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she was up over his shoulder again. Although she could feel her skirt no longer covering her ass, she didn’t care. All she cared about was that in a minute he’d take the plug out of her and then he’d put his big beautiful dick in her and everything would be better.

He strolled down the hallway as though he was in no hurry. Some guy stopped him for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries. Atlas having a half-naked woman slung over his shoulder didn’t seem to be a pressing issue. Then again, it was Fitte. For all she knew the other guy had someone over his shoulder too. Maybe there was a Neanderthal convention going on.

When the other man walked away, Atlas switched the butt plug on again. By the time he got her into the room, she was ready to agree to anything he wanted. She’d have to suggest vibrating butt plugs as a method of torturing confessions out of people at work, but that would probably cause some sort of legal issue. She also wouldn’t want to have to explain to anyone how she knew of their effects.

Instead of putting her on the bed, he lowered her to a low, round coffee table.

“Kneel.”

Fuck. More torture? She did as she was told, and he corrected her posture like some sort of exacting headmaster at an all-girls finishing school. Not that she would admit to those kinds of fantasies. Besides, she doubted Atlas could fit all of that muscle in a tweed jacket.

He stripped off her dress and her bra, leaving her naked except for her panties. She wasn’t sure when she’d lost her shoes, but it didn’t seem important.

She looked up at him, and in the dim lamplight of the opulent room he seemed so much taller and more foreboding than he had goofing around with her in the deli.

“How’s your ass?” he asked, a hint of a smirk curving his lips.

“You tell me. You were the last bastard to use it.”

An amused gleam flickered in his eyes. She might have actually surprised him, and that made her a bit smugger that she should have been, considering he’d just gotten her off in front of his buddies.

“And I’ll be the next one in it.” He went to the fridge and came back with a small bag of ice.

“What are you doing?”

With exaggerated slowness, he unbuckled his belt. Her heart went into overdrive as he slipped the black leather from the belt loops of his jeans.

“What did I say about talking?”

“But I thought that was just for downstairs,” she explained, eyeing his hands as he caressed the leather. How was this hot? Making embarrassing threats sexy was his evil superpower.

He cocked his head to the side. “Did I say ‘You may not speak unless I ask you a question, or you need to safeword’ or did I say, ‘No talking in the club’? I remember quite clearly what my command was. Do you?”

“The buzzing in my ass is scrambling my brain. I can’t be held accountable for anything I say.” She shifted, squeezing her thighs together to ease the ache between them. “I’m pretty sure that will hold up in court.”

There was a long pause, and he gave her a look she couldn’t read. “You’ve had a lot of experience with court, have you?”

Stupid butt plug. It was making her forget to watch what she said. “I told you I watch a lot of crime shows.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, as though he was clenching his teeth.

“Hold out your hands.”

She did as he’d told her to, and he rearranged them so that they were out flat, palms up.

Oh fuck. He wouldn’t.

“When I give you orders, Mila, you need to follow them.”

“Yes, sir.” Damn. That “sir” again.

Despite her verbal slip, his gaze stayed stony and impassive. Heat flashed through her body, and sweat beaded on her skin despite the coolness of the room. She stared at him in horror, knowing exactly what was coming and not knowing how she’d control her reaction when he did it.

He brought the belt down with a loud snap across both of her palms. The sharp sting ran up her arms, then down to her impossibly hard nipples. Her vision was glazing over, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

The belt came down again. Again. Five times in total, or maybe she lost count.

He lowered the bag of ice onto her hands. “Don’t even think of moving. Understand me?”


Tags: Sparrow Beckett Masters of Adrenaline Erotic