Page 17 of Preferential Treatment

He smiled, transforming the harshness of his features into something almost boyish. The urge to kiss him overwhelmed her and she couldn’t resist it. She leaned in, softly touching her lips to his. When she pulled back, the smile had dropped from his face, and he stared at her with an expression of mild confusion.

Of course he did. They weren’t lovers. This wasn’t a sweet, post-coital-kisses kind of relationship. She was a paid contractor.

Mortified, Kate released his jaw and turned away. Getting to her feet, she straightened her skirt down her thighs, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

He pushed himself up to sit, naked and sticky with come and sweat. “Go left down the hall, it’s the second door on the right.”

“Thank you.” She started to walk away, then turned back. Despite the flush in her cheeks, she adopted a haughty demeanor. “I’m sure you can find another bathroom in this labyrinth of a house. Go clean yourself up.”

A hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Yes, knyazhna.”

When Kate returned to Mikhail’s office, he was already back. He was in the process of stepping into his pants, pulling them up his long legs. The harsh lines of his stoic face and the sturdy, hairy expanse of his broad chest seemed at odds with the elegantly cut trousers. Still flushed from exertion, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin, he looked like a barbarian who’d murdered an aristocrat and stolen his fine clothes.

Dressing himself was a pretty clear sign that he was done, and that Kate was free to go. After all, she hadn’t given him his rights to clothing back yet, and he didn’t have a belligerent expression on his face to suggest that this was an attempt to provoke her. The game was over for now.

“How do I get home if you gave all your staff the night off?” She asked, crossing the office to retrieve her shoes.

“My driver is on call tonight. I can have him here in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She walked over to the small table with the chess set, using it to balance as she slipped one shoe on, then the other. Briefly, she glanced at the board, then away. A second later, she glanced back. Mikhail had responded to her move on Saturday, getting his king out of check. Everything else was as it had been. She looked over at him and found him watching her intently.

“What’s your next move, knyazhna?”

Unable to resist, she stepped closer to the board, examining the layout more carefully than she had last time. If she took his queenside rook with her queen, he’d be left with a knight and bishop standing in the way of a checkmate. Three moves. But… he was only two moves away from capturing her knight with his own lurking knight—leaving him perfectly set up to capture her queen if she’d taken the bishop by then. Either way, unless he was completely incompetent, he’d move his knight to protect that space.

She frowned, pinching her lower lip as her gaze traced over the board, playing out potential moves in her head. Finally, smiling to herself, she slid her queen pawn to d4, opening up a lane for her queenside bishop to defend the knight on h6. It wasn’t a perfect solution—Mikhail would probably decide it was worth losing his own knight to capture hers, but still, the threat would make him think twice.

She slid a sneaky glance at him. His attention was riveted on the board, his eyes dancing from piece to piece. Trying to find a solution that allowed him to save his own knight while getting rid of the threat hers posed. After a moment, he moved his knight in a different direction than Kate had expected. She stared at the board, trying to rationalize the move. She couldn’t see anything. Was he just screwing with her?

But then she caught it—in two more moves, that knight would have two spots near her king blocked off, and if Kate didn’t do anything about the bishop hanging out mid-board, he could slide that little fucker in for a checkmate.

Sometimes her aggressive play bit her in the ass—she was great at setting up attacks, but she often forgot to pay attention to defense. Luckily she’d caught it this time. Forced to abandon the set-up against his king, she slid her queen across the board to threaten both his knight and bishop at once.

Mikhail let out a little breath that sounded nearly like a laugh. He drew out the chair on the black side of the board and sank into it, using his foot to push out the other chair, gesturing distractedly for Kate to sit. Engrossed by the game, she sank into the seat, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and her chin on her folded hands. Across from her, Mikhail sat with his arms crossed over his bare chest, staring down at the board with total absorption. Finally, he moved his rook pawn forward.

The game progressed in total silence, except for annoyed huffs from Kate when Mikhail captured her rook and both bishops, and an appreciative chuckle from Mikhail when Kate took his queen. As more and more pieces left the board, their moves slowed, each taking careful stock of the board before they reacted. But in the end, just as Kate was trying to form a fork with her knight and rook, Mikhail started harrying her king. She was forced to dance her king around the board until, at last, she was out of options.

“Checkmate,” Mikhail said softly, sliding his rook into place.

Kate took a second to acknowledge the wound to her pride, drawing in a slow breath and letting it out in a gusty sigh. She looked up, extending her hand across the board. “Good game.”

Mikhail shook her hand. “Yes. It was. Humor me with another?”

She glanced at the window. “It’s getting late.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip.

“Please, knyazhna.”

She was apparently terrible at being a domme, because she found his pushiness weirdly endearing. She was like the opposite of a brat tamer. She was a brat enabler. “Alright, fine, just give me my hand back.”

He flashed her a crooked smile as he released her, then immediately began setting the board up again.

Their next game was just as tense as the first, and for a while, Kate was certain of her victory. But then Mikhail ripped the rug out from under her again with a sneaky fork she hadn’t been paying attention to because she’d assumed he was trying promote the pawn.

“Damn,” she muttered sullenly, recognizing the checkmate two moves before it was complete. She flicked her king over.

“You’re very good,” Mikhail said, surveying her appreciatively.

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