Page 90 of Cruel Demands

His palm rests against my burning skin. “I know that Dima likes Viktoriya.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of my underwear. “Because once you realized I was jealous, you enjoyed it.”

I can’t argue with that.

He drags my underwear down, exposing me across his lap. Humiliation burns hotter than the spanking.

“Mikhail.”

“You wanted attention.” His hand slides between my legs. I shudder when his fingertip brushes my clit. “You have mine.” He circles me once. Slowly. My hips move without permission. “Stay still.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No.” He presses one finger inside me. My eyes close. The stretch is not enough. I want more immediately, want the second finger, want his mouth, want him to turn me over and fuck me into the chair. He gives me none of it. He holds the finger still, his other hand holding my hair, and bends over to whisper in my ear, “Hump my finger. Take what you need. See if you can get it.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. Outside the locked door, the office continues. Phones ring. Someone walks past. Viktoriya says something I can’t understand, close enough that fear shoots through me.

Mikhail feels me tighten. “Quiet,” he says.

“You’re the one—” He curls his finger. The rest of the sentence disappears. His thumb finds my clit. Pleasure begins to gather fast, sharpened by the sting across my ass and the terror of being heard.

I rock against his hand. He allows it. For a moment. Then he stops.

My eyes open. “Mikhail.” He withdraws his finger. “No. Please.” I stare at him over my shoulder. I reach back for his hand, and he pulls it back from me.

“You are being punished.”

“You can’t stop there.”

“I just did.”

I push myself upright, my skirt bunched around my waist and my underwear trapped around my thighs. He looks offensively composed.

“You’re seriously going to leave me like this?”

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation.

I glare at him. His mouth curves.

“You are a psychopath.”

“I have been called worse.”

I reach for him.

He catches my wrist. “No.”

His cock is still hard inside his open trousers. A smear of moisture shines at the head. He’s suffering too, but apparently spite is stronger than biology.

“You’re not going to finish either?” I ask.

His eyes lift to mine. “I am.” The answer sends a fresh pulse through me. “Turn around.”

I stare at him. “Mikhail⁠—”

“Turn around, Taylor. On your hands and knees.”