Chapter 9 Dahlia #2
“Quite eager, aren’t we?” His deep voice drips with sensuality, sinful and dark, making me grind against his cock to relieve the ache he’s caused.
But he’s cruel, taking a step back, and stops touching me.
I will kill him if he leaves me in this wanton state.
This would be the best and worst punishment.
“Mika.” My voice sounds unfamiliar, heavy with desire.
He notices and settles himself between my legs.
Gripping the back of my neck, he yanks me to his chest to whisper in my ear. “Is it torture, baby girl, to be so near to what you crave and not get it?”
His hot breath fans my sensitive skin, igniting a fireball that rolls through my veins. “Yes…”
He clicks his tongue, tsking. “My touch would be a reward, and you haven’t been a good girl.”
“You know I’m your good girl… Please…” I sound like I feel—desperate.
“Hmm, would my good girl ignore me for three fucking days?” His other hand moves up my thighs, and my head falls against his shoulder, unable to hold it up.
He plays with my body while he fucks with my head—a heady combination leaving me breathless, mindless.
“No, but you deserved it,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “Fuck, I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. My woman.”
“Yes.”
Finally.
He nibbles along my jaw, eliciting a tremor. “You put me through fucking hell. In this life, the only ray of sunshine is you, and you took that away, leaving me in darkness.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. “That won’t do tonight.”
As his hand moves up, he bunches my dress over my waist. The cool air from the AC brushes my skin, but it’s not enough to dampen the fever he caused.
He releases my neck and takes a step back. His sharp intake of air makes me feel beautiful. “I approve of your choice of lingerie.”
My sister-in-law is a shopping fanatic, a connoisseur of all the finer things in life. I am glad I listened to her. Nothing makes you feel more feminine than a high-end piece of lingerie.
Stepping back between my thighs, he grazes his finger along the lace thong, eliciting a tremor.
He places a kiss on my neck, whispering in my ear. “You’re at my mercy, Dahlia. You wanted the beast. Here he is, baby girl.”
He pulls me away from the desk, turning me so fast I have to plant my hands on the desktop for stability.
Before my legs steady, the first slap lands on my ass cheek.
I cry out, the sting leaving my skin burning.
A stuttered breath rushes out of my mouth, and I dig my fingernails into the desk, panting.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, deceptively soft.
“Yes,” I say, licking my parched lips.
“Punishment is supposed to. Count with me. You’re getting twenty. Ten for each cheek.”
“Twenty?” I don’t even try to hide the panic in my voice.
“Twenty,” he says matter-of-factly. “And you will take each. Then you can tell Tristan why you’re teary-eyed, puffy-faced, and flushed with a burning ass.”
I squirm. “But don’t hurt him, okay?”
Another one follows, even sharper.
“Don’t plead for another man’s life. It won’t help.”
My back arches up as if wanting to meet him instead of ducking away from him. The pain anchors me, but the sting once it subsides makes room for something else. Something that creeps out of hidden depths—raw pleasure. Strange yet titillating.
I suck on a breath. “Don’t start a war because of me. I’m the one—”
Another one follows. “I’d start the fucking apocalypse for you.”
It’s only the third one, but it feels like my ass is on fire. Tears blur my vision, and tiny breaths puff out of my mouth.
“This is the man you want?” he grumbles, smacking my ass repeatedly. Four in rapid succession, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“I love when you cry for me. Makes me imagine how you’ll choke on my cock, cry when I fuck your ass.”
Good God. I am pure sensation. With every new slap, it’s like my body goes through a metamorphosis, turning into jelly, just like my brain. No rational thought left but synapses swimming in euphoric liquid.
My legs quiver, and I still have ten to go. It’s a valid possibility that I might faint at any moment.
“Fuck. Look at your ass, red and wearing my handprints.” The awe in his voice is unmistakable.
A blush heats my neck and face—not out of modesty. This man saw me naked for seventy-two hours, but from the sheer carnality as if he’s lost in me too.
A click sounds in the air, and I tilt my head toward the sound and see him snapping a pic of my ass. Well, let’s give him a show, needing to be the woman he can’t take his eyes off.
I place my palms on my ass cheeks, baring myself to him, and he whips his head to me. Eyes locked, everything else vanishes. My soul, my body, everything in me responds to all of him.
He snaps another pic and throws the phone on the couch by the window before he grips my chin.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. My damnation. My salvation. A breath of fresh air in my polluted world.”
Softness threads through the hunger in his eyes as he glides his palm over my ass and between my thighs. Any moment he will discover how much my body savors his touch. He groans when he finds how wet I am.
I clench my thighs, wanting more of his ministrations. I don’t need much to come. And I need to come.
He smirks, the asshole knowing, but he won’t give it to me.
“So wet, Dahlia. But an orgasm is a reward, malishka.”
“It’s your fault. I wouldn’t even entertain looking at another man,” I whine.
Three slaps unfold in rapid succession, one after the other, cutting my rant short. My fingers claw at his desk, and I flop on the hard surface, not able to hold myself upright anymore.
Between the smacks and the soft caresses, I am a crying, trembling mess.
With my cheek resting on the cold surface, he delivers the rest of the slaps. Along the scintillating way, I drift somewhere else entirely. There is no pressure, no troubles, like I am floating, riding a cloud unicorn. What a surreal feeling.
A sound of deep satisfaction vibrates in his throat. “That’s my good girl.”
His praise only makes me want to take everything he can offer me.
Done, he lowers my dress over my sensitive flesh. I doubt I can stand, but he helps me up by pulling my back against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. My ass burns as it rubs against his groin, causing a whimper.
I hold on to his arms, feeling so damn vulnerable.
“You did so well, baby girl,” he murmurs.
I bit my lip. “It hurts.”
He chuckles. “It’s supposed to.”
“I still liked it.” I sass.
“I know,” he says, sounding calmer.
If this isn’t a stake of possession, then I don’t know what is.
He kisses the top of my head, and for a few peaceful moments, we savor the silence, all the possibilities laid between us.
I tilt my face to him. “Are you feeling better now?”
A sound of approval rumbles in his throat.
I turn to him, placing my palms on his chest. “I deserved the punishment. Tristan doesn’t.”
“The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing,” he grumbles. “And the violinist?”
He’s about to say something more when I cut him off by putting a finger on his lips. “No innocents. He is unaware of who I am behind the pianist.”
Grabbing my wrists, he kisses the inside of my palm, looking me dead in the eyes. “Don’t give him hope, or I will cut off his precious hand. Let’s see how he’ll play with one hand.”
I shake my head at him. “Are you actually jealous of him?”
The silence prevails, revealing the loudest answer. He is baffling me. I don’t know what to do with that knowledge.
“I’m livid. Don’t test me on that. Be playful all you want, but don’t play with my jealousy. When it comes to you, I can’t think clearly. Right or wrong disappears. Enough not to care whether they’re innocent.”
If he had even attempted to make me jealous, I would have lost it, and then my heart would have withered and died.
“Okay.” But it seems I am agreeing to so much more.