“I let you get away with defiance this morning, but it will be the last time.” He slid his finger along her spine, briefly tangling the chain. “Come to think of it, this isn’t enough of a reminder. You need one more.”
“A reminder of…what?”
Instead of answering, he slid his arms underneath her, lifting her at the bend of her hips, forearms pressing into her lower abdomen and above her breasts. Turning, he carried her without any awkwardness the three strides to the drafting stool. Before she could react to the unorthodox transport, he had her bent over it. The slacks around her thighs inhibited her movement. She had one thrilling moment of dazed comprehension as he picked up a flexible 18-inch metal ruler, and then he slapped it down on her bare buttocks.
She gripped the edge of the stool, a cry breaking from her lips. It hurt so badly the sting was just the beginning of it. It radiated out, every nerve ending screaming. But then he brought it down again.
He was holding on to her forearm, his own stretched out in front of her, and she bit down on him, trying to hold in the next shriek. He didn’t flinch, didn’t remove his arm. Even as she was biting she had to taste him, like some crazed animal. Oh God, this hurt. But her covered * was against the stool, and a spasm racked her, an insane, unexpected surge from the depths of her womb.
“J-Jon…”
She came during his fifth, sixth and seventh stroke, and she was sure she had welts, possibly even broken flesh. But the climax racked her convulsing body, undeniable proof of her gut-level reaction to the pain, the punishment.
He didn’t touch her otherwise, though, so it was hard, intense and then done, leaving her gasping, her mouth still open on his skin. She was making those little whimpers again, and as he lifted her to her feet, she had to sag against him. He held her with one arm, sliding her panties and slacks back in place with the other. The climax immediately soaked the panel. He took his time with her clothes, as was necessary one-handed, but seemed to take great pleasure in it.
“Let me…” She was struggling to breathe, wanting him to let her go so her knees could buckle. “Let me suck you now. Please.”
Was that her voice, that rough, uncontrolled plea?
Instead, he tucked in her shirt, pushed her back against the drafting table as he curved his fingers over her *, bound inside that metal mold under the fabric. She pushed into his touch, a wave of aftershocks making her moan again. He let her ride it, his unrelenting gaze on her face, not letting her hide from him.
“Not right now.” He buckled her belt back in place, then cupped her buttocks, bringing her off the table. She flinched at the firm contact, the agony and yet the remembered ecstasy of it making her lick her lips. “This, along with the rest, should keep your mind occupied until I see you tomorrow night. It’s also a reminder you obey your Master, or you accept the consequences. Now look at my eyes.”
He had to guide her there, a hand to her chin again. “For the next twenty-four hours, you think only of your Master’s will. You’ve waited a long time to prove how devoted a slave you can be. Don’t deny yourself what you truly want.”
* * * * *
After he saw her out to the lobby, Jon turned her over to Max, the trusted head driver of the K&A limo fleet. Max had a variety of talents. He’d once been a Navy Seal, so understood Jon’s instructions completely. If Rachel got discomfited by having a driver at her disposal and tried to do her own driving, he would make sure, with tact but firm insistence, that wasn’t going to happen.
Jon realized his instincts had taken him further down Matt’s suggested track than he’d expected. He wished they didn’t have that damn meeting in New Orleans tomorrow morning. If they hadn’t been planning it for the past month, he would have played the friend card with Matt to the nth degree and gotten out of it. He could have chosen a more gentle strategy, been more romantic than Dominant, but his gut had told him wooing was the wrong tact with her, particularly when she’d shown up with that tremulous jut to her chin and deliberate brush-off of his instructions. But there was no doubt that he was backing all those unresolved feelings into a corner. Before too long, she’d lash out at him, a cornered, injured lioness.
After tomorrow, he’d ask Matt for a few days off.
He was only in his office a few moments before Peter came in, Lucas and Ben right behind him. Jon knew Matt had left for an early lunch with Savannah. They tried to catch a sandwich together to hear the Wednesday jazz-in-the-park series once a month. Before they’d become a couple, it was one of the things Matt had worked into his schedule to get Savannah to stop living, eating and breathing her job. It had helped amp up her trust in him, so he’d had a more secure foothold to win her surrender, as Jon had pointed out earlier.
Jon was glad he was sitting behind his desk, because he was wound up pretty tight and didn’t need Ben making jabs at his obvious, unrelieved erection. For all that his measures were going to give her a pretty agitated yoga class, let alone a restless night, he didn’t anticipate sleeping at all. The mere memory of her responses had him jacked up even harder, and he fully intended to observe the same restriction he’d inflicted on her. Next time he came, it was going to be in her mouth or her lovely, needy p-ssy.
He should have known the K&A team didn’t need to see it to know. Ben raised a brow. “You should have let her ease some of your pain, brother. You look like you could go off if one of us whistled Dixie at your dick.”
“You’ve really got to get over your crush on him,” Lucas advised. “It’s embarrassing to the rest of us.”
“It’s those come-hither blue eyes and that pale vampire skin. Can’t resist.”
“Last month, it was me in my stretchy bike shorts. Come out of the closet and be done with it, man. You know there’s a reason you’re so into ass-f*cking.”
“For sweet, soft asses that come with a p-ssy, thank you. None of you qualify. Though your dick is so small I might…”
Peter was studying Jon’s face. He gave Ben a thwack upside his head and Lucas a shove. “Shut up,” he said. “Our boy’s not in the mood.”
Jon drummed his fingers on the desk. “I feel like a f*cking Viking raider pillaging a convent of novices barely out of puberty.”
“You’re on the right track,” Peter said quietly. “I saw her face, Jon. She needs what you’re offering.”
“But at this pace?” Jon templed his fingers and stared moodily at his desk. “I normally don’t come at it like this.”
“You’re fine.” Lucas sat down on his desk as Peter took the couch and Ben propped on the drafting table stool. “I’ve seen you go into a dungeon, pick out a woman who’s never even met you and by the end of the night, you’ve sent her to Nirvana and back. You trust your instincts more than anyone I know. There’s only one reason you’re not doing it now.”
“And why’s that?” Jon flicked his glance at the CFO, envying his relaxed posture, foot propped against the desk panel, arms crossed over his chest.
“Matt told you earlier, same as he told me with Cass. She’s the one. The one who matters more than any woman you’ve ever had. It’s f*cking with your radar, making you scared shitless you’re going to screw it up.”