Between breaths, I asked, “Now will you f**k me?”
“You can’t tonight.” He was stroking himself? “Besides, seeing you like this . . . I won’t last long.”
“Really?”
“If I donned a condom right now, I’d be sure to come in it.”
Even in the midst of this, I couldn’t choke back a laugh. Maddening, fascinating man!
I rested on my forehead, tucking my head under to watch him. Those tattoos on his arms rippled over his muscles as he worked his thick length.
He bit out, “If you knew what I was imagining right now, beautiful . . .”
My toes curled from his wicked tone, from his wickeder eyes.
“Do you want my cum to mark you?” He squeezed his fist even tighter, as if to hold back a flood of it.
In answer, I arched my back down, spreading myself wide—
He loosed an overpowered bellow. An instant later, a ribbon of heat landed across my ass. Hips working, he f**ked his fist, striping my flesh with se**n.
Each heavy lash was as scalding as the leather he’d used to whip me. He yelled out his pleasure over and over . . . until finally spent.
Breaths heaving, he said, “Look at the sight of my woman.”
My face flushed. I could only imagine what I looked like—spread, vulnerable, my reddened bottom coated.
“I’m committing this to memory.”
Heartbeats passed; his gaze lingered until I was squirming. “Sevastyan . . .”
Then we were down in the water again, and he was washing me off, lavishing kisses and praise—which I lapped up, a kitten to cream.
He rose, toweled off, then scooped me from the water, lifting me as if I weighed nothing.
As dazed as ever, I let him towel me dry and carry me to bed. Beneath the covers, he lay on his back, pulling me against his side. Once I’d curled into him, he gave an exhalation—pure masculine satisfaction.
My ear was over his heart, its strong beat lulling me to sleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relaxed, so . . . at peace.
I’d never felt so in love.
He tugged me even closer, saying against my hair, “You have pleased me above all things. I never knew I could feel such pride.”
Just before I drifted off, I smiled sleepily. Tonight, we had taken a wrecking ball to the walls between us.
Tomorrow everything would be different with him. . . .
Chapter 37
Nothing is different, I thought as I paced the room. Not a damn thing . . .
Today I’d slept until after lunch—a full ten hours!—waking with a big grin on my face and the words man, my ass is sore on my lips. Only to realize I was alone.
Sevastyan hadn’t left a note or a text, hadn’t called.
I’d been completely out of sorts, feeling hungover, chilled, and jittery from my endorphin withdrawal. Despite having few residual marks, I’d felt like I’d been through the wringer.
Still did, even three hours later. And his absence continued to baffle me. Yes, I’d figured he was out doing secret syndicate business, but couldn’t he have taken a day off? I never should’ve been out of the bed, should be snuggled up with him!
Why isn’t he here for me? I paced faster as my imagination ran away with me. What if he did regret taking me to the club? What if he was filled with second thoughts? Why can’t I get warm?
What if I’d disappointed him somehow?
Normally, panic would not be my go-to emotion. But after the physical and emotional extremes of last night, I felt like a spinning top.
I reached for my phone, even as I told myself, Not going to call him. I didn’t want to come across as some needy chick who couldn’t go without reassurance—merely because she’d been whipped, screwed, and forced to come in front of dozens of people just the night before. . . .
Earlier, I’d been staring at the phone, waffling, when Jess had called. After my tepid greeting, she’d demanded, “Where’d he take you last night? I’m dying to know—so bad I figured out how to call France!”
Once I told her all about my experience, she’d said, “You really let him string you up? In front of an audience? Aw, Nat, I’m just so darned proud of the woman you’ve become!” After a pause, she’d said, “Wait, you’re lapping me sexually? I want my own membership to Cirque du Cock! Come on, you durrrty hussy, buy me one, huh, huh?”
I’d been in no mood for humor. “He wasn’t here when I woke, and he left no word. Jess, why would he pull a nail-and-bail?”
“He’s probably out racking his brain for his next play. One-upping Cirque du Cock won’t be an easy feat.”
After we’d hung up, I’d attempted to distract myself by watching the camera feeds, but it’d been no use. Here I was pacing again, marching from wall to wall across the plush carpet.
I’d paced more since I’d met Sevastyan than in all the years before him.
Each minute that he remained absent, my mood continued to plummet. Not going to call . . .
Pride—mingled with anger—gave me the strength to toss the phone on the bed.
Still freezing and achy, I took a steaming shower, then headed to the walk-in closet. Skirts and delicate blouses, heels and hose. If he’d reordered items from my vast wardrobe at Berezka, he must have cherry-picked these clothes.
I scowled at his selections. Sometimes I just wanted to veg out in sweats and a pizza-stained T-shirt. Sometimes I would prefer to wear jeans and clunky boots while trapped in my gilded cage.