Would she like to do the things written about in this book? Maybe. But if Trey wasn’t there, she wasn’t so sure she’d find the book quite so exciting. Xander and Trey might both be sexual dominants, but somehow, Trey was different than the infamous fictional icon. He was infinitely more vibrant and scintillating, at least to her he was. She’d spied on him making love maybe six or seven times in the past, enough for her to reach that conclusion. The thing that turned her on the most about Trey was his strength in the bedroom, the way he confidently and precisely positioned a woman in order to give pleasure or to take it wholesale. He didn’t seem to get off on seeing his lover in pain. Instead, he seemed determined, forceful even, in his mission to challenge a woman, to amplify pleasure.
Eleanor also didn’t think she was the “born submissive” that Katya was supposed to be, but she had to admit . . . the combination of reading the racy book and Trey watching her with that smoldering stare and stern expression was making her hot.
Gritting her teeth for courage, she set her book facedown on the table and stood. Very aware of Trey looking up at her movement, she seductively flicked open the belt of her coat, her fingers stroking the fabric. She paused in the action, heat pouring through her. It’d hit her that she’d used the same movement to unfasten the laces on the suede camisole during her striptease last night.
She glanced sideways at Trey. Her lungs stuck on an inhale. One look had told her he was recalling the exact same moment. His stare was glued to her hands at her waist, his expression rigid.
She pulled apart the belt and slowly unfastened the buttons of the coat. She cautiously glanced sideways around the curtain of her hair. When she reached the button above her crotch, she pressed the cloth tighter, giving her pussy a little jolt of pleasure with her twitching fingers. Trey flinched slightly, his gaze jumping to her face. He looked so tense. Wait . . . was he angry? She was pushing him too far. He was getting pissed off at her teasing.
Maybe he’d like to spank me.
She mentally rolled her eyes at her stupid cliché thought, but arousal swelled in her nevertheless at the mere idea. She pushed the coat off her shoulders. Her back arched slightly. It was conceited of her to think it, but she knew her breasts looked good beneath the clinging knit: firm and full and nicely shaped. She draped her coat on the back of the chair and sat. With her fingertips, she traced the top hem of the romper and the bare skin of her thigh, seemingly pulling down
the fabric, but being pretty ineffective on purpose.
She glanced to the left. His gaze was still glued to her, and it was positively ravenous. Arousal swelled in her. She couldn’t help it. She loved getting a reaction out of him. It was addictive.
She picked up her book and uncrossed her legs, feeling the air tickling her warm, tingling sex. With Trey’s stare scoring her, she continued reading.
He made me strip naked, while he remained dressed in his suit, his loosened tie his only concession to the raw eroticism of what was happening. But I found I loved even that, the reminder of his dominance over me. This was an equal exchange, but ours was a very different sexual currency. My skin seemed unusually sensitive when I finally stood before him naked, my arms hugging my waist in a self-conscious gesture.
“Put your hands at your sides. Never hide yourself from me,” he said. When I’d done what he asked, his gaze trailed down over me, such a cold stare to make me burn like it did. Finally he looked at my face again. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. Maybe it was my imagination, but his deep voice seemed to crack slightly. He moved, picking up one of the leather restraints from his desk. He knelt in front of me and tapped my left ankle gently. “Spread your legs several inches. Good,” he said. He fastened a black leather cuff on each of my ankles. There was a foot-long chain attached to the cuffs. He straightened, his face impassive, and reached for the other restraint.
“Put your hands behind your head,” he directed, walking behind me. My breathing hitched at the sensation of him tightening the cuffs around my wrists. “Now cup the back of your head with your palms to give yourself support,” he said. “If you should begin to cramp or become uncomfortable, you must say so. A paddling on your ass is your punishment. I won’t have you in any discomfort for other reasons. Do you understand?” I nodded, too breathless to speak. “You agree to tell me if your arms become uncomfortable? Say it out loud, Katya.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He stepped behind his desk. My heart jumped when he picked up the wooden paddle. He used it to point at the floor several feet away from him. “Come stand here in front of me.”
I felt awkward walking naked, with my cuffed ankles and my hands behind my head, but for some reason, my nipples pinched tight in arousal as I came to a standstill before him. I looked up at him, uncertain, feeling very small in comparison to his tall, strong male body. Very aroused. His nostrils flared slightly.
“You will come to fear the paddle a little,” he said. He extended the hand that held my instrument of punishment. My breath caught, but all he did was use the tip of the polished wood to caress the side of my waist. A puff of air left my lungs. He used the paddle to stroke the side of my now heaving rib cage. Then he lifted one of my breasts with it from below and slid the paddle along the side of the globe. He pressed it tenderly, and then let go. My breast jiggled at the movement. I moaned softly. He watched like a hawk while he moved the paddle over the top of my breast and gently circled the tip over my rock-hard nipple. “But you will come to love it as well, Katya. You’ll tremble with excitement every time you see this paddle in my hand.”
I already was shaking with excitement. He gave a small smile, and I realized he’d known that. He slid the tip of the paddle down my sternum and over my belly. Lower. My eyes widened and I shifted on my feet.
“Stay still,” he said sharply, his eyes flashing up at me. I remained unmoving with effort, my muscles tensed hard, holding my breath. “I’m going to make you burn, Katya. All of you. Now turn around.” I did so with his guiding hand on my upper arm. “And bend at the waist. Flex your knees slightly.” He used the paddle to gently tap at the back of one knee. “It will help you to take the paddle on your ass. Good,” he purred from behind me when I’d taken the position for my punishment. He swept the paddle along the back of my one thigh, then another. He came to the side of me and placed his hand on my shoulder, bracing me for the punishment. The anticipation was killing me.
“Breathe, Katya. Don’t forget to breathe.” I inhaled deeply. He pressed the paddle into the flesh of my ass and circled it subtly. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning, my arousal had grown so sharp.
“Are you ready to begin?” Xander asked me, his deep, mellifluous voice washing over me, soothing the prickling nerves all over my body.
“Yes,” I replied.
He lifted the paddle and struck. My body started slightly at the blow, but he steadied me with his hand on my shoulder. The loud crack of contact rang in my ears. The paddling had stung, but that wasn’t what made me whimper. It was the feeling of Xander pressing the paddle again to my ass and sliding it erotically against my skin, soothing the firing nerves.
Good God. She could feel Trey’s stare boring into her like a hot lance. Eleanor brushed the back of her hand against her upper lip, wiping away the slight perspiration that had gathered there. Her sex had grown wet too. It prickled in arousal. Her breath coming unevenly, she nervously ran her finger along the exposed skin beneath the hem of the romper, wishing she could touch herself. Her aching sex was only inches away from her gliding fingertips. A fever had settled on her. She pressed her fingers to her flushed mouth. She glanced up at Trey, feeling both vaguely guilty at the idea of becoming so aroused in public and unstoppably excited.
She flinched. Xander MacKenna had nothing on Trey in the burning-stare department.
His mouth was pressed together in a tight line. He looked furious. She glanced down to his lap instinctively. He was covering his crotch with Pride and Prejudice again. He made a taut gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding the book. Next to his abdomen, he pointed, the action small, stabbing and distinct.
Her stare jumped to his face, her eyes widening at his fierce expression and glittering, stormy blue eyes. She glanced to where he’d pointed. He’d indicated the exit and the lobby.
“Bathroom,” he mouthed silently.
Her eyes widened. He was telling her to go to the bathroom in the lobby, and he’d meet her there.
Of course she’d go. She had to. This is what she’d been plotting for, wasn’t it? Was he going to take her in the bathroom in a hot, sweaty tryst? The very idea made her light-headed.