Page 16 of State of Ruin

“How do you feel?” he asks from where he’s standing, behind me and off to the left.

I feel exactly like a rabbit caught in a trap. I feel uncomfortable and exposed. One of the weirdest parts is having my view limited. I can see the ground below me, and even his shoes, but not directly back—the wooden plank stops me from dipping my chin properly. I can see the far wall in front, but if he came to stand in front of me, I wouldn’t be able to tilt my head up enough to see his face. I’m hyperconscious that my ass is on display. It’s the strangest position I’ve ever been in.

I bet John Gage didn’t put Diana through this in his stateroom. Sylvie and I have always had a strong view that he was a dirty, skillful bastard, but this is a whole other level of depravity. Clearly, our imaginations are a lot more limited than we realized.

I don’t say any of that, obviously. “I feel okay.”

“Good.” He skims a couple of fingertips lightly down the bumps of my bare spine, stopping just before the waistband of my thong. I’m not expecting it, and I startle. “Safe word?”

“Uh, raven.” It takes me a moment to conjure it up. Must do better. Got to keep it close at hand.

“Say it if you need it.”

And then he’s touching me for real, hands squeezing my waist and then sliding up my sides. Reaching one arm around, the stiff cotton of his shirt sleeves brushing against my back, so he can find both my breasts. Cupping them, weighing them where they hang freely for him. He rolls my nipples. Pinches them hard. A sudden flare of white-hot pleasure lances through me, taking me by shock, and I gasp without meaning to.

What sounds like a pleased little huff from him. “I see. It’s like that, is it?” He doubles down, pinching and rolling and squeezing and kneading, and my gasps turn to little staccato noises in the back of my throat. In this position, it feels as though he’s milking me. I have a view of my bare feet with their pale-pink-painted toenails and of his highly polished black shoes and black pants off to the left, but I can’t see his hands on me. The wood blocks my view.

Still, there’s something about the fact that I’m almost naked and he’s fully dressed that’s hot. As I struggle to process the sensations of his unfettered access to my breasts, my mind serves me up something Katrin said after she helped me complete my questionnaire: I hate to be the one to break it to you, honey, but you’re a hell of a lot more into being dominated than you think you are.

I didn’t think much of it at the time—it’s honestly not really an area I’ve explored in my past relationships, and the kind of things people presumably get up to at Alchemy scares me more than anything else—but now I urge myself to lean into it. If I think about it too much, this power dynamic is terrifying. This super-rich guy who gets everything he wants—and wanted me—has me locked in a room with him, and he’s paying an outrageous sum of money for the privilege of restraining me and touching me.

I hate myself for thinking it, for being so predictable, but it’s freaking hot. All week, I’ve been practicing in my mind how I’d be: aloof and in control. I wouldn’t cry; I wouldn’t let him see how terrified I was either, and I definitely wouldn’t come. He’d unravel, and I would not. I’d do my best to please him yet remain unaffected. It seemed like the best course of action.

But now I’m here, trussed up and bent over, and he’s playing with my body as if he’s never felt breasts before, and fuuuuck, every pinch of my sensitized nipples has shock waves careening through my body. Shit. I blow out a shaky breath.

“More than ‘okay’?” he asks, sounding horribly smug.

“Uh-huh,” I manage.

He chuckles, then loosens his grip on my breasts, and I feel instantly bereft. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be quite so responsive.” He cups my breasts lightly, moving his hands just enough for his palms to graze my nipples and nothing more. It’s the worst. I huff out a frustrated sigh and arch my back, seeking friction. He chuckles again, soft and low, before tutting. “Who’d have thought it—the little ice queen behind the bar was just begging to have her tits played with by someone who knew what he was doing. And if I were to suck them…”

“Oh, God,” I whisper to myself in response.

He gets easily to his knees, his hair brushing the underside of my restrained arm, then a shock of wet warmth envelopes my nipple before he pulls it into his mouth and sucks deeply.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. I can actually feel the wetness soaking through my thong. This time, I shudder out a pitiful kind of cry that I instantly despise myself for. He scoots onto his ass, facing away from me. I can make out the bumps of his spinal column through his shirt as he proceeds to work my breasts harder, alternating with his hands and mouth, pulling my nipples down with his decadent sucks, his hair teasing my skin as he switches from one breast to another.

He runs a hand lightly down over the skin of my lower stomach, just below where the leather support is cutting into me, and then it’s grazing over the lace covering my pubic bone and brushing between my legs where it’s wet and throbbing and aching for his attention.

“Jesus, Elyse”—he pauses to run a leisurely tongue around my nipple—“I thought you’d at least make me work a bit harder. You’re fucking soaked. Very disappointing.”

“I’m—sorry,” I shudder out, his words landing exactly where he intends them. Shame rolls over me in a hot, humiliating wave.

“Disappointing for you, I mean.” He strokes just to one side of the lace between my legs, and it’s almost unbearable. “I imagine you were hoping to retain a little more self-respect, Little Miss I-Never-Go-Upstairs. Now you’ll be reduced to begging. I, on the other hand, am hard as a rock.”

Oh my God, he is insufferable. A new wave of fear hits me, even as my pussy threatens to burst into flames. I’ve been so terrified that he might push me too hard that it never occurred to me that he might not push me hard enough. Is this how the guy who has everything he wants gets his kicks? By denying women what they want?

“Orgasm denial is on my list of limits,” I choke out, widening my legs as if in hope. I actually thought Katrin was insane to make me check it, but now I’m so relieved I could cry. If I weren’t so frustrated, that is.

He outright laughs and scoots out the other side of me, standing up and walking toward my rear. “Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry about that. Letting you come will bring me even more pleasure than letting myself come, but it’s knowing how much you’ll despise yourself that’ll be the icing on the cake. Feel how hard you’re making me, you exquisite little thing?”

With that, he grips my hips hard and thrusts against me. Oh, holy shit. His dress pants brush against my ass cheeks as the hot hardness of his erection presses exactly where I need it.

“Yes,” I hiss, and we both know it’s not in answer to his question.

He arches over me, keeping his dick right where it is, and I can feel his body heat through his shirt as he squeezes my breasts again. Right now, there’s a real risk of my passing out before we get to the good bit. Every erogenous zone in my body is pulsing, as if all my nerve endings know they’re being played by a maestro. He stays like that for a moment or two, dry-humping me from behind and playing with my breasts as I wriggle in my restraints like a kitten, grinding my ass against him as best I can.

“Stop that,” he says, straightening up and delivering a sharp smack to my ass that has me going instantly still with shock. It’s still stinging when he gets to his knees behind me.