by Renee Rose
He unhooked her bra with more force than necessary and threw it across the room. Leading her to the full-length mirror on her wall, he commanded, “Bend over.”
She peeked at his face in the mirror, unsure of exactly how he wanted her.
He pushed her torso down, folding her at the waist. “Hands on the mirror.”
Understanding, she braced herself against the glass.
“Open your eyes, Chloe,” he murmured. “Look at yourself.”
She hadn’t realized she had closed her eyes. She blinked and lifted her head, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts looked larger hanging down and the submissive position of her bent over, him standing erect behind her made a shiver of excitement zing through her.
He took his time peeling down her panties, holding her eyes in the mirror. He slapped the low part of her ass, first on the right, then the left. “If you’re mine, Chloe, you must obey my every command.”
“Yes, doctor,” she breathed.
He rubbed her tingling buttocks. “What happens if you don’t?”
“You spank me?” she asked hopefully.
The corners of his mouth flashed up, then he suppressed the grin and pulled the stern face that always made her scurry at the office. “I will punish you,” he said sternly. “In whatever way I choose.”
Another frisson of anticipation ripped through her.
He bent and slowly pulled the belt from the loops on his discarded pants, doubling it.
She erected her torso in alarm.
“Bend over, Chloe,” he said, a warning in his voice, but his hand on her back stroked a gentle reassurance.
She drew in a breath and squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to relax.
He swung the belt lightly, hardly causing any sting at all.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her in the mirror.
He swung a bit harder and she jumped, but the sting that bloomed across her cheeks felt delicious.
“Mmm,” she encouraged.
He smiled in satisfaction and struck again with the same force.
She sucked in her breath over her teeth, but gave another moan of approval.
He struck again and again applying even strokes up and down her buttocks, leaving a warm sting in his wake.
“Five more, a little harder this time. To show you the kind of spanking you’ll get if you disobey. I want you to count them.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement, he struck.
She gasped and tried to stand up.
“Count,” he reminded her.
“One!” she yelped.
He laid the next stripe before she had recovered from the first.
“Two! Two!” she called out, as if saying them faster would somehow earn her a reprieve.
“Good girl,” he encouraged, seeming to know he had pushed her limits. She took a deep breath and pushed her bottom back out for him.
He struck again, twice.
“Three—four!” she shouted.
“One more. You’re doing so well.”
His praise helped her, even though she didn’t know how one could be spanked well.
He brought the belt down one last time, a little harder.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to recover her voice. “Five,” she said, her voice wobbling.
He dropped the belt and stroked his large hand up and down the length of her arched back. “Very good, Chloe.” He leaned over and gripped her hair, putting his mouth by her ear. “I love it when you obey me.”
Those words should not turn her on, but clearly they did, the fire on her backside eclipsed by the one in her center core, her body trembling to be fully taken by him. If she’d had any concern about his stamina as an older man, it disappeared when she caught sight of his cock, fully erect once more. She gave a pleading bray, hollowing her back to offer her pussy to him.
He brought his fingers to her sex, sliding them over her wet folds. “I know,” he said softly. “You’re ready for your reward.”
“Ohhh,” she moaned, letting him know he was definitely on the right track.
His finger stroked along her opening seemingly without agenda, despite the urgency she felt.
“Please?” she tried.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, doctor?”
He gripped her hair again, lifting her head. “I love it when you talk dirty, little slut.”
She shuddered at his use of the term, which normally she would consider an insult. Somehow, in this situation it came as the highest praise. Her pussy gushed in response, her insides quivering as much as her legs, her ass still toasty from his delicious display of dominance. “Please?” she asked again.
“Yes,” he drawled. “Tonight I will indulge you. Sometimes I will make you work harder for it.”
She lifted her head. “A blowjob and a whipping aren’t considered work?”
He slapped her ass. “Do not get sassy, or you will be kneeling in the corner with a vibrator up your ass until I decide it’s time for you to come,” he said sharply.
“Ooh.” She couldn’t even pretend not to love that idea.
He chuckled. “I can think of a number of embarrassing medical procedures I could subject you to, as well.”
She didn’t have a chance to consider what he might mean because he chose that moment to push into her. Her pussy took him in like a long lost friend, stretching wide to accommodate his girth, hungry for his full length. “Oh yes, please,” she whispered.
He kept his fist in her hair, lifting her head again. “Look at yourself,” he commanded as his hips bumped hers.
She opened her eyes to see her breasts swaying with the movement, her face already twisted into the expression of desperate desire that precedes orgasm. She squeezed her lids closed again, embarrassed.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
This time she looked for him, found the handsome planes of his face set with the same dark passion, the chiseled muscles of his chest straining. He slammed into her harder, his balls slapping against her clit, sending her careening over the edge with just a few strokes.
“Oh yes!” she gasped.
“Not yet,” he growled, never stopping the hard fucking he delivered with each firm instroke.
“Darren,” she whimpered, begging.
“You come on command,” he reminded her, his voice harsh and roughened.
“Yes!” she gasped, her hands growing slippery on the mirror from their heat, her legs shaking with the effort to remain in position and accept his aggressive plundering.
She panted, distracting herself from her own need to release by squeezing the walls of her vagina each time he pushed in.
“Chloe!” he exclaimed, the sound of shocked pleasure echoing through the room.
Encouraged, she kept at it, until he gave a desperate, “Oh God!”
Abruptly her attention returned to the feel of his hard cock moving inside her, every sensation heightened tenfold. She smelled her own arousal, tasted the salty reminder of his cum still on her tongue. The sound of flesh slapping flesh as his pelvis smacked against hers, his balls pleasuring her most sensitive nerve-endings. He pulled her hair back even further, pounding into her with a ferocity that satisfied every last need within her.
“God, yes!” she screamed through clenched teeth.
“Come, Chloe!” he barked, and she shattered, losing control as a tidal wave tossed her over the edge and her muscles contracted around his cock, spasming on and on, longer than she had ever orgasmed in her life.
Then, just as it passed and she thought she might collapse, Darren pulled out and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed where he settled her. Switching off the light, he climbed over her and covered her body with his own, kissing her with the tenderness absent in their love-making.
He kissed her until her lips felt bruised and her heart seemed it would explode with fullness. Then he settled beside her and pulled her against his chest, whe
re he cradled her head on his shoulder. She tossed a leg over him, snuggling in, the sound of his heartbeat lulling her toward sleep.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“Hot sex. Helping with Jen. Being my hero.”
He kissed her temple. “Thank you for letting me be your hero.”
She almost slipped into sleep when he said into the darkness, “I’m excited about you. About us.”
She shivered, goosebumps standing up on her arms, the thrill of possibility dancing in her chest. “Me too,” she whispered, floating in happiness.
Her Russian Master - Excerpt
Read all the books in Renee’s Master Me Series
Her Royal Master
Yes, Doctor
Her Russian Master
Her Marine Master
Please enjoy this snippet from Her Russian Master:
Three years undercover with the mob and he’d throw it all away for a girl.
He didn’t give a shit if it got him whacked by the mob, or fired from the FBI. Lucy Carr wasn’t going to get killed on his watch. Hell, if any of them fucking touched her, he would blow his cover in a second.
After a lifetime believing he was fundamentally soulless, his fervor surprised him. Who knew? Some part of his spirit must still be intact for him to want to protect something so precious.
Yuri climbed out of the backseat of Freddo’s S-class Mercedes and cracked his knuckles. Mob enforcer was a part he’d played so long—for real and for the FBI—that he’d come to believe it was all he was. Darkness shrouded in crime. Even if he was working for the “good guys” now.
He wasn’t wearing a suit. Neither were Freddo and Tommy. Tonight could get bloody, and who wanted to ruin a thousand dollar Armani? No, just a short-sleeved button-down and slacks tonight. With his customary swagger, he led the way to the front of the line snaking onto the sidewalk in front of Blue Turtle, the upscale club Jake Carr owned.
Jake was in deep shit.
Yuri could give two fucks about Jake or his cocaine habit-induced problems. It was Jake’s captivating little sister he wasn’t going to let die.
Lucy.
The Blue Turtle’s resident DJ was an ongoing source of fascination for Yuri. How did something so fresh, so full of light, exist in their world of darkness? It was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
Her music pumped out on the sidewalk, the bass loud enough to demand their heartbeats amp up the speed to match. The bouncer at the door recognized them and opened the velvet rope for them without a word. “Where’s Jake?” Freddo demanded in notes of deep baritone asshole.
The bouncer shrugged his shoulders. “Not in yet—I haven’t seen him.”
Freddo glowered at the guy for a minute but he clearly didn’t know anything, including enough to be scared, so they moved on, into the club.
The moment they walked in, Yuri’s eyes went to the DJ booth, where they were always drawn.
Lucy bounced in the plexiglass enclosed space, pumping her arm in the air, an exhilarated grin lighting up her beautiful face. High cheekbones made her face heart-shaped, and a bow shaped her mouth. Her pale skin was flawless and bright, decorated with a tiny piercing of a diamond up by one eye. She could have been a model. Or an actress. But instead she had this counter-culture thing going—hair dyed platinum and pulled into two fuzzy pigtails high on her head. Fucking adorable.
Just seeing her lifted a weight from Yuri’s shoulders, only it immediately slammed back down onto his chest, because yeah. If Jake no-showed tonight, Lucy would become their hostage until he did. You don’t stiff the don his drug money and expect to get away with it.
She caught sight of them as they pushed through the crowd, and looked away quickly, telling him she knew why they were there. He sure as hell hoped she would cooperate and just inform them of her brother’s whereabouts. Or call him to come down.
He walked to the booth and tapped on the glass. She stood on an elevated platform, so he had to reach up to knock, but he knew she saw him there.
She pretended she didn’t.
He walked around to the side and tried the handle on the door but it was locked from the inside. Smart girl. A bouncer saw him and started to come over, then he must’ve realized who Yuri and his cohorts were and quickly diverted his attention to something else.
Yuri threw his shoulder into the door until the plywood splintered and the lock broke away.
The look of terror Lucy gave him gutted him. But she should be afraid. Only a healthy dose of fear was going to get her out of this mess. He stalked up the stairs.
She tore her earphones off and shouted over the music. “You can’t be in here!”
Up close, she was even harder to take in, her light so bright it fucking blinded him. She wore a simple white tank top—wife beater style and too small, so it hugged her androgynous body. In hot pink glittered letters, the word kinky glowed across her small tits. It nearly made his knees buckle. Was she kinky?
No. It was just a sassy shirt she wore to grab attention, along with the miniscule jean skirt that barely covered her ass, and the platform sandals with straps that tied around her ankles. She probably had no idea what kink even meant.
He ignored her declaration and countered with his own. “Where’s your brother?”
She visibly paled and her mouth tightened, but she lifted her chin with a bravado he had to admire. “Something came up. He’s not coming in tonight.”
He pointed a finger, using the warning look he’d first perfected as enforcer for a teenage street gang back in Russia. “Call him. Tell him to get his ass down here, or there’s trouble. Do it now.” He turned and left, not able to stand there and see the fear he’d put into that precious face a moment longer.
It made him sick to threaten her.
He tripped back down the stairs and met Freddo and Tommy, who’d gone to the bar.
“Manager says he’s not in yet but she’s expecting him later,” Freddo said.
“Bullshit,” he rasped, his Russian accent always growing thicker when he got tough.
“Right. So we grabbing the girl?” Tommy asked.
“Not yet.” He spoke too quickly. Willing his body to hang loose and easy, he surveyed the club. “We wait. If he doesn’t show by closing time, the girl comes with us. I told her to call him.”
“And you think he’ll come running down to get his ass kicked?” Freddo snorted.
“No. But we can’t grab the DJ in the middle of a set. They’ll call the cops in a heartbeat.”
“No one here wants the cops involved,” Tommy countered.
He was right. The club may be high end and filled with hordes of beautiful people, but it also was a mecca for drug sales of all kinds. Which was how Jake had got himself fucked.
“They will if you drag the girl out in front of three hundred witnesses. Sit. We wait.”
Yuri wasn’t their leader. He was just a fucking soldier. Freddo was his capo, but his experience in the Russian mafiya had encompassed a lifetime’s worth of street cred, so they’d learned to respect his opinions. He just hoped he could keep leading this show until Lucy was out of the don’s crosshairs.
Tommy strong-armed his way into a table and chairs and they waved down a cocktail waitress, who came running, having learned months ago that if she gave them special service, they tipped in c-notes.
He slid his chair around where he could keep an eye on his beautiful DJ, which wasn’t anything new. He always positioned himself where he could see her. Watching her revel in pumping up a crowd was the only glimmer of light in his fucking mess of an unlived life. Three years he’d been working undercover for the FBI as Don Diego’s enforcer, and he still hadn’t managed to nail the guy. His life was a series of drug drops and beatings. He had yet to be ordered to kill, which was either a good thing or bad. If the order came through Freddo, he’d be in a bad place—forced to choose to kill or blow his cover without nailing Don Diego. The part that gave him night sweats was wonder
ing which he’d choose. He had so much blood on his hands already. A little more in the name of justice wouldn’t change much.
Or would it?
Wasn’t his soul supposed to be saved now that he’d gone straight?
On the other hand, if he managed to get a recording of Don Diego making the order to kill, he’d have succeeded, making his mentor, boss and possibly only friend, Leo, proud.
The Russian was staring at her. That wasn’t new. Every time he came into the club he found a chair with a view of the dance floor and watched—not the dance floor, but her. As if there was anything interesting about a DJ. She’d been tempted to flash her tits or something just to see what he’d do.
But tonight was different. Jake hadn’t told her exactly what happened, but from what she’d pieced together, some money or drugs had been stolen from him and now he owed the mob. He’d told her they’d given him a deadline and he was trying to scrape the money together. He’d also promised he’d have it figured out in time, but based on the way Yuri the Fury had busted in her DJ booth door, Jake’s time was up.
Her gut twisted with dread. She’d known, the first time she saw the mobsters in the Blue Turtle, her brother was in over his head. But of course he wouldn’t listen to her. She was six years his junior, which meant he still thought of her as a baby.
It probably didn’t help that she’d done nothing with her college communications degree except backpack across Europe, rock his dance floor, and sign up for a yoga teacher training course. He was the one telling her to fix her life. But he’d been partying too much since he opened the nightclub.
She got it. It was an exciting, glamorous world, and by the simple nature of being the club owner, he was a rockstar. He’d started snorting coke recreationally and occasionally dropping E. Then he’d started dealing—just a little to his best customers, he’d told her. And his dealers? Yeah. They were members of the Italian mafia. Who also happened to employ one intense and sexy Russian with an apparent crush on her.
She’d asked Jake to be careful, but he always exuded confidence. He’d told her he had it handled. Nothing bad would ever happen.