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“I’ll try, Master. That’s the best I can do.”
He kissed the base of her spine, admiring the lovely pink color of her ass. “I do not ask for perfection, dushka. I only ask that you try your best and accept my discipline when you do not do as well as I think you should.”
“Yes, Master.”
He could hear the hitch in her voice. Drawing her out of the shower, he dried her off and then wrapped her in a soft blanket. He lifted her in his arms, and she giggled. He would be willing to bet substantial amounts of money that no one had heard her giggle in many years. She settled her arms around him.
“I don’t suppose, you’d consider letting me put my clothes back on, would you?”
“No. I am taking you upstairs to my penthouse.”
“I didn’t know there was a penthouse up here.”
“There is. Although penthouse is a bit of a misnomer. The buildings in Charleston aren’t all that tall and if it’s a historic building, you’ll play hell getting them to let you add any floors. I bought the building from Damon Knox and also a controlling interest in the club.”
He walked over to what most people thought was a closet. In reality it was a private elevator to his home at the top of the building. He pressed the floor switch and the elevator door opened. He stepped in and nudged the button with his elbow, liking how she didn’t tense up as it started to rise. When they reached his home at the top of the building, she gasped.
“I had no idea this was up here.”
“Most people don’t. I like it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because if you cannot easily find where a man sleeps, you cannot easily find a way to murder him while he does.”
Viktor carried Emerson into his bedroom, kicking the door closed and setting her down on the edge of the bed. “The bath and walk-in closet are through that door,” he said, indicating a set of double doors to the right of the bed.
“What’s through there?” she asked, pointing to a large door to the left of the bed.
“A private play space I had built for myself but which I had begun to believe I would never have cause to use. Get into bed, Emerson.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Viktor, but I really do need to get back to the house.”
“No. You need to get into bed.”
“My sisters…”
Viktor laughed. “If you don’t think your sisters know you are with me, you are deluding yourself. They might not know you are up here, mainly because they know I don’t bring women up here. In fact, the people who even know it exists are few. They won’t be worried about where you are, but that you are with me. Into bed, dushka.”
She seemed to like it when he referred to her with Russian terms of endearment. He liked that she did.
Not waiting for her to comply, Viktor pulled her to her feet and pulled back the covers. When she still didn’t do what he knew she knew he wanted, he simply picked her up and tossed her on the bed, making her laugh a deep, throaty laugh that made him think she was happy and relaxed. There would be plenty of time to push her limits, but for now, making her laugh seemed far more important.
It was difficult for Viktor to show devotion or tenderness. Neither had ever served him well, but Emerson seemed to need it. She needed to know she was already important to him; needed to feel caring and passion fuse together as one. He didn’t have the words to tell her, as words were often false, but he did have the ability to show her that he wanted more than the physical from her. He wanted her soul.
Viktor’s hands were a soft whisper against her sensitized skin as he trailed his fingers across her nipples, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. It was uncharted territory for them both as he set his mouth to working magic in a way no other man had ever dared. He allowed his hands and mouth to worship her.
“Viktor,” she said starting to squirm under his affection and attention. “Maybe we… or rather, maybe I should…”
She moaned loudly as his tongue flicked over sensitive flesh.
“Maybe you should be quiet and let me ravish you,” he soothed, his hand splaying warmly across her belly. “Do not think, malenkaya, just feel.”
The way her hands fisted the sheets let him know she was trying to do as he asked. There would come a time when he would push her past her ability to comply just so he could punish her—such was the dance of discipline and desire.
Patiently, methodically, and relentlessly he pushed her closer to the precipice and watched as the passion coiled more tightly within her.
“You are not to come until I give you permission.”
