Page 33 of Take Me

I continue on my hands and knees and veer to my left, through an open door, when Mikhail gives the order. I stop just inside, my heart pulsing wildly from what Mikhail just told me and from the sight of Dax’s office. With my head down, I don’t see much, but the clinical metal of the rolling table and the gynecologist’s chair is more than enough to tell me where I am.

“The chair worked?” Dax asks.

“Seems like it,” Mikhail replies and kicks my ass again. “Get on the table.”

I rise to my feet, keeping my head down to avoid facing Dax as I scoot onto the table, perching on the edge, between the stirrups.

“Well, that’s a change if I’ve ever seen one.” Dax steps between the stirrups, right in front of me, and grabs my chin. For the first time, he looks me straight in my eyes as he lifts my head. His face remains impassive, giving nothing away, but his eyes roam across my features like he has found something new that has caught his curiosity.

“Lie down,” he says, releasing me and taking a step back.

Pressing my hands to the edges, I gingerly move farther in and lean back, staring into the ceiling as the heavy weight of my situation settles over me. I’ve just willingly placed myself in this chair, all but abetting the abuse and degradation Dax is about to thrust upon me. I can’t take it, but I can’t fight either. So I shut my eyes and squeeze my fists at my sides as I try to breathe through the tight constriction in my chest.

“Give me your left hand,” Dax says as he steps around the table.

I lift my hand and let him bring it above my head and place it in one of the attached leather cuffs. The leather wraps around my wrist as Dax pushes the strap through the buckle, and I jump as he pulls tight to close it. Then he does the same to my other hand, and I obediently go along, letting him trap me deeper in helplessness, letting him chip away at my autonomy. All without a peep.

“Pull at your hands,” Mikhail says once both are trapped in the cuffs.

Opening my eyes, I face him, wanting to protest, but as he keeps staring me down with uncompromising authority, I relent. First, I give a little pull, and when he lifts his eyebrows, I pull harder until I’m jerking at the restraints, moaning and whimpering at the unbreakable resistance. Heat swirls in my core even as embarrassment and defeat coil tight inside me.

“Enough,” Mikhail says, and I go still, gluing my eyes to the ceiling as I bite my lip to suppress the gnawing defeat.

Silence prevails for a whole minute, and when I glance toward the two men to see what’s going on, I find Dax watching me with a strange sort of fascination, head slightly tilted.

A smile spreads across his lips as he points at me and looks at Mikhail. “Did that turn her on?”

“Sure did.”

“Well, well, well.” He makes a slight tilt of his chin and steps between my legs again. I look down there, thinking he’s going to touch me, but he simply holds out a big hand. “Give me your leg.”

I lift my leg and place it in his calloused hand, and a strange sensation buzzes in my skin as he wraps his warm fingers around my shin and gently places it in the stirrup.

He’s about to grab the leather strap but hesitates, glancing at me and drawing his hand back. “Keep your leg there.” He points at the other stirrup. “Put your other leg up.”

Swallowing hard, I lift my other leg and place it in the cold metal.

Dax looks back and forth between my unbound legs and my face, and I barely breathe as I wait for his next move.

He steps back around the table and takes my chin in his hand, looking down at me while asking Mikhail, “Is she submissive at heart this one?”

“She is,” Mikhail confirms.

Something in Dax’s expression changes, something almost soft flickering in his gaze as he absently strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Such a rare thing.” Lifting his eyes to Mikhail, he says, “Lucky bastard to train this one.” Then his attention is back on me, studying me with something near reverence. It settles something deep within me, holding me in a trance—under his will.

Lifting two fingers to my mouth, he says, “Open up.” Instead of the usual bite of his command, there’s a gentleness to his tone that has me opening automatically.

He slides his fingers onto my tongue, holding my eyes captive as he strokes. The gesture is oddly intimate, and I find my breathing deepening as I let him invade the personal space and take control over my body.

Slowly, he glides his fingers back out, lingering a moment on my lip. “Good girl.”

Something warm and calm washes over me at the sound of those two words, and all I want to do is please him just so I can hear them again. I follow him with my eyes as he pulls the table up, takes a seat on his rolling chair between my legs, and puts on gloves. A special kind of calmness seems to have descended over him as he goes slower than usual, like he’s soaking up each moment.

Resting a gloved hand on my inner thigh, he looks at me with insistent yet patient eyes. “Are you gonna be a good girl and letme clean out your bowels?”

I lick my lips and say in a breathy voice, “Yes, Sir.”

A smile tips up the corners of his lips, and his praise is even sweeter this time as he says, “Good girl.”

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