Page 32 of Taming Seraphine

My jaw clenches. “Tell me why.”

She peers up at me through her lashes and slides her fingers up and down her straw. Her coy act is screwing with my judgment. “I liked sitting on top of you, and I think you could help me feel good.”

My cock stirs, and I gulp. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

“Yes.”

The waiter brings me another shot. I turn the glass in my hand and swirl the amber liquid, still not sure she really knows what she’s asking. When I screwed up with Anton, he made me run laps, perform press ups and burpees.

“If your reward is an orgasm, what kind of punishments can you tolerate?” I lean back in my seat to observe her reaction.

Her cheeks flush.

“Um... spanking. Maybe leather bondage. I’ve never tried that.”

“How do you even know about BDSM?”

She raises a shoulder. “I’m not as innocent as I look. I learned a lot in the past five years.”

My heart skips a beat. I try not to imagine the kinds of places she had to infiltrate as a Lolita assassin. She at least has some idea of what to expect, but her request still doesn’t make sense. “How is that going to help you control your urges?”

She leans closer, her knee pressing against mine and sending a thrum of sensation where I need it the least. “It’s like you said. You’re going to teach me to be more controlled and every time I succeed in something, I’ll get an orgasm.”

“And you accept the consequences of disobedience and being a brat?”

She nods, her lips lifting into a smile.

My cock fills, and I let out a ragged breath. She’s serious. If this arrangement between us is going to succeed, I’ll have to keep a tight rein on my urges. She is, after all, another assassin. Seraphine doesn’t know that I’m aware of her background, and I don’t want to think about how she got close enough to her targets to murder them.

“I have two conditions,” I say.

Her brows rise.

“No kissing and no orgasms for me.”

Her face falls. “Why?”

“Because this is your training, not my opportunity to take advantage of you and get off.”

She frowns. “But?—”

“Take it or leave it.”

Her shoulders droop, but the flush on her cheeks darkens. “Fine.” She holds out her hand to seal the deal. “Let’s get started.”

Something about this agreement is off. Abused young women don’t approach strange men for orgasms. Perhaps there are more layers to her than I thought, but then I remember a TV show where a woman’s psyche was splintered by trauma.

“You’re still Seraphine?” I ask, making sure she’s not another personality because I still can’t believe she’s serious. “The girl I carried out of the basement?”

“Of course.” Her fingers twitch, eager for my touch.

I take it, the corners of my lips lifting into a half smile.

This is going to be interesting.

TWELVE

SERAPHINE

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