Page 12 of Preferential Treatment

He wasted no time with a response. His mouth was already on her slick, hot, swollen flesh, lapping up the taste of her in long, thorough strokes. A few days ago, she’d gotten a full Brazilian wax for the first time in eons, and she was suddenly intensely grateful for it. She felt his tongue everywhere. Her whole body was covered in goosebumps. Her pussy was covered in goosebumps. Hell, her ovaries were probably covered in goosebumps.

Mikhail ate her out like she was the one paying him. Like his life depended on it. Like giving her pleasure was the only thing keeping the world spinning. He brought her near the peak again and again, letting her get a little closer and a little closer, until her whole body was sheened with sweat, trembling all over, and her breaths were coming in desperate, keening gasps.

With a crazed snarl, she snatched his hair with one hand, tugging hard. “Enough playing,” she said in a tone that was meant to be authoritative, but probably sounded a lot like begging. “Make me come before I—ah, fuck!—before I lose my patien—”

Her words were lost in a silent scream as Mikhail closed his lips around her clit and sucked. She fell back flat across the surface of his desk, back arching, hips rolling, as a once-in-a-lifetime orgasm roared through her. It seemed to go on forever, washing through her entire body in potent waves, rippling outward from the magic of Mikhail’s tongue.

When at last the pleasure began to ebb, Mikhail softened his mouth, stroking his tongue gently over the contours of her pussy, delicately tracing her slit, her lips, her folds. Kate lay limp and stunned across the desk, vaguely aware that there was a pen and a phone jabbing her in the back.

Mikhail’s mouth moved to her thighs, dragging soft little kisses. “Knyazhna?”

“Hm?” Kate pushed herself up unsteadily. Her hand slid on a sheaf of papers, but she caught herself, sitting up to gaze down at him. She had never revered his wealth or his personal power—had resented it actually, even as she worked for him. But that no longer mattered, because she might start worshipping him for his oral skills alone.

“Did I prove myself?” There was such blatant arrogance in his tone that it immediately washed away Kate’s dazed, sex-drunk weakness. She slid her thighs from his shoulders and planted one foot on his chest, shoving him backwards. He grunted as he landed on his ass, looking up at her with a mix of confusion and smugness. He was still achingly erect, and a puddle of pre-come had pooled beneath him on the floor. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, in a tone that implied I know I haven’t.

“You proved your tongue is useful for one thing,” Kate said archly, “but it isn’t talking.”

“Knyazhna,” he began, a conciliatory note in his voice even as his eyes continued to gleam with self-satisfied cockiness. “I—”

“No. You know you weren’t apologizing with that little demonstration.” She slid off of the desk onto stockinged feet and straightened the hem of her dress as she glanced around for her shoes. “So your punishment is not over.”

His cock pulsed, another little stream of pre-come oozing from the tip. “Knyazhna—”

“On your knees. Hands behind your back when I address you.”

He shifted to comply, the smug gleam fading from his eyes, replaced by glazed, lust-struck vagueness. His blatant susceptibility to her control was such a pleasure, her pussy gave a little squeeze at the sight.

“If you had convinced me that you were properly sorry, I would have let you come.”

A soft, pained groan sounded in his throat.

“But since you decided to put on a show instead, you lost the privilege.”

“Knyazhna, please—”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She found her shoes and slipped one, then the other, back on. She spotted her torn panties beside the desk and decided they were a lost cause. “You’re not allowed to come until the next time we meet.”

Mikhail twisted towards her, reaching out desperately. “Knyazhna, please, I need to come. I need—”

“You should have thought of that beforehand.” She stepped out of his reach, heading towards the door. “Maybe next time you’ll serve me properly. I reward good behavior.”

Halfway to the door, she paused, arrested by an antique marble chess set on a small table flanked by two chairs. Kate took a step closer, looking down. A game was in progress—white’s turn. Black had already castled their king.

Kate glanced back at Mikhail. He was kneeling, his weight braced on his hands, his face a mask of torment as he watched her. The man could have anything he wanted in the world, except the one thing he wanted most right now—because she’d told him he couldn’t.

Kate turned back to the chessboard and moved the white knight to g6. “Check,” she said softly. “Hope your attitude’s better next time.”

And she left.

Mikhail was in a horrific agony of highly stoked, unresolved arousal. And he was ecstatic about it. The temptation to relieve himself was overpowering, but even that pain, the struggle to resist, he savored. It was the feeling of her control, even after she was gone. And the denial, her orders, would linger with him until they next met.

She was every bit the force of nature he’d anticipated. She was more, even. Stronger, sharper, stricter. The give and take between them felt so instinctive, so right, his mind was turning to absurd ideas that he’d never entertained over a woman before. Making their arrangement permanent in some way. Giving her a place in his home so she could rule over him every minute he was away from work. Which, granted, didn’t amount to many minutes—but it would be more than their current arrangement allowed for.

He already knew this was a fascination that wouldn’t burn out as quickly as his past arrangements had. Those had been wholly transactional. As soon as the women were gone, he did not think of them until his libido compelled him to. But with Kate, there was an intense mutuality that had electrified him day and night since he’d met her.

He didn’t know quite how to define the feeling. He didn’t have much experience with softer sentiments like affection or fondness, and certainly not that most distant one—love. Raised as a ward of the state in the former Soviet Union, he’d had friends among his fellow orphans, and favorite house matrons in the orphanages and boarding schools, but all of the greatest pleasures in his life had come from the unsentimental parts of his psyche—first, from his academic talents, which brought him to the U.S. for graduate school and laid the groundwork for his career in computer engineering, then from his analytic skills as a businessman, which had brought him all the wealth, comfort, privilege, and safety that he currently enjoyed.

And that wealth and privilege had brought him to her. In a mere fifteen minutes, Kate Pasternak had given him the most gratifying session of power exchange that he’d yet experienced. Never mind the tameness of the acts. Never mind that he’d been denied his own release. Something fit with the two of them in a way he’d never experienced before. It was instinctive and natural and explosive and bafflingly compelling.

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