Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
“Yes, um.” I cleared my throat and straightened my skirt. “Thank you, Emir.”
Neil rose to shake hands, and pulled a matte black business card from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“If you’d be interested in any future engagements, please do contact us,” he said, as simply as if he were networking with another professional. Of course, judging by how swanky the club was, Emir was probably a billionaire, too.
Emir considered for a moment, then pulled out a brushed steel case and offered his own card, as well. “Yes, I hope to hear from you again.”
He left us in that small room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Neil grabbed me. His hand caught me around the throat and he slammed me roughly against the wall.
Yes. This was what I’d been hoping for. For him to stop taking it so easy on me, to truly push me to the limit of what I could take from him.
“Oh!” I yelped in surprise as, with his other hand, he jammed two fingers inside of me.
“Who does this belong to?” he demanded, his forehead pressed against mine.
“You, Sir!” I cried, clenching down on his fingers.
“And why did you let that other man touch you?” He drew those fingers out, a torturous slide that made my thighs quake.
“B-because...” I knew the answer he was looking for. And I knew the odds of getting punished for a wrong answer were high. My clit tingled as I imagined all the ways he could punish me in this room. With his hand, with his belt; by bringing me close to orgasm and stopping, over and over. Or just by fucking me, hard and painful, until I was screaming and coming and begging him to stop and to never stop, all at once.
“Because I wanted to.” I knew for a fact that wasn’t the right answer.
His hand moved so fast, it shocked me. He’d slapped me, not a light slap, like the one in the hotel room. He’d slapped my face hard enough to hurt. The sting in my cheek echoed a throb in my cunt. Sweet holy fuck, I had never been so turned on in my life, and I laughed in disbelief.
That was also the wrong answer. He slapped me again, then held my chin roughly in his hand. “You did it because I told you to. Because this is mine, and I can use it in any way I want.”
“Yes, Sir,” I panted. His fingers plunged in again, and I groaned in relief. “You can use me any way you want, Sir.”
“Stand right there. Don’t move a fucking inch.” His words sent a stab of fear and anticipation through me. I was almost tempted to wriggle just slightly off my spot. I wanted to see how far we would go with this. But at the same time, I was mindful that we had to fly back to London in two days, and I didn’t feel like having a sore ass the whole time. When I saw he was going to the basket of assorted condoms on the table, I held very still, indeed.
Neil stood before me, gazing at me dispassionate and silent as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his erection free. He tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his shaft with one hand; I was convinced he’d practiced that move to perfect it. Then, without another word, he lifted me against the wall and drove into me with one brutal thrust.
The air went out of my lungs. He was so hard, it was like getting punched in every square centimeter of my vagina. My groan was one of pain mingled with pleasure, but it was definitely more pain.
“Who fucks you, Sophie?” Neil demanded against my ear, nibbling as I tried to answer him.
“Y-you do, Sir.”
“Tell me you love getting fucked, Sophie.”
“I love getting fucked by you, Sir!” My dress bunched and wrinkled behind me. That didn’t bode well for re-wearability, and I felt a little bad about that, but not enough to stop.
With my legs clamped around Neil’s waist, there was not much I could do but hang on as he pounded into me. I rode his hips, my ass slapping against the wall as he pulled me violently back and forth on his cock. I arched my back, forcing myself harder against him.
My nails dug into his shoulders, and he growled, “Careful, Sophie, don’t scratch me.”
That little sliver of reality shocked me to my bones. I couldn’t accidentally cut him with my nails, because he would start bleeding excessively. He was still sick. In the excitement of the moment, I had forgotten.
But this was what I needed. I needed to remember him like this, to carry the memory of it with me long after we’d left Paris. When the hospital visits and the medications took over our life, we would both need this memory: The Dominant in his element, virile and in total control.