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The kit requires it, after all.

It doesn’t take long before he’s cursing, body straining as he inches closer to the edge. I suppress my gag reflex, taking him to the back of my throat and swallowing.

He nearly comes off the bed. “Lisichka!”

I release him, pulling back before he can come, and grab the mold. It takes a second to get it over him, but Ilya snarls, body shaking as he glares at me. “What the fuck?”

I snicker. “Ah, ah, no going soft on me now, big guy. And no coming in the mold.”

“You’re fucking insane. Fuck!”

I chuckle, letting the vibration move through his thigh as I cup his balls and roll them. I don’t want him to come, but I don’t want him distracted enough to ruin this by going soft on me.

I count in my head then pull away, smirking at the mess the power has made all over him. While neatly trimmed, my pet might be getting a bit of an unwanted bikini wax after it’s hardened.

“Such a good boy for me, pet,” I praise, grinning as he curses me, every part of him covered in sweat. I ease off the tube and set it aside. Yes, that will do nicely.

“I’m going to tan your ass for this,” he snarls, his cock covered in the molding powder and looking red and angry.

“I look forward to it.” I give his balls a squeeze, and it’s over for him. He lets out a harsh cry as he erupts. Cum splatters over the bed, my hand, forearm, and his belly. Breathing ragged, he relaxes into the bed, eyes slammed shut.

How I wish I had a camera to take a picture of him just like this. I commit it to memory and get off the bed, grabbing my pants and yanking them on. It’s a bitch to get them on, but once in place, they fit perfectly.

The shirt, however, is not salvageable. I shrug and head for his closet. Looks like I’m going to be stealing one of his shirts. I brush over them until I find one toward the back of the closet—black, soft, but far too big. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they?

Pulling it over my head, I put it to my nose, letting the smell of him swamp my senses. He smells so damn good.

I see now why so many women steal their man’s clothes.

I turn to head to the door but stop when something catches my eye in the back corner. I grab the bag and pull out a sexy black dress along with a pair of red heels and lacy underwear. The scent of harsh perfume fills my senses, and jealousy burns.

Who the fuck do these belong to?

I look at the tag on the dress. Versace. The shoes are Louboutin. Neither of which are my size.

Clearly, another woman has been here, though I can’t see Ilya holding on to something like this. No, this is a message from whatever whore he brought back with him. Probably the same one those restraints are for.

I set the bag back, stare at it another moment, and, mind made up, I head for the door. Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough with Ilya on what my plan for him is, and it’s time I corrected that.

Walking back into the bedroom, I smirk when he’s trying to get the knot undone, and while he’s made some progress, it’s not enough. He twists his body to kick the knife toward him but only pushes it farther away.

“Naughty boy, pet.” He stills, turning his head to pin me with a seething glare, then his eyes narrow.

“Are you wearing my clothes?”

“Least you can do since you sliced my shirt clean down the middle. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a bill. Minus the cost of this shirt, of course.” I circle the bed, heading for his study where I set my small backpack. I hum to myself as I gather everything, including the shredded shirt and hardening mold, and stuff them inside as he barks orders at me.

Does he really think I’m just going to untie him?

“Sheesh, who knew an orgasm made you so chatty, kotyonek?” I zip the bag closed and lean it against the end of the bed. I give him my full attention and a cool, lethal smile. “And since you’re feeling so talkative, perhaps you’ll tell me the meaning of the slutty black dress and shoes reeking of cheap perfume in the back of your closet.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Now untie me. This shit is starting to itch.”

I stare at him. I’ve gotten very good at detecting a lie, and while I don’t sense any deception, I know he’s very aware why that bag is there. Considering how strong that perfume scent still is, it’s been in there a day at most.

“Tell me, pet, did the whore you fucked in this bed enjoy those restraints?”

Maybe it’s the tone of my voice, but unease starts to register in his eyes. The stupidly brave man keeps on digging his own grave. “Who I fuck is none of your business.”