Page 22 of Preferential Treatment

She watched as he complied, forced to unlace his shoes and step out of them in order to get his pants off, and then the dark, snug boxer briefs he wore underneath. His cock stood urgently to attention, thick and ruddy, as he bent to slide everything down his legs. He walked over to Kate, cock bobbing, and handed them to her, brow furrowed uncertainly.

Kate tossed them in the trash. “Now get dressed.”

She waited while he got back into his pants, fastened his belt, stepped back into his shoes, and bent to lace them.

“Come here.”

He stepped closer, stopping just in front of her. She grasped his hard cock through the fine weave of his trousers, giving it a possessive squeeze. Mikhail stiffened, hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall behind her.

“This is mine,” Kate said with a mean smile. “You don’t touch what’s mine until I give you permission. Understand?”

He hauled in a shaky breath. “Yes, knyazhna.”

“Good boy.” She gave him one more squeeze, and then turned away, opening the door, and leaving him to his torment.

Mikhail remained braced against the wall, breathing raggedly. His trousers rubbed against the hyper-sensitive head of his cock, driving him halfway mad. The need to stroke himself off was agonizing, but he resisted. It would be with him all day, a constant reminder of her power over him, every time he felt the slide of his trousers against his bare flesh.

This would be enough. He was confident. This insane, unprecedented need would be assuaged by more frequent contact. He’d be able to focus again, run his fucking company, instead of spending every waking minute anticipating the next time he could see her.

A more encompassing dynamic would help him burn through the lust faster, too. Or, at least, he hoped it would. These intermittent flare-ups of sexual need were generally an unwanted distraction, but with Kate Pasternak, it was a debilitating handicap. He couldn’t think of anything but her. He couldn’t get anything done. The sooner he exorcised his attraction to her, the better. He’d send her on her way with a generous severance gift, and they’d never have to cross paths again.

But for now, he was walking around with the exquisite agony of her denial, and it cleared his mind like nothing else. He went back to his office with renewed focus. He had a conference call in an hour to discuss the financials of a potential acquisition, and finally, he could do it with his head screwed on. Just yesterday, he’d sat through an entire board meeting without absorbing a single word that was said to him, responding on autopilot while his mind was consumed by desperate anticipation of when he could next kneel for Kate—when he could drop the world off his shoulders, empty his mind, and just obey.

And now, he had business in New York for a few days, but it no longer stretched ahead of him like a prison sentence. No matter where he went, Kate could command him.

CHAPTER TEN

As soon as Mikhail had given her broader authority over him, Kate wasted no time in testing it. There was nothing too absurd for her to demand of him.

Friday night, she sent a text informing him that he had to wear red underwear the next day. Bright and early Saturday morning, he sent her a photograph of himself, standing in a hotel bathroom, wearing nothing but tight red boxer briefs.

Giddily pleased, she sent him another text. Good boy. Also, your socks are not allowed to match.

He responded with another picture—a black sock with a subtle stripe pattern on one foot, another black sock with a subtle diamond pattern on the other.

Different colors, she replied.

Another picture—the black striped sock paired with a dark gray striped sock.

She grinned. He was being a brat on purpose. Brighter colors or I’ll make you watch while I get myself off and you won’t be allowed to touch yourself.

A very quick reply—a burgundy sock on one foot, a navy blue one on the other.

There’s a good boy.

Saturday morning, she received the bank notification that her weekly five-thousand-dollar “gift” had been deposited. In a sunny mood, she texted Mikhail that he was allowed to dress as he pleased, but he had to get her permission before he ate or drank. Obediently, he texted her throughout the day, requesting permission for food and drink.

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” Naomi asked after a string of texts in which Kate vetoed all of his drink requests—no to coffee, no to tea, no to coke, no to orange juice—until she’d finally permitted him water.

“Oh… uh. A guy.” Shit. She should’ve said a “friend.”

Naomi’s brows rose with interest. “A guy? Like a romantic kind of guy?”

“No, more like a friends-with-benefits kind of guy.” Boss-with-benefits, whatever.

On Sunday morning, Naomi had to work, so Kate was alone in the apartment. She commanded Mikhail to have lunch delivered to her from Violetta. She thought it’d be an impossible ask. Violetta was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the city. Reservations opened every three months, and they booked out in a matter of minutes every time. A place like Violetta did not do takeout. And they were only open for dinner hours. The idea of getting a takeout lunch from Violetta was laughable.

Kate hadn’t demanded Violetta because she’d expected to get it. She’d demanded it because she wanted a reason to punish Mikhail. It’d been days since she’d left him hard and wanting in the conference room, and she wanted a reason to make him edge himself without being allowed to come while she watched over the phone.

---