Page 22 of On His Terms

The initial pain would be awful, but the aftermath…? “Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn’t hear you.”

As she nodded, she clenched her hands. “Yes, Master Alexander.”

He flicked his wrist, and before she’d fully registered his motion, the stroke landed, searing into her.

Desperately, the edges of a climax building, she started to draw her legs together, only for him to press his palms to her inner thighs, forcing her to comply with his orders.

“Sir!” Heavy with demand, her pussy throbbed.

“When you’re with me, your orgasms are mine to give or withhold.”

Desire became a physical need, and tears sprang to her eyes.

“I’m waiting for your response.”

He was awful, a master in every way. “I understand.” Even if I hate it.

“You took those well.”

His casual conversation brought her back from edge, from the dangerously seductive place inside her mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m going to lower you, and when I do, I want you to move slowly.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Her body felt heavy, leaden, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move at all.

But he was there, rubbing circulation back into her shoulders and arms. Then he scooped her up from the stool and carried her to a chair, where he held her in his lap.

Frustratingly, the tension inside her didn’t go away.

For long moments, she stayed where she was, resting her face on his chest, listening to the reassuring thud of his heart, inhaling his primal, masculine scent.

Once her breathing returned to normal, she pressed away from him to look up and meet his gaze. “Happy birthday, Master Alexander,” she said. “And thank you for giving me the gift.”

“The gift was all mine.”

The sound of his voice, the memory of his hands on her, all of it was too much. She was restless and incomplete. “This…”

He waited.

Her hand trembling, she pushed a stray lock of hair back from her forehead. “I’m not sure how to ask, but…” She took a breath of courage and prayed she wasn’t rejected. “Will you fuck me?”

“It’s not a good idea to confuse training that way.”

“But you’re not my trainer,” she pointed out. And she wanted to be taken hard, by a man as uncompromising as he was. He knew her body better than she did. “Sir.”

He unfastened her wrists. “Chelsea—”

“You’re the one who made me horny, Sir.”

“Get on the table.”

His gruff order made her heart leap. “Yes, Sir.”

After wiggling from his lap and finding her footing, she made her way across the small space and perched on the edge of the table to watch him undress.

Deliciously, he was commando beneath the jeans. His pubic hair was well trimmed, and his cock jutted out. She’d been so caught up in her own sensations that she hadn’t seen how hard he’d gotten.

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