Page 29 of Prince of Control
Lara
I look over my shoulder, starting to straighten, but Baron pushes my torso back down. “You said you didn’t have sex with her,” I accuse.
I don’t know why seeing Baron with that woman set me off, but it did. I know she’s an ex-girlfriend or at least someone he’s slept with, I can tell. Call it women’s intuition.
“I didn’t,” he maintains.
I’m shivering, my knees quaking, my breath quick. I wish Baron wasn’t so damn seductive. I don’t know how I ended up standing in my panties, bent over a dresser when I was resolved to not even let him kiss me.
He slaps my ass, hard.
I shriek and try to turn, but he holds my hip in place.
“This is what Melinda wanted from me.”
I stop struggling, listening.
He slaps the other cheek equally hard.
I squeal again. Heat rushes between my legs. My pussy tingles, moisture gathering.
Baron stops and rubs my stinging flesh. “She’s a masochist who uses pain to cope with the stress of overachievement.”
I remember the girl at the cafe asking about a dungeon. Is this what she meant? There’s a BDSM dungeon at Baranov House?
That’s…wild.
He delivers a flurry of light, quick slaps. They don’t hurt, but they warm my ass.
It feels wonderful. Not the first two spanks–they were stingy. But this…I can see the appeal. Every slap sends a jolt of sensation straight to my core. The mixture of danger and pleasure, of pain and seduction, intoxicates me more than the champagne I drank.
Baron knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. With that woman.
“Did you fuck her?”
I guess I’m jealous. Even more so after hearing he’s done this with her.
“Never, malyshka. I haven’t even kissed her.”
“Kiss me.” Funny how I was determined to refuse his touch, and now I’m suddenly demanding it.
Baron rotates my hips, turning me to face him, then picks me up and sets my heated ass on the top of the dresser. He pushes my knees wide and invades my personal space, grabbing my ass with both hands and yanking my core right up against his body as he dips his head for the kiss.
My core contracts, knees clamping around his waist as his tongue delves into my mouth.
This time I’m eager for it. I kiss him back, my lips sliding over his. My hands come to his chest and coast over his pectoral muscles. I work the buttons on his shirt.
He catches my wrists, and I go still, catching his gaze to interpret why he stopped me.
“Good girl,” he praises. My belly flutters in response. I shouldn’t love it, but I do. “Now lean back on your elbows.”
I try to figure out what he means. He puts a finger in the center of my chest and pressed backward. I fall on my hands first, then, finally understanding, lower to my forearms.
“That’s it, malyshka. So fucking beautiful.” He slides his hands under my knees and reaches for my ass, forcing my legs wider, dangling over his biceps. One firm yank, and my ass is right at the edge of the dresser.
I gasp at the sudden movement then gasp again when he yanks the gusset of my panties to the side, ripping the pink lace. “Oh.”
I’ve had sex before. I’m not a blushing virgin bride, but this is something different.
