Page 43 of Vienna Bargain

After a few moments of his hands kneading it, her ass started to feel, if not exactly good, acceptable. The ache was a constructive feeling, like a deep tissue massage.

“Roll over.”

She did, bending her knees and planting her heels so she could carefully lower her butt to the bed. With her legs bent, it didn’t hurt too much.

Alexander took up more balm and again rubbed it between his palms.

She knew where he was going to touch her next. Her breasts also felt tender, and there were pink spots that had yet to fade.

He tenderly cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking from sternum to areola in a tentative caress.

Alena’s eyes fluttered closed and she dug her fingers into the sheet.

“Too much?”

Alena opened her eyes, raised her head, and then very deliberately shook it. The urge to reach up and yank the gag out—the straps felt rubbery, which meant there’d be a bit of give—was nearly overpowering.

But she didn’t. She dropped her head back and arched her back ever so slightly, pressing her breasts more firmly into his hands.

Alexander sighed audibly and ran his thumbs over the inner curves of her breasts, but this time he kept going, gently caressing her nipples.

Alena moaned in pleasure.

Alexander swooped his hands over her breasts in mirrored strokes, caressing and teasing her for several long minutes.

Then he trailed his palm down her stomach. Alena shamelessly spread her thighs, needing him to touch her there, to please her.

Alexander bent over her and used his free hand to tug the gag out of her mouth, dropping it down around her neck where it lay over the collar.

“Alena.”

“Yes, Master Alexander?”

“Where are the towels?”

Now it was her turn to look surprised. “What?”

“You, uh, have towels.” He looked around. “I don’t normally…”

“Aww, my poor little billionaire isn’t used to getting his own towels?”

Alexander planted his hands on either side of her shoulders. “You want the gag back in?”

“No, Sir,” she purred, secretly thrilled he was teasing her. “That metal cabinet has survival supplies.”

Alexander leaned down and Alena caught her breath. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted that. She wanted it so bad that she started to lift herself up to meet him halfway when he smirked and pushed off the bed.

Alena watched from the comfort of the bed as he pulled a few towels out of the cabinet. He set two beside her, and carried a third into the bathroom, wetting it. When he brought it back, he sat on the side of the bed, wet towel balanced on his knee, dampening his pants.

Something inside her went soft as he unfastened the cuff on one wrist and gently wiped her skin with the damp towel.

Alexander started to release her, but paused. Instead he carefully guided her hand down and positioned it palm up at her side.

Palm up. For some people in BDSM, exposing the vulnerable palm—in kneeling pose, full supplicant pose, or any of the other submissive postures—was as intimate as bare breasts.

He hadn’t made an issue of it before, but apparently Alexander liked that particular posture detail.

He took her other hand, cleaned that wrist, and, leaning across her body, placed that hand palm up also.

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