Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

He moved behind her where she couldn’t see him well, and let his gaze linger on her trim waist and luscious, heart-shaped ass. It was an ass made for biting and . . . other things he was trying not to think about.

“Do you want me to avoid touching you?” he asked.

“Uh . . .” She glanced back at him and her face turned even redder. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can keep this impact implements only if you don’t want me touching you with my hands.”

“You can touch me,” she said, “Just not . . .”

“Not where?”

“My chest or my . . .”

“Pussy?”

“Yeah.”

“Your ass is fair game?”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“Is your ass fair game?” he repeated. “As in for me to grab or smack with my hand.”

“Oh!” She blurted a self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

When he realized what she’d thought he meant, he had to work hard to ignore the very detailed visual he got of pushing his cock into her ass while he had her tied like this. From the look on her face, she was thinking about it too. Her gaze flicked down to the front of his jeans. Abruptly, she faced the wall again and squeezed her pretty eyes shut.

“Ready?”

“Yes. Just do it,” she said tightly.

She thought she was going to order him around, did she? That wasn’t how he did things. Maybe this was just one scene and he’d never see her again, but he was far too set in his ways to let her get away with that. As she waited, he watched her quiver of anticipation slowly relax.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked back at him. “Well?”

He strolled over to where she could see him and took gentle hold of her chin. At first, she narrowed her eyes in stubborn determination and he half expected her to pull away, but she eventually relaxed into his grip, her gaze and the set of her lips going soft. If she wasn’t submissive he’d eat his damn flogger. He could tell she was used to being in charge. Fitte had its fair share of people who were alpha in their day jobs and submissive behind closed doors. A cop fit that pattern perfectly. Watching Mila’s tough exterior melt for him was fascinating.

“You’re not in a position to boss me around, are you,” he said quietly. “You’re at my mercy. I decide when and how. You only get to say yes or no. Understood?”

A sigh escaped her, and she grimaced. “Understood.”

He let go and tapped her chin with one finger. “Good girl. I know it’s hard to let someone else take control.”

There was a possibility she muttered something about him being a cocky jerk, but he didn’t bother responding. She wasn’t wrong.

The first few strokes of the flogger were gentle, but he gradually worked up to harder strokes, the thwap, thwap rhythm steady as he turned her back and ass pink. She didn’t complain or try to jig away, only sighed and leaned into it. The sound and her reactions put him in the zone, and the rest of the club fell away until there were only his strokes and the girl. After a long while, he trailed off to a stop, and she smiled back at him looking dazed but happy.

“Fun?”

“That was like a massage. I didn’t think it was going to be so . . . pleasant.”

Pleasant? He checked her hands, but they were still a decent color. “Do you want me to untie you, or do you want more?”

“Why? Is your arm getting sore?” she asked, brows raised in challenge. “I’d hate to tire you out.”

He bared his teeth at her in what was supposed to be a smile, but dares had always been difficult for him to walk away from.

“You might want to avoid playing with fire, Mila. I’ve been doing this for a long time, so I have a lot of control over myself, but if you play that sort of game with a less self-controlled dominant, he might hurt you badly.”