Chapter 16
NORA
Konstantin's assistant tries to stop me outside his office.
She does it politely, with one hand pressed to the tablet against her chest. The serious meeting inside has run more than half an hour past its scheduled end. Four men are still speaking beyond the closed doors, their voices too low for words to escape through the oak.
In my hand is the form a new security coordinator sent to the clinic this afternoon, requesting the names of every patient scheduled during my shifts. Tess refused to release the list. By the end of the drive home, I was angry enough to interrupt whatever meeting Konstantin was holding.
"He'll want to see this now."
The assistant looks from my face to the wedding band on my hand, then opens one door.
Konstantin sits at the far end of a long black table.
Winter darkens the windows behind him, turning the glass into a reflection of the room.
Pale oak walls rise around framed aerial photographs.
A fire burns behind a black-stone opening near the seating area, adding woodsmoke to the scent of coffee and cold wool carried in by the men.
At the head of the table, my husband looks completely at home with every man waiting for his decision.
Nearest the door, Mikhail occupies one chair with Anton opposite him, jacket buttoned.
Beside a screen filled with street maps stands the security chief.
On the table, three of the four addresses supplied by the proposed bride have been crossed from a printed copy, leaving the last outlined in white.
Every face turns toward me.
Konstantin looks at the paper and the short black skirt I changed into after work. His attention moves more slowly on the return trip.
"This meeting is nearly finished," he says.
"Then I'll be brief." I place the request in front of him. He reads the first page without asking me to explain, then looks toward the security chief.
"Who authorized patient names?"
Taking the form, the security chief reaches the second paragraph before his mouth flattens. "A coordinator expanded the appointment request. We need her hours, entrances, and route changes. We don't need health information or patient identities."
"Remove the request from every copy. Notify the clinic in writing and then make certain nobody asks again."
I came prepared to explain why protection doesn't entitle him to my patients' private lives. The argument never becomes necessary. He sees the line his employee crossed, then puts it back where we agreed.
My fingers unclench at my side.
"Thank you."
"Was there anything else?"
His eyes return to my skirt. He has also noticed that I remain standing beside his chair after getting what I came for.
At the rink, he told me to bring the miniature-golf insult into his office. Two days of remembering the command have ruined my concentration in increasingly explicit ways. I chose this skirt because it reaches just above my knees. The stockings underneath end at my thighs.
Larissa would approve of preparation.
After one glance at my skirt, Mikhail closes the folder in front of him. Beside the screen, the security chief appears less fortunate.
"I wanted the room to hear one correction before everyone leaves," I say. "Your employer lost to me at miniature golf."
Mikhail puts his fist over his mouth.
Konstantin leans back in his chair. The movement appears casual until his eyes reach mine. "The meeting is over."
Nobody moves at first.
"He told me to repeat it in his office," I continue. "He also promised consequences. I came to find out whether he delivers those any better than he handles a putter."
The silence afterward includes the soft crack of burning wood and one distant engine beyond the windows.
First to rise, Mikhail keeps his expression respectful until he nears the door.
Anton gathers his papers with greater dignity. The security chief removes the patient form, taking the original with him. None of them looks at me while they leave.
Konstantin waits until the door closes.
Under the table, he presses one button and sends frosted glass across the interior windows facing the hall. With a second touch, he locks the doors. Outside, the men's footsteps recede until only the fire remains, consuming one end of a log.
"Come here."
My body answers before I take the first step.
Heat gathers low in my stomach, sharper with every pace along the table.
Konstantin watches me approach from the deep leather chair.
His suit is charcoal today, the white shirt open at the throat.
Silver catches at his temples beneath the lamps, and his hands rest on the chair arms without moving.
I stop within reach.
"Repeat what you said."
"Which part?"
He takes my wrist, turning my palm upward. His thumb moves once over the pulse jumping there. "You entered my meeting wearing a skirt chosen to provoke me. You announced my loss in front of men who report to me, then questioned whether I could deliver a consequence. Don't become shy now."
The roughness in his voice moves over me more intimately than a hand, reaching between my thighs before he has risen from the chair.
"You lost at miniature golf," I say. "I think you need more practice with your hands."
His fingers close around my wrist.
I don't want to win this exchange. At the rink, he caught me every time my skates went wrong.
In the bedroom, he asked before touching me because I demanded it.
Here, with his attention stripping away every polite layer I brought into the room, I want the strength he keeps behind his suit brought down to one hand against my skin.
"Do you want the consequence you asked for?" he says.
"Yes."
"Tell me what you want."
My mouth goes dry. I hold his gaze anyway.
"I want you to spank me. I want to feel it after I leave this office."
His fingers flex around my wrist. His gaze drops to my mouth as his expression hardens.
"If you want me to stop, you say stop. I won't make you ask twice."
"I will."
He draws me between his knees. Both hands move under the hem of my sweater, finding the bare strip above my skirt. His palms travel around my waist before his fingers open the side fastening.
The skirt loosens.
He pushes it over my hips. Black wool drops to the carpet, leaving my stockings exposed beneath narrow black underwear. I chose those too.
Konstantin's gaze travels from the lace at my hips to the bands around my thighs. His lips part on a slow breath. The response sends a small, private rush through me. "You planned this."
"I plan most occasions involving you."
"Over my knee."
I lower myself across his lap.
Across his lap, the position leaves my upper body supported by the broad leather chair beside him.
My toes remain on the carpet while the hard length of his cock presses beneath my stomach through his trousers.
Along the back of my thigh, one hand slides as the other settles at my waist, warm and heavy.
My underwear covers almost nothing. Along one cheek, he traces the edge before drawing the lace downward and exposing my bare ass to cool air.
The first slap lands without warning.
Sound breaks across the office. Heat blooms a second later, spreading through my skin as his palm settles over the place he struck.
I inhale against the leather.
"Still pleased with yourself?" he asks.
"Very."
The next strike is harder.
Against his lap, my hips jerk. With one forearm across my waist, he holds me in place and brings his hand down on the other cheek. Beneath his palm, the sting builds deeper with each impact, tightening my stomach while my pussy grows wetter.
He doesn't hurry. The pause before each stroke leaves me listening for movement, aware of the fire consuming the log and my own breathing turned loud inside the office. When his hand lands, sensation runs through my thighs until my toes curl inside my shoes.
I move against his cock.
"Stay still."
The command makes stillness impossible. I try, my fingers gripping the edge of the chair as another stroke leaves heat across the center of my ass.
Konstantin presses his palm over both cheeks. He rubs the tender skin, spreading warmth until the pain softens around the edges. "You came into my office to challenge me."
"You invited me."
His hand lands again.
A cry leaves my mouth before I can contain it. His breathing grows heavier under me, though his arm remains firm across my waist.
He reaches between my legs.
Over the wet lace caught below my ass, two fingers slide before he pushes it lower and bares me fully. Between my folds, his fingertips gather slickness before circling my clit.
My head drops against the chair.
"Konstantin."
"This is what you wanted while you stood in front of my men."
After every slap, his fingers return to my clit. Pain opens into pleasure, each sensation sharpening the other until my body lifts toward both. Without pushing inside, he drags one finger through my entrance and spreads the wetness over me.
I reach back for him.
He catches my wrist, pinning it against my lower back. His other hand strikes the curve where my ass meets my thigh.
The sting tears a moan from me.
"You wanted my hands," he says. "You have them." He slides two fingers into my pussy.
At once, my body closes around him. He curls both fingers toward the place that makes my legs shake, holding me across his lap while his thumb works my clit.
Beneath my grip, the chair leather creaks.
Under me, the pressure of his cock lies against the tender heat of my skin while every deliberate stroke fills me.
I come with my face pressed against the chair.
Konstantin keeps me there through it. His fingers move deeper while my pussy contracts around them. Pleasure breaks through the sting in long pulses, leaving my legs weak against the carpet.
He removes his hand only when the last contraction releases him.
For several breaths, he rubs my ass, the same hand easing the heat it made while my body settles across his lap.
Then he lifts me upright.