderment, staring as if in a trance.

When his groan broke my stare, I twisted my head toward him.

He was revealed too. Just as my body had changed, so had his. His muscles were impossibly larger, corded with tension under his mist-slicked skin.

But nothing could compete with the view of his magnificent cock. His shaft was engorged, as if begging to be buried within hot flesh. In the firelight, moisture glistened atop the plum-colored head, making my mouth water.

He was . . . a god, with skin burnished by fire.

When I could drag my gaze from his body, I drank in the sight of his face. His lips were thinned, that scar a razor slash of white. His wet hair tangled over his lean, flushed cheeks. His noble face was filled with pain.

Pain earned while delivering my pleasure.

And in his smoldering eyes was his own madness. A bone-deep yearning that called to mine.

With his accent thick, he bit out one word: Obsessed.

I didn’t know if he was talking about himself or me. Didn’t know if it was a question or an answer. Imagining it was the word foremost in his thoughts, I replied with the one foremost in mine: Revelation.

His brows drew tight, and he hissed, “Yes.” When he reached for the tie at my wrists, his cock slid across my sensitive belly and streamed pre-cum from the tip. It was like a taunt, a reminder of what I’d been denied, stoking my lust even more. I was still sizzling inside, seething like him.

“And we’re not through,” he promised. He loosened the knot—enough for me to eventually free my hands?—then stepped away. Leaning back against the nearby wall, he began to masturbate his mouthwatering cock.

I was transfixed by the erotic sight: a god, thrumming with need, self-pleasuring.

Then I realized he meant to deprive me yet again. “No, stop!” Crazed for him, I struggled to free myself the rest of the way—while he watched me with golden eyes.

Always watching me.

As he slowly f*cked his fist, a shining bead welled from the crown. My eyes followed it as it slid down to the edge of his hand, and I wanted to cry. I strained harder, panic making my hands clumsy. “Please stop!” I was ravenous for him. Wild with hunger. I bit down on my lip, trying to stave it off.

He didn’t stop, just continued torturing me with what I couldn’t have. To be this close to him, yet kept apart? It was killing me.

“Please wait for me!” I wasn’t merely stupid with lust, I was sick with it, fevered. “I need you!”

Then he spoke. “What you feel right now . . . I always feel. Since I first saw you.”

The way I felt right now?

How had he survived it for so long?

But we didn’t have to feel that way anymore. I clawed at the ties, freed my hands! Never gazing away from him, from his twisting fist and rippling muscles, I began to tear at the knots around my knees. “Please, wait . . .”