Page 65 of The Way You Hurt Me

"I believed that was discussed and agreed upon. Earlier today, in fact. I distinctly remember a speech about not wanting to be my side piece."

"Dimitri, youaremarried," I remind him, because someone ought to.

"Yes. Hence the four weeks, and not tomorrow." He leans back on the doorframe. "How do you like the room?"

I decide to ignore the question and keep us focused on the main point. "I must have missed the part where you proposed to me."

"I can't do that, I'm married. Polygamy is illegal in the States, you know."

"Oh, and you've never done anything illegal."

"Not in the last three hours." He shoots me that smile, the one I almost never see, and that's absolutely unfair.

The amount of power this man has in the palm of his hand is scary. But I've seen him lose it. I've seen his control snap several times; when my safety is at stake, but also when I take it from him.

He's just moved me into his apartment. I decide it's time to remind him that I also have power here.

"Fine. I'll move in. You want to control my life? You want me to move in, quit my job, marry you? All right."I lift what remains of my blouse over my shoulders, and lower my skirt, stepping out of it. His eyes, amused a moment ago, turn dark, as I stand in my simple, Monday workday underwear. "But I get to play with you however I want, every day, for an entire hour. That's the deal."

He lifts an eyebrow. "However you want?"

"You can't touch me until I say so. You can't fuck me unless I tell you you can. I am in charge."

I see a muscle in his jaw tick. "Are you?"

I make my way to him slowly, treating him like I'd treat my viewers. Teasing. Drawing it out.

My hand undoes his black tie, and I wrap it around my head, blindfolding myself.

I want to mess this up. I want to make it frustrating, unbearable. And I want him to suffer it because I asked it of him.

"You touch me before I say you can? You lose."

And then I start. Awkward hands, fumbling, trying to find buttons. I smile when he growls. "It's right there!" he snaps.

Now I'm beaming. "Oops."

"What I'm going to do with you, petal. You have fifty fucking minutes left. Use them well."

I don't. I mess up some more. It takes me at least twenty minutes to get the shirt off, and I take my time, licking every bit of exposed skin.

Honestly? Removing a belt isn't that hard. I could have made very quick work of it. Instead, I take my sweet, sweet time, and Dimitri swears in at least seven languages.

It's his turn to count, just like he made me count his spanking. Thirty-nine minutes. Twenty-one. Fifteen.

He slips here and there. He brings his hand to my face, and his thumb to my lips, unable to stop himself. But each time, his trembling hands go back down, because he respects me. Because he wants to give me what I ask.

And I love, utterly love him for it.

"Five minutes," he growls threateningly.

At long last, on my knees, I free his cock, and bring my tongue to it. There are cool, smooth bulbs at the tip. Four of them. "Piercing?" I ask, finding my pussy tightening as I remember the strange sensation inside me. That must have been it.

"Oh, yeah," he tells me. "And you're about to feel them down your throat. Three minutes."

I take my time, running my tongue around the tip, flicking the piercing, teasing the ever loving fuck out of him.

He doesn't have to tell me when my hour is up. He just drags me up under the arms and throws me onto the bed.

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