Page 112 of High Reward

“You didn’t wait for me to start the meeting,” Victor says.

I brace myself, then realize, there’s no disappointment in his tone. Just a hint of curiosity.

“You said you wanted me to handle it. So I handled it.”

He studies me for a beat, then nods. “Exactly what I hoped for. You managed it well.”

The flush of warmth across my face and chest isn’t from embarrassment. It’s pride. The way he says it, like there was never any doubt, has me straightening my shoulders with confidence.

He gestures to the chair in front of him. “Sit.”

I do, perching near the edge. He pushes off the desk and leans down, one hand on the arm of my chair. The other cupping my jaw, thumb tracing the corner of my mouth.

“Have you decided about the needle scene?”

“Yes, Sir.” There is no hesitation in my voice. “I want to do it.”

His lips curve into a predatory smile that sends shockwaves of heat through my system. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

“I told Lili she can assist me. Is that acceptable?”

Relief and excitement hit at the same time. Having her there will make it easier and less overwhelming. I nod.

Victor hums. “Trust looks good on you, butterfly. I like it when you show me how brave you can be.”

He leans in, brushing his lips over mine. It’s barely a kiss, but it holds so much promise.

“I want to reward you,” he says, tone commanding now. “You made me proud today.”

He stands, then motions for me to follow. “Come here.

I rise and move to stand directly in front of him. Victor’s hands find the hem of my dress, gathering it up. He doesn’t rush. Each movement is deliberate. Controlled.

“Take off your panties,” he orders.

I obey, slipping them down and handing them to him without question. He stuffs the scrap of lace into his pocket.

“Skirt up. Sit on the edge of the desk.”

The wood is cool under my skin. Victor kneels between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs and forcing them wider.

He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth is on me instantly, tongue lapping and circling my clit. The shock of sensation has me gasping. I grip the edge of the desk, anchoring myself as pleasure builds.

He works me expertly, alternating pressure and rhythm. Every time I get close, he eases off, slowing until I’m whining in frustration. Then he starts again, relentless.

“Victor… Master… please.”

“Not yet.” He says, voice muffled as he pushes me open with his tongue. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

I hold on as long as I can, nerves tight as violin strings, my whole body trembling. He pushes two fingers inside me, angling them so they brushthatspot, and my walls clamp down in anticipation.

“I want to come,” I gasp.

He stops instantly, pulling back. I want to scream. My hips chase his hands in desperation.

“No,” he says, standing over me. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand then cups my face, making me look at him. “You don’t come until I say so.”

“Please, Sir,” I whisper.