“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir. Say it.”
“Yes, Sir,” she cried, not even thinking twice about it. Yes, Sir. Whatever will make you let me come.
He went into the bathroom to wash his hands, then came out and moved around the room, doing God knew what. She turned to peek and was rewarded with a reproachful glare. “When I told you to stay still, I meant to face the wall. Stay there while I think what to do with you tonight.”
She turned back with another anxious shiver. She heard a swatting, slapping sound of something against his palm. He crossed to her and shoved it into her hand.
“Here. Hold this.”
It was a thick black leather strappy thing. She breathed fast, in and out. When she tried to turn around he made a sound that stopped her. He started spanking her ass with his palm, not single spanks like before, but a steady, allover distribution. She squirmed at the sustained, stinging pain. After a few minutes, her squirms turned to protests as she danced around to avoid the smacks.
He put a hard hand on her shoulder. “Stop that,” he said. “This is just the warm-up. You’re going to need it,” he added on a dire note.
“Just the warm-up?” Her ass was already throbbing hot. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“I do,” he said. “But you have your safeword. Use it if you need it.”
Oh God!
“Give me the strap.” He held his hand out. “It’s a hard spanking for you, little girl. Brace your hands on the wall and stick your ass out.”
He slapped her burning cheeks again as soon as she did, then ran his hands over the sting. Her knees shook with fear and longing. She was terrified she’d collapse into a heap before he even got started.
He came around the side of her, grabbed a handful of her hair, and drew his arm back. Thwack! The strap connected with her ass, sounding almost as awful as it felt. The leather left a rectangle of pain across both cheeks and she jerked, causing his hand to tug at her hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. Another blow fell, and another. Oh, God, it hurt so bad, like fire across her bottom. She reached back with a cry.
“No. Hands on the wall,” he said. “Don’t move them again.”
The strapping resumed. It was so tempting to end it, to say her safeword and make the pain stop, but then she wouldn’t get the reward of sticking it out. She knew her suffering turned him on, just as his power and force excited her, but she could barely keep her hands still on the wall. He paused just as she was about to throw in the towel.
“So hot and red,” he murmured, leaning closer to inspect the damage. “You like it?”
She blinked away the sheen of her tears. Did she like it? Yes and no.
“Answer me,” he prompted.
“Yes, Sir, I like it.”
“Bend more,” he said, nudging her downward. “I want to see your pretty pussy.” He made a pleased sound and knelt behind her, spreading her cheeks and running his tongue over her exposed cleft. She shivered, three seconds from melting to oblivion. He laved her clit, flicking through the hot wetness there. She was instantly transported from aching, stinging pain to sweet bliss. “Please don’t stop,” she begged.
He pulled away, pinching her labia. “Not time to come yet. Put your hands back on the wall.”
She moaned as he straightened and began strapping her again. “Ah,” he said to the accompaniment of her stifled cries. “Your ass is so tempting when it’s red like this. When you’re tensing away from me. When do I get to fuck that ass?”
“I—ow—I don’t know!”
“Wrong answer,” he said, with another sharp crack. “Try again.”
Petra pressed her forehead against the wall, working to put together a complete sentence. “Whenever—whenever you want. Sir,” she added, remembering.
“Oh, very nice.” He paused and tilted her head back for a kiss. “Good girl,” he breathed against her lips. “For reward, I lick your pussy again.”
She almost cried from the relief of his lips on her, and the questing pressure of his tongue. He made sounds like her pussy was the most delicious thing in the world, avid, sucking sounds and hums of approval. When he stopped, she barely suppressed a cry of protest. He responded by pulling her up and covering her mouth with his palm.
“You know Liam and Ashleigh and Mem can hear you.” She squirmed against him, feeling shamed and excited. “They hear you being spanked like a bad girl and they hear you groaning like a slut. How does that make you feel?”
She knew it was a rhetorical question, since his hand was still over her mouth. But if he’d prompted her to answer, she would have told him it made her feel the same as when he talked about fucking her ass: part horny and aroused, and part horrified. She squealed against his palm as he trapped her against the wall and resumed the strapping with the most intense strokes yet.
She danced on her feet, danced to the choreography of erotic pleasure and pain. She didn’t want it to end, but oh, it hurt so much. When she shied away from the blows, he let go of her mouth and trapped her around the waist. Now, no matter how much she bucked and twisted, she couldn’t get away. Crack! Thwap! Crack! The pain was awful, but it was tempered by the warmth of his closeness, and his enigmatic power melting her inside.
His pace increased, along with the intensity of the smacks. Her cries of protest became real crying, tears trailing down her face and into her mouth and nose. She clutched at the arm trapping her, not the graceful ballerina now, but the frantic submissive enduring an ass-beating she wanted but could barely tolerate. As much as she wanted to please him, she would have to stop him soon. She shuddered through another stinging stroke and let her legs go limp. Down. She wanted down. She’d taken all she could stand...perhaps a little beyond what she could stand. He stopped at once, releasing her so she could fall to her knees in surrender.
“Romeo,” she whispered. “I want more, but—”
“It’s okay,” he said, tipping up her chin. She stared into approving black eyes. “I’ll give you more. Something else, nicer. Kneel up straight and open your mouth.”
She obeyed without the slightest hesitation, even though a month ago, a year ago, she would have said she despised giving blowjobs. Somehow that was no longer the case. He left her to go for a condom, then returned to stand with his thick cock jutting in front of her. Without prompting, she opened wider.
“That’s right,” he said. “Serve me. Let me fuck your pretty face.”
Serve me. He’d said that to her in one of her sordid dreams. She remembered the exact words, and fought a sudden feeling of disequilibrium. Was this another dream or was it really happening? She made some small sound of panic and he touched her face as if to soothe her.
“You can do it,” he said. “Suck me. You’re starving for me, aren’t you?” He massaged her throat as she took his length as deep as she could. Dream or reality?
His fingers felt too warm and real for this to be a dream. She cupped her hands around his rigid length, over the part she couldn’t fit in her mouth, then reached down to stroke his balls. At his urging, she drew back to lick them with broad strokes. He groaned and put his hands on the sides of her head. “Jesus Cristo,” he said. “You’re getting too good at this. Turn around. Open your legs.”
He knelt behind her and yanked her into position on her hands and knees. She barely caught her breath before he impaled her on his cock. He drove against her hot ass, riding her, manipulating her for his pleasure. He was so greedy and demanding. Heat built in her pussy, her innate response to his mastery. He stroked and pinched her breasts and pressed his chest against her back. When she begged there, there, there, he gave it to her there, thrusting deep and sliding his fingers over her swollen clit.
Is okay to be scared. Is okay to be scared.
The deep strokes of his cock were scary exciting, and scary rough. Add his muscles, his grasping hands, and the seductive lilt of his accent, and she found herself in that wondrous world again, the world where she and Rubio fit togeth
“You smell like sugar,” he said against her ear. “I dream about it...” His voice went out on a gasp and he drove into her harder, faster, lifting her from the floor with the force of his thrusts. Her pussy clenched around him as her orgasm erupted without conscious thought. It was a reflex, a natural outcome of being joined to him. He wrapped her in his arms, and she thought she could feel his heartbeat beneath her own heart’s frantic pounding. He ground his hips against hers. His whole body tensed and shuddered, and then he grabbed two handfuls of her hair and pressed his forehead to her back.
“Petra,” he sighed. “What do you do to me?”
He drew back and flipped her over, and kissed her as she clung to him, basking in the feeling of his hard body pressed against hers. After a while, he pulled away to take off the condom.
“Careful,” he said. “So no baby. Right?”
She nodded, so appreciative of the care he took. She had to look away, or she was afraid he’d see everything she felt about him. I love you. I’m trying to fight it but I can’t.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, right there in the middle of the hard floor. Neither one of them spoke for a moment and then he said, “That was good. Good scene.” He ran a fingertip up her arm, raising goose bumps. “I like to be with you, Petra. You make me happy. This is okay, isn’t it?”
Petra chose the vaguest answer possible. “I think it has to be okay.”
“Hmm.” He answered that tentative statement with a kiss. “Everything is okay. Very okay then. Are you happy too?”
She didn’t have to think twice about it. “Yes, I’m happy.”
“Maybe soon...” He paused. “When we have a day off, maybe it’s time to visit the play room together. Try out some of the equipment.”
She wasn’t sure whether her shiver was born of excitement or anxiety. She just knew “soon” couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Thirteen: Ten Minutes
Rubio expected it to be tedious, watching out for Petra, going with her everywhere and constantly monitoring their surroundings. But the truth was, he’d been watching her for weeks, attuned to everything about her. Back then, he’d been watching for any signal she might reconsider their sex-free partnership.
He was so, so glad she’d reconsidered. She wasn’t as hardcore as some of the women he’d played with, but she excited him in other ways. She connected with him. She made herself vulnerable for him—and he knew it wasn’t natural for her to let her guard down. He rewarded her as best he could. He gave her orgasms and eased her into trying new things, new adventures to bring her pleasure. Nutcracker rehearsals—which were normally excruciating—took on a new air of sensuality. As they moved together, he’d gaze into her eyes and they’d both remember the previous night’s sexual encounter—a cropping that had her begging for mercy or a wrestling match that ended with raunchy sex.
Sometimes as they rehearsed together, he’d whisper what he planned to do to her later, very quietly. He’d move his hand across her ass cheeks, across hidden welts no one else could see. He never kissed her. She wouldn’t let him kiss her in front of anyone because she wanted their relationship to be a secret. She didn’t want them to become a company “item,” didn’t want to be the object of speculation and gossip. She didn’t want to become her mom.
Rubio understood that. He understood a lot more about her now that they’d grown closer, and he felt a lot about her, but he kept it inside because he didn’t want to upset her, or scare her away. Once he started blurting out his feelings all hell would break loose, because he never said things right. He didn’t have a lot of smooth manners, and it wasn’t easy for him to talk.
He listened to her though. That, at least, he could do. He held her at night as she poured out her fears about Paulsen, and her fears about getting older, her fears about work, or a difficult ballet, or company politics. One frown from Liam, and Petra would fall into a tailspin. Liam kept them loosely informed about Paulsen’s activities and correspondence, but Rubio could tell he was selective about what he shared.
Somehow, some way, this stalking crisis would pass. In the meantime, Ruby tried his best to distract her from troubling thoughts. Today, he was taking her on a private tour of Liam’s play room—a tour he’d been planning for days.
“Come on,” he said when she stalled on the stairs. “Is not so scary. I’ll turn on the lights.”
He flipped a switch and the “lights” came on: sconces of flickering LED candles. The play room looked the same day or night, thanks to thick black walls and a lack of windows. Petra stood at his side, scanning the equipment. He took her hand and smiled at her. “It looks different, huh? When it’s just us?”
She nodded. “It looks empty. You’re absolutely sure Liam and Ashleigh won’t come down here? Or Mem?”
“I put a sign on the door. Ocupado. It’s just you and me.” He crossed to the sound system and put on some music with a low, sensual beat.
Petra drifted over to a towering iron rack, studying the rails and eye bolts. “How long has Liam been giving his parties?”
“As long as I’ve known him, which is a pretty long time. Almost ten years now. The parties started out smaller. They’ve grown over time. Liam likes to make a safe place for people to play and meet new partners. Before Ashleigh, he used to play with...” He made a careless gesture. “Hundreds of women. He was a player.”
She looked at him from under her lashes. “You’re a player too, aren’t you?”
He was about to agree when he realized it had been weeks since he’d been with a party chick, with anyone besides Petra. He shrugged. “I’m not so bad. Not anymore.” Not since I met you.
The unspoken words danced around them. He shoved out his bottom lip. “Well, pretty soon I’m going to tie you down and do dirty things to your body. So if you want to explore, or ask any questions, you better do that now.”
She strolled along the wall, checking out all the various implements. “How long have you been into BDSM?” she asked.
He’d been ready to do tutorials on equipment, not answer questions about himself. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I don’t remember a time I wasn’t into it. I always had this...this mean stroke. Is that the expression?”
“Mean streak?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t say you’re mean, though. You’re a little rough, but underneath, you’re a caring person.”
“Don’t tell that to anyone,” he said with a threatening glare. “Is not true, anyway.”
“It is true.” She grinned at him, so cute and sweet. Pretty Petra. What would she think of his background, his childhood? The impoverished neighborhood where he grew up?
“In Brazil...” He paused, wondering how to explain such things to her. “In Brazil, when I was young, I saw a lot of injustice. A lot of weak and poor, and powerful and rich. There were great divides. From an early age, I thought...I want to have power. I don’t want to be weak. When I started ballet, the teachers said I had talent. I wanted to quit. I thought ballet was weak but my teacher showed me it can be strong. It can be powerful. I saw that ballet could bring me power, that I could use my talent to rise out of poverty. I was determined, even when kids teased me and threw rocks at me.”
“They threw rocks at you?”
“They threw worse things, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be the best, I wanted to have power. With sex too, when I started, I wanted to be the one in control, all the time, for everything. I had this feeling of wanting to protect women, but wanting to hurt them too. But for pleasure, not to be cruel.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain. My English isn’t good enough.”
“No. I understand what you mean. I see that all the time in you, the protective-yet-hurty thing.”<br />
He locked eyes with her over the space between them. It occurred to him that outside of Liam, Petra knew him best. He glanced away, scanning the room full of BDSM equipment. “I can’t say why I like to hurt women in sex. I don’t know why I like to hurt you. I can’t explain why I want that, when I—” He almost said, when I love you. He did love her, he was almost sure. He also knew he couldn’t tell her that. Instead he shrugged and said, “I don’t know where it comes from.”
She turned her head a little, the light of the candles reflecting in her hair. “Pain is a very effective way to exert power. I’m sure that’s all it is. But...does it upset you? That you like to hurt women?”
He looked away from her probing gaze. “It only upsets me when it makes me uncompatible with someone I like.”
“Incompatible.”
“Yes, because I know a lot of women don’t like to be hurt.”
She looked past him, toward the corner where he’d played with her on the horse. “I didn’t think I liked to be hurt, but you make it sexy. Exciting. I liked it from the very first time.”
“I remember,” he said, forcing a smile. All this serious talk. He tried to refocus her attention to fun things, leading her over to the wall of BDSM implements. “What do you think? See anything interesting?”
“I see a lot of things that are interesting. And scary.”
He reached for a clear Lucite paddle and turned it over in his hand. “This hurts bad. Want to feel it?”
He brandished it at her and she ran off. He followed, his laughter rising over the low hum of the music. She was short but she was quick and she fit into spaces he couldn’t. She hid behind a cage in the corner and peeked out at him.
“You know you want it,” he said, grinning.
“How long did it take Liam to collect all that stuff?” she asked.
“It’s not all his. People donate toys they don’t want anymore, or leave their gear here for the parties. My private stash is in a trunk over there.” He lifted a brow. “Wanna see?”
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