Page 65 of The Fighter

“Yes, Sir,” I respond promptly. “More than once, I hope.”

His smile turns amused. “Greedy.” He sits back in the booth, lets his knees fall open, and pats his lap. “But I’m in a good mood tonight. Go ahead. Sit on my knee and rub yourself to an orgasm.”

You ever start out floating in the shallow end of the pool and suddenly realize you’re in the deep end and the bottom’s dropped out from under your feet and you’re drowning? That’s how I feel.

“In front of everyone?” A shiver rolls through me. “I can’t.”

“I wasn’t asking, dolcezza,” he replies. “That was an order.”

He waits. For my compliance or for my safeword. Either will be okay, I know. If I’m truly uneasy, I don’t have to do this. This is an unsettling game, and Tomas is keeping me off-balance, but it is, in the end, just a game.

And I hate backing down from a challenge.

I inch backward and straddle his powerfully muscled thigh, giving silent thanks for my choice of dress. The silk bodice hugs my breasts, but the skirt has enough ease that I don’t have to hike it up.

Even so, I feel exposed. And painfully aroused.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice warm. “You’re being so obedient that I think I’ll help you out.” He pushes his hand between my legs from behind until his wrist rests on top of his thigh, and his palm is pressed against my pussy. I grind into it, my body needing—craving—his touch, and he puts his thumb on my clit, rubbing it in a circle. “There you go,” he says, wrapping his other hand around my throat. “Ride my knee. Rub yourself on my thumb. Show me how much you want this.”

I start slow, my cheeks aflame, but soon speed up. I stop caring about whether someone’s watching and surrender to sensation. I’m slick and wet and oh-so-needy. I ride his knee because he’s given me an order, and tonight, all I have to do is obey. I get off on the freedom of submitting, grind my hips on his thigh, and press my clit into his thumb, my eyes fluttering shut as I take my pleasure.

My orgasm hits me with the force of a tsunami. I ride it out, every last quiver, with Tomas’s thumb against my clit and his hand on my throat. When I’m done, he doesn’t let me relax. “On your feet,” he orders, his voice hoarse. I slip out of the booth, and he follows, a big wet stain on his knee. I blush, looking at the evidence of my arousal, and his gaze follows, and a smile touches his lips. “Look at what you did,” he says sternly. “You’ve ruined my pants.”

Hot anticipation runs riot through me. The flogger I chose, the leather crop, the feathered tickler and the fur-lined paddle. He’s going to use them on me now.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I whisper, my eyes downcast.

“That’s not good enough, is it, Ali?” Laughter coats his voice. “Do you think your juices are going to come off the linen?”

“No, Sir,” I say as meekly as I can. “I was very careless. Please punish me.”

42

ALINA

Tomas hurries me to a private room. It’s a small space, but it looks bigger than it is because three of the four walls are covered with mirrors. There’s a wooden bench on the far side of the room, my tray of toys on it. In the center of the room, lit by a spotlight, a large wooden contraption dominates the space.

It looks like some kind of diabolical torture device. I say that to Tomas, and he laughs. “This is a Y-frame. It’s called that because of the shape of the wooden frame. It’s a bondage device.”

“You’re going to tie me up to this?” I swallow back the rush of lust. “Yes, please, Sir.”

“So polite,” he says approvingly. “Should I be worried? Is this really the same woman who spends the majority of her time plotting to poison me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I retort unwisely. “Poisoning you is only the third or fourth most important thing on my to-do list.”

He laughs. “I see you really want to get punished,” he says, smooth and dangerous. He pats the bondage frame. “Take off your clothes and hop up here.”

I reach behind my back and unzip my dress. The fabric falls in a pool by my feet. I unhook my bra and teeter over to Tomas on shaky feet, my throat dry with anticipation.

Tomas kisses me on my neck. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, Ali?”

Sometimes, before a fight, there’s a brief moment when I stare at my opponent and wonder if I know what the hell I’m getting myself into. But then the bell rings, those thoughts wipe away, and I’m all in.

That’s me right now. I’m all in.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Remind me of your safeword.”

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