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He pulls it taut, but no farther, and at the same time, thrusts himself deeper than before. We both groan in unison, as if singing a duet we know very well.
“Goddamn,” he hoarsely moans. “You are making me lose my mind.”
Suddenly his thrusts are jerky, wild, and he’s straining, moaning against me. And before I even realize it, the tie around my throat is tight, so tight that I can’t breathe. I’m holding my breath because I have no other choice. His body crashes violently against my ass once, twice, a third time until I feel him stiffen and shudder on my back.
His orgasm lasts and lasts as he convulses against me. But I don’t move. Suddenly he’s still and loosening the tie around my neck, rubbing the skin underneath. He has not hurt me…only scared me a little. But that fear had acted like an amplifier for my arousal. He hasn’t pulled out yet. And even though he just came, he’s thrusting into me again.
He’s still hard. Still.
Fuck. He’s like some kind of sex machine.
He releases my hands and presses his now free fingers in between my legs, rubbing harshly against my clit, evoking the orgasm that’s been hovering along the edge of my consciousness since he first penetrated me.
And when I come, it’s a brain-frying experience. I hold my breath, see stars, and I can’t think straight for minutes afterward, just drift down in a buzzing cloud of pure pleasure. I collapse against the table, unable to think. Unable to speak for minutes.
Before I realize exactly what he’s doing, he’s removing the tie and turning me over, picking me up gently and finally carrying me toward the bedroom. My limp head lolls against his massive shoulder, and I get a glimpse of the clock. It’s been a little over an hour since we arrived and signed the papers and yet so much has happened.
He’s fucked me. Twice. He’s made me come. Three times. He’s marked me, claimed me, commanded and dominated me. And this is just the beginning.
Chapter 16
Walk of Shame
Hot water sluices down my back, seeping into my sore muscles. Last night, Kohl fucked me for hours, the entire night really...as he’d promised. After our encounters on the dining table, he carried me to the bathroom, slowly and languorously bathed me in steaming, scented water before joining me in the lavish sunken tub. He touched me everywhere until the water grew tepid, then made me come twice more. Once when he ordered me to sit on the ledge of the tub while he buried his head in my thighs, and once when I, again, came on his cock.
Then we finally made our way to the bedroom, but it hadn’t stopped there. Though exhausted, we spent silent hours touching each other, getting to know each other’s bodies intimately, and kissing before drifting off for a catnap.
When I woke, he was penetrating me from behind while spooning me, swaying slowly, gently against me, taking his time and wringing every ounce of pleasure from my body and his.
Hardly any words were exchanged all night. It was just mindless animal heat. I managed to fall asleep again as the sun came up. But when I woke up this morning, he was gone.
I have to confess to feeling a bit relieved. None of that after-morning awkwardness. None of the meaningless idle chatter. After that epic night of endless sex, it would have been anticlimactic.
I step out of the shower and towel off. I opt to throw the ruined panties away and only have the dress from last night, as I brought no other clothes with me. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to interrupt things last night to call Sam to bring me some. As it is, she’s going to have a field day with this.
After combing my hands through my wet hair, I slip on my whore-heels, grab my clutch, and head into the living room, where I give the space a cursory glance.
That’s when I spot it—a small, rectangular and trademark blue Tiffany & Co. box tied expertly with a white ribbon sitting on the dining table. The very same elegant marble table we’d been all over the night before.
There’s a note tucked under the box.
Wear this for me. All the time.
My assistant will call you this afternoon to coordinate the details of our arrangement.
- E
I groan at the thought of an assistant “coordinating” the most intimate details of my life. I don’t even want to know what that means. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been assigned the task of buying me a whole new wardrobe of lacy underwear and fancy hooker-heels. One pair for each day of the week. And extras, for shredding.
I open the box and there’s a small blue satchel with a necklace inside, a silver or platinum chain with a diamond encrusted infinity symbol in the center—the same symbol I saw on his forearm last night—with two shimmering beads on either side.
Shit, are these real diamonds? Bead diamonds?
I blink down at the necklace and run my fingers over the glittery stones. They’re beautiful and most definitely real. I’ve never worn anything this expensive before—even when I was growing up and had plenty of money, I never allowed myself to indulge in things like fancy jewelry. I never wanted my dad’s money. After what he put my mom through, I never wanted anything to do with him at all.
And what did this symbol mean to him? Beyond the generic meaning of infinity, which seemed to have the implication of a deep and loving commitment—like marriage. But perhaps it meant something more concrete. It was a link to him. A binding link, like the contract.
And then I take in a breath with a new realization at the memory of his passion-filled declaration the night before. I’ve marked you. It’s his mark and he wants me to wear it openly. All the time.
