Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“You should be barefoot or in high heels.” The crop tapped against the bottom of her ballet flats.
“I can’t wear heels due to an injury, Sir.”
Most clubs had guidelines that both protected participants and helped define and maintain the “otherness” of the club space. A common rule was that submissives either wore fuck-me heels or went barefoot.
“You need the shoes?”
“No, I can go barefoot.” The Orchid Club had far fewer rules than the small clubs she’d been to when first exploring the submissive aspect of her sexuality. Tonight, with no rule to force her into heels, she’d decided to wear flats rather than go barefoot. It was a small thing, a meager defiance.
And Alexander had homed in on it. Interesting.
“Then remove them. Now.”
Alena’s breath caught at the darkness in his tone. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Rising up on her knees, she reached back, pulling off first her right, and then left, shoe. She set them aside, where she could still see them, but out of his way.
When she started to sink back onto her heels, he stopped her by pressing the crop against her ass. “Stay up.”
“You’ll begin with a cropping?” Her voice wavered a little, and she hadn’t meant it to. She cleared her throat.
“And if I did?”
“That would…certainly be one way to start a scene. Sir.”
He circled around to face her. Dropping into a squat—the crop dangling loosely from one hand—he stared at her with a heavy gaze.
Alena took a few breaths, reminded herself that he knew her limits. Crops were designed for use on horses, a small movement of the handle able to create enough force that a horse would feel it. In that light, a crop was perhaps on par with a cane or single-tail whip, but the crop he held was short. Designed for BDSM play.
“You disapprove.”
“No, Sir.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
He examined her, regard almost clinical as he took in her face before moving his gaze lower. A small smile quirked his lips and she realized that her nipples were hard inside the lace cups of the soft corset.
The crop came up and he rubbed the tip across her left nipple.
Alena jerked, and shock at the unexpected, intimate touch quickly morphed to tingling excitement.
“This is allowed by your limits,” Alexander said.
“You just surprised me, Sir.”
“You enjoyed it.”
It wasn’t a question, but it seemed like he wanted a response. “Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”
“I’m sorry, you want me to explain…why I found it pleasurable when you touched one of my erogenous zones?”
Another quirk of his lips. “No.” He reached out, hooked a finger in the lace between her breasts, and yanked the corset down.
Alena gasped and instinctively raised her hands to cover herself.
Alexander moved, faster than she would have guessed a man whose job was being rich and powerful would.
As her palms closed over her breasts he dropped to one knee, while simultaneously releasing the crop. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from her body, forcing her arms down.
Shock, and a little ripple of fear, raced through her. Biting the tip of her tongue helped stave off the instinct to fight him. She raised her eyes to his face, only to find him staring back at her with cold, implacable resolve.
They held one another’s gaze for a long moment before he deliberately looked down at her chest.
Alena felt heat in her face as he stared at her bare, exposed breasts. Her arms tensed, and he tightened his hold fractionally.
“You will not hide or cover your nakedness.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You…you took me by surprise, Sir.” This was harder than she’d thought it would be. Submission had never been part of her nature. She’d first turned to it at a time in her life when she’d craved rules, structure, and the safety those provided.
He released her wrists, but his hands hovered near hers, ready to grab her if she tried to cover herself.
Alena lowered her chin to signal her acceptance, her submission.
“You expected me to leave your breasts covered?”
“No, Sir. I just expected us to…talk more first.”
“I prefer actions to words.”
“But you asked me to explain why I reacted when you touched me.”
“I want you to talk.” He raised his hand and reached for her left breast. “I want you to tell me everything you’re thinking and feeling.”
He cupped her breast, her pale flesh shades lighter than his tanned hand. She sucked in air, then held her breath.
“No,” he murmured. “Breathe.”
She exhaled, but was unable to look away from the sight of her breast in his hand. His fingers warm and hard, her nipple tight in anticipation of his touch. A man she’d just met was fondling her, and she couldn’t, well, wouldn’t, stop him.
With her next exhale she released some of the tension coiled tight in her gut, the urge to fight or flee paling in comparison to the new feelings he evoked.