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9
Hands move over my body, making me writhe in pleasure, the last fleeting images of my dream clear as I open my eyes to total darkness.
I can still feel hands on me.
They push my legs apart and use callused fingers to hook the scrap of my underwear and drag it down my legs.
As the last clouds clear, I try to move and realize my hands are tied together above my head, and my eyes are covered with a mask or a scarf or something.
“What the hell?” I gasp, kicking out when I’m left exposed.
“Now, would you look at that? Not a trace of blood.” A familiar voice sounds out in the dark, making my body tense. To my embarrassment, I feel myself getting wet.
“Let me go, you asshole. You can’t do this.”
“Didn’t I warn you there would be consequences to your actions?” his voice whispers against my ear, making me shiver.
His hot breath skates over my skin before disappearing.
“Such a pretty pussy for a dirty little liar.”
“You’re a sick fuck. Is this how you get your kicks?”
“Sure. All that smooth creamy skin, those rosy nipples just begging for my tongue.”
He blows over my chest, and I whimper at the sensation.
This is fucked-up. I shouldn’t like this.
“Don’t think I can’t see how wet your cunt is, little girl. You’re dripping all over my bed. If you weren’t tied up, I’d make you lick it up for lying to me.”
My hips flex on impulse as I bite back a moan.
“I don’t fuck my students, Miss Sinclair, though you have a body that could test a monk. This isn’t about pleasure. This is about punishment. You lied to me, and I really hate lying.”
“Fine, I won’t do it again.”
“And still she lies. No, I think you need more time to think about your actions, perhaps.”
“God, I said I was sorry. Let me go,” I snarl, not because I’m scared. Because I need to touch myself before I lose my freaking mind.
“No. Go back to sleep.”
“Please, I can’t sleep like this… I need…”
He sighs before I hear the door open. I strain my ears, but I can’t hear anything else. I can’t even hear his breathing.
Did he just leave me here like this?
I squirm and tug at what binds me—a belt, I think. Although it gives a little, it’s not enough to slip my hands free.
A noise—a sharp intake of air, I think—has me pausing.
“Aslanov?”
No response, but I swear the room feels alive with energy and the threat of something wicked.
“I know you’re there, asshole. If you—” My words get cut off on a muffled shout when something is shoved into my mouth.
“Don’t speak. Just do as I tell you.”
I buck my hips in a show of defiance before I realize he isn’t talking to me.
Oh, my fucking God.
“She can’t sleep. She’s too pent-up, and I’m nothing if not reasonable. Now, I can’t let her free because she earned her punishment, but that doesn’t mean I’m cruel.”
A fingertip circles my belly button with a barely there touch. It’s so light, I’m not sure if I imagined it.
“Make her come. You can use your fingers and mouth. Nothing else. But make her come and then leave.”
Whoever he is talking to doesn’t reply. Seconds later, hands slide up the inside of my thighs and spread me wide open.
My heart is beating so loudly in my chest that I’m surprised they can’t hear it. Or maybe they can, but don’t care.
A finger slides over my pussy, feeling how wet I am. My cheeks flush with shame and arousal. As much as I want to wrap my legs around my mystery guy’s neck and snap it, I want him to touch me too.
Lips press against my shoulder briefly, making me jump. When Aslanov whispers in my ear, I realize it’s him standing beside me, watching the other guy strum my clit as my stomach tightens with need.
“Relax, little lamb. Let him make you feel good.”
I make a noise that’s muffled, but he takes it as consent because in the next second a mouth closes over my pussy, making me cry out.
Everything seems heightened without my vision. My helplessness feeds into the captive fantasies I have, the ones where I give up control and let a stranger do whatever they want to me, no questions asked.
“That’s it. Just let go,” the whispered voice in my ear praises. But all I can focus on is the feel of the hot tongue lashing away at my clit and the fingers now sliding deep inside me.
He scissors them before sliding a third finger in, the burn making me gasp. And yet I need more.
“Harder,” Aslanov orders as if he has a pathway to my innermost thoughts. And God help me if that isn’t a terrifying notion. I don’t want this man knowing that he has some kind of hold over me, some kind of sway over my body that makes it react in a way it never has before.
I’ve never been wired right, and because of it, I was never really a child. I always saw too much, read between the lines, and played by my own rules. But Dmitri Aslanov has a way of making me feel that kind of wild abandon that generally comes with being young and free. The contrast of the world and the weight on my shoulders all fall away at the soft tone of his voice and the illicit promise of things to come.
This man will do more than ruin me. He’ll wreck me in a way I won’t even realize until I’m completely under his thrall.
