Even out of the water, I felt floaty and boneless, letting him guide me into the position he desired—one that left me bare to his gaze.

“Now rest on the side of your face and straighten your arms back alongside your body. That’s it. Ease your legs apart.” Even more exposed? “Good. Keep this position.” He moved behind me. “Just relax and accept what I’m going to do to you.”

Which would be what exactly—

He grazed the head of his c*ck along the crease of my ass.

I gasped. Surely he wasn’t going to do that?

“So sensitive.” Another graze. “Why am I even surprised?”

Right when I was resigned, arching up for him to do whatever he wanted, he leaned down and began to kiss one side of my ass, light nips and licks where he’d whipped me.

“You’re going to be sore here too.” The other side of my ass received the same attention. “You were so exquisite with these bright pink lashes over your pale skin.” He ran his face against the backs of my thighs. “I imagined how each one must have made you feel and nearly came just from the sight.”

He moved his face between my legs, leaning in to my pu**y. To kiss from this angle? That was so hot. . . .

With his first lick, I couldn’t bite back a cry.

“You sound surprised.” He teased my entrance with the tip of his tongue, then said, “You didn’t think I’d let a day go by without tasting you here? There’s a reason I call you milaya moya.” My sweet. “I’ll be irritable any day I don’t get my fix of this.” He kissed me like he would french kiss my mouth, with his tongue sweeping and seeking between my lips.

I moaned, already close. I wanted him to continue—but I was on fire for him inside me. “Sevastyan, please f**k me again.”

“Can’t. You must be tender. I don’t want to hurt you.” He parted me with his thumbs, setting in with even more hunger.

Panting, I said, “I-I can take it.”

He moved lower to my clitoris. “This isn’t enough?”

“Oh, God!” My hands curled into fists.

A dark chuckle sounded against my flesh. “Relax and accept.” He kept licking and sucking, until I was in a crisis: not wanting to come without permission, but tripping along the brink.

“Sevastyan, can I—”

“No.”

“Please let me come!”

“How?” he demanded.

“Wh-what?”

“How do you want to be made to come? Be more specific when you beg me. And hold your position if you want my mouth.”

I forced myself to go limp. “Please keep doing what you’re doing. Harder.” My words were throaty with passion.

“Where? Be very specific.” He was so domineering that my thoughts got scrambled for the thousandth time tonight.

“Please . . . lick my cl*t . . . until you make me come.”

“Umm. Better.” He was lording his sexual power over me, and I didn’t know which one of us enjoyed it more.

As he bent down farther to better tongue my bud, he spread the globes of my ass, his fingers nearing my ring.

I couldn’t believe I was about to say . . . “A-and touch me there at the same time.”

All innocence, he asked, “Here, love?” just before his stiffened tongue speared inside my pu**y.

I stamped the tops of my feet with frustration. “You know what I mean!”

“Ah yes, this.” He gave me another frustrating/blissful thrust of his tongue.

Half out of my head, I whimpered. “Please lick my cl*t while you touch my ass.”

Tone wry, he said, “Better still, then.”

In a dim part of my brain, I comprehended that my ruthless hit man was playing with me, enjoying himself ! And I loved it.

He took my cl*t between his lips and drew wetly.

“Ah, God, ah, God . . .”

The pad of his thumb found my center—

I exploded, startling myself with my sharp scream. “Sevastyan!”

The pressure between my cheeks and around my throbbing cl*t wrung wave after wave from me as he suckled and played. . . .

Once he’d coaxed every last ounce of my release, he stood behind me, rasping, “Greedy girl. You came without permission? Tomorrow I’ll punish you for that. Tonight you get a pass because you’ve pleased me so well.”

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 semen.

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.

When kink-hungover, I didn’t automatically reach for a gauzy teddy. . . .

The sun was setting by the time Sevastyan returned. The first thing I noticed—his gaze was shuttered.

“Where were you?” I sounded remarkably calm, considering the fact that I wanted to bum-rush him with waif-fu.

“Meetings.” He wasn’t cold, but there was a marked difference between the dream lover of last night and the detached man standing in front of me now.

“So how was your day?” (Dear.)

“It was fine.”

I stared at him with bewilderment. “Mine was fine too. Dandy really.” This was how he was going to treat me after all we’d shared? How naïve I’d been; just because we’d overcome our sexual hurdles didn’t mean we could overcome our emotional ones too.

“Good.” He turned away, removing his jacket and holster.

I got the sense that he was trying to distance himself. And if I were paranoid, I would even have said that he was . . . uneasy around me.

After we’d gotten on the same page at last? That couldn’t be right. Forcing a laugh, I said, “Have you been avoiding me today?”

“No,” he answered, but he was twirling that ring.

Chapter 38

“You’re quiet,” Sevastyan remarked.

“Just thinking.” I stared out the limo window as we navigated the streets of Paris, passing lines of flickering gas lamps and chestnut trees. He’d said he had a surprise for me tonight, some unspecified destination.

It’d been four days since the club, and while Sevastyan and I had continued to make progress in bed, we’d been stymied in other areas. Namely: every single one.

We’d crested that night, and now seemed to be bottoming out.

“You’re pensive.” He drummed his tattooed fingers on the armrest. “I’ve never seen you so.”

“Guess I have a lot on my mind.” Misgivings. They were flooding in.

There was no denying it any longer—Sevastyan was avoiding me during the days.

Which was so different from the nights, when he would spoil me with pleasure, commanding me, guiding each interlude. Again and again, he’d demonstrated that our kinks were breathlessly well matched.

As promised, he’d had a collection of tools and gear delivered. It came stored in a sizable wardrobe—basically a BDSM closet. Though he hadn’t broken out any hard-core gear yet—true to his word to take things more slowly—he had used different toys on me.

He seemed fascinated by my orgasms: how quickly he could force one from me, how long he could deny me, until I was pleading for permission.

At night, he was perfection. But during the day, if he was around, he was quiet and closed off. Which sucked in more than one way. Sevastyan was pressing for more sexual vulnerability from me, an ever deeper surrender, which left me raw the next day—just in time for him to be an ass.

Like catching a fly ball—with my face.

He drummed his fingers again. That drum drum drum was grating on my nerves. The night of the club, we’d meshed seamlessly. Now friction chafed between us.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he said.

Oh, that was rich. “No hint of where we’re going?” I asked, deflecting, letting him know how it felt.

“I meant this as a surprise.”

Another sex club? Not really in the mood, Sevastyan. Yet I had to admit he’d put my curiosity on a slow boil. “For someone who hates surprises, you like delivering them well enough.”

“Would you rather have stayed in? It is getting late.”

My emotions were in such tumult that I might’ve balked at going with him, except for two things: I was desperate to get out of the house. And earlier, he’d acted differently with me.

When he’d returned from his meeting, he’d taken me in his arms without a word and held me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat. Like he was crossing a finish line to reach me.