Page 10 of Preferential Treatment

He moved with swift obedience. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off to reveal a plain white undershirt stretched over a broad chest. A silver chain with a small oval pendant circled his neck, resting against thick, black chest hair.

Kate pushed off of the desk, bending down to examine the necklace. Mikhail held stock still as she lifted the pendant. It was a saint medal, the Virgin Mary, cast in a style that looked Byzantine rather than Roman.

“Are you religious?” she asked.

He kept his gaze downcast. “No.” There was a world of unsaid meaning contained in that single, curt reply. If she commanded him to explain, would he obey? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know anything about what the medal meant to him. The less she knew about him, the more two-dimensional he remained, the more easily she could boss him around without the faintest qualm.

She dropped the pendant and straightened, stepping back to prop herself against the edge of the desk again. “Undershirt off,” she commanded.

He reached behind himself, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head in that way that men always did. Why was it so hot when they did that? Kate blinked, working to keep her expression unflustered.

He lowered his arms again, and suddenly a whole lot of bare skin was on display. Coarse, black hair covered his chest and ran down his abdomen in a broad swath. He was thick through the torso, dense with muscle, but not cut with gym-rat definition. His strength was evident, but not flashy. He looked like he could yoke a team of oxen to plow, or split a full cord of wood with an ax, and then use the logs to build a cabin by hand. He was easily strong enough to overpower Kate, and the fact that he’d instead knelt before her, surrendered all that strength to her, sent another hot flush chasing over her skin.

She suppressed a shiver, crossing her arms over her chest to feign nonchalance. “Take off everything. You’re being punished. You’ll have to earn clothing back.”

He reached for his belt. It jingled as he worked it free. As he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down, Kate recognized the flaw in her command.

“You can get off your knees to undress. Then right back down.”

“Yes, knyazhna.” He shifted his weight onto his ass, unfolding his legs so that he could remove his shoes.

“What are you calling me?” Kate asked, genuinely curious.

“Knyazhna. It is a royal title. For a princess.”

Unexpected warmth bloomed in her chest. She hadn’t expected something so sweet. She’d assumed it would mean “mistress” or “boss” or something equally cold—something that cast her as a dispassionate authority. Instead, he’d given her an honorific so sweetly feminine, it made her want to forget about punishing him.

But as he worked his trousers and tight boxer briefs down his legs, Kate immediately rejected the notion. He was as hard as a rock, thick cock straining urgently upward. He was uncut, the foreskin drawn back by his erection, but still circling the lower portion of his glans. Veins traced beneath the fine skin, starkly defined.

He stepped out of his trousers and shifted back to kneeling, hands behind his back once more. He looked up to Kate, and as her gaze met his, his cock gave an excited pulse.

Kate was at a bit of a loss. Hot, sweaty lust was tangling up her insides, but as much as she loved having this level of power over a man, she hadn’t anticipated it with Mikhail. She should have. He’d as good as told her in his office that he was submissive. It was just so hard to reconcile the intimidating force of his presence with the idea of his submission. Kate had been expecting a proposal where she ostensibly had “control” in the sense that she’d be doing all the work while Mikhail laid back and received whatever pleasure she doled out. Instead, he was offering true submission, and it was screwing with her head.

“Show me how sorry you are,” she finally said, trying to project an imperial air to disguise her floundering.

Mikhail didn’t seem put off by the open-ended command. He brought his hands forward, bracing against the floor. His arms and shoulders spread wide as he lowered himself, the muscles in his back standing out in stark relief. He bent his head and kissed the top of her foot. Even through the thin nylon weave of Kate’s stockings, his lips were soft and hot against her skin. They drifted higher, pressing to a sensitive spot on the inside of her ankle, and Kate had to suppress another aroused shiver. Christ, if the man could do this much just by pressing his lips to her foot, God knew what he was going to be like when they actually fucked.

“Forgive me, knyazhna,” he breathed against her skin, lips sliding higher up her calf. “I’m sorry. Let me please you.”

He rose higher, kissing the inside of her knee now. His lips parted and his tongue slipped out, wetting her skin through the stocking. This time she couldn’t repress the pleased shiver. Her whole body felt too warm, her skin too tight. Her nipples were hard points. She gripped the edge of the desk with tightly clenched fingers in an effort to keep herself still.

He reached the hem of her dress, nuzzling her inner thigh. “Lift your dress for me, knyazhna. Let me taste you.”

Somehow, Kate found it in herself to maintain control. “Are you giving me orders?”

“No,” he breathed, kissing her inner thighs, trying to push his face beneath the hem of her dress. “Never. I want to please you.”

“You want to please yourself.” Kate squeezed her thighs together, closing him out. “But this is supposed to be a punishment. I don’t think I should let you touch me.”

“Please, knyazhna. I need to.” His hands were on her now, cupping the backs of her calves as he pressed his face into the juncture of her thighs.

Even through her skirt and underwear, she felt the bridge of his nose nudge against her mons, putting indirect pressure on her clit. She caught a handful of hair, pulling his head back. He stared up at her, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with desire. The cold, stoic mask was nowhere in sight. This was the real man, stripped of his armor, weaknesses bared unflinchingly for Kate.

She tightened her hold on his hair, pulling his head back a little further, leaning in close so she could speak softly. “I think I should make you kneel in the corner, hands behind your back, and watch while I take care of myself.”

Alarm and furious desire clashed in his pained expression, thick brows drawing together, forehead creased. “My tongue is better than your hand.”

She laughed, delighted by his audacity. “You think you know how to make me come better than I do?”

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