places it over my dress. He pauses, and stares at me for a
moment, drinking me in. I’m in the basque and matching
panties, and I revel in his sensuous gaze.
“You know, Anastasia,” he says softly as he stalks
toward me, undoing his bow tie so it hangs from either side
of his neck, then undoing the top three buttons of his shirt.
“I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All
manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind
myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you
volunteered.” He gazes down at me through his mask.
“Why did you do that?” he whispers.
“Volunteer? I don’t know. Frustration . . . too much
alcohol . . . worthy cause,” I mutter meekly, shrugging.
Maybe to get his attention?
I needed him then. I need him more now. The ache is
worse, and I know he can soothe it, calm this roaring,
salivating beast in me with the beast in him. His mouth
presses into a line, and he slowly licks his upper lip. I want
that tongue on me.
“I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even
if you begged me.”
“Please,” I beg.
“Please,” I beg.
“But then I realized, you’re probably very
uncomfortable at the moment, and it’s not something
you’re used to.” He smirks at me knowingly, arrogant
bastard, but I don’t care because he’s absolutely right.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“So, there might be a certain . . . latitude. If I do this,
you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You will safe word if you need to, and I will just make
love to you, okay?”
“Yes.” I’m panting. I want his hands on me.
He swallows, then takes my hand, and moves toward
the bed. Throwing the duvet aside, he sits down, grabs a
pillow, and places it beside him. He gazes up at me
standing beside him and suddenly tugs hard on my hand so
that I fall across his lap. He shifts slightly so my body is
resting on the bed, my chest on the pillow, my face to one
side. Leaning over, he sweeps my hair over my shoulder
and runs his fingers through the plume of feathers on my
mask.
“Put your hands behind your back,”
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