A renewed blaze of anger hits my blood. I spear a hand through my hair and draw a deep breath. “Scratch that. Give me a word you would naturally use in place of no. Something that—”
“Scriabin.”
The speed in which she spits that out shocks me. And why a Russian composer? As I stare into the shadows of her muddy brown eyes, I decide that Scriabin is rather fitting given the conflicted, dissonant quality of his music.
I flex my hand, my heart pumping wildly. “When you say Scriabin, I stop.”
She scans my face, my shoulders, and the belt in my hand. A frown pulls on her mouth.
“I need your trust, Ivory.”
She looks up, her lips parting. “You have it.”
“Show me.” The ache in my cock magnifies. “Feet on the floor and chest on the mattress.”
When she obeys, the tightness inside my ribs loosens.
I step behind her and trail the loop of leather up her leg and over her round ass. My hands continue upward, holding on to the belt as I extend her arms above her head. “Tell me why you’re being punished.”
With her fingers curling into the quilt, she rests her cheek against the bed and meets my eyes. “For selling my body.”
“That’s not—” I feel the tremor of my outrage all the way to my feet. “Listen to me. You were in a desperate situation, and those fuckers took more than you offered. I’m punishing you because you put yourself in that car instead of coming to me.”
She starts to rise, but I hold her down with my weight, my chest on her back and my hungry cock against her ass.
“But you’re my teacher,” she says, quietly. “I didn’t know what you would—”
“You also had Stogie. And the police, social services… You had options.”
Her muscles deflate beneath me. “You’re right.”
“Right and pissed. You refused my help with the textbooks, yet you accepted money from those assholes. You didn’t trust me enough to confide in me, but you trusted those boys with a dangerous arrangement.”
She nods, her mouth soft in agreement. But I know her mind must be racing into the future, searching for new solutions to lingering problems.
I trace my lips across her jaw. “You’re mine, Ivory. That means your problems are mine. Your bills, your worries, your safety…” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “All of it belongs to me.”
She releases a heavy sigh.
Shifting downward, I roam my hands over her clothes. Her slender shoulder, the curvature of her spine, the rise of her ass, there’s so much femininity to touch, devour, and welt.
I crouch behind her, my muscles buzzing with excitement. With the belt in my hand, I let her feel the scrape of leather as I slide the skirt to her waist. Toned thighs and freckles, pert ass and creamy skin, goosebumps and pink satin…it’s all mine. But the panties have to go.
As I yank them to her feet and step back, everything inside me narrows to one basic instinct. Jesus, fuck, I want inside her with blinding ferocity, but I manage to keep my feet on the floor and my hand off my dick. “What’s your safe word?”
“Scriabin,” she breathes, clutching the quilt.
The sight of her bent over for me has my cock jerking painfully in my slacks, damn near tearing through the zipper. Does she touch herself when she’s alone? Has a man ever pleasured her? I doubt it, but I need confirmation, even if it tempts me to strap her down and fuck her until I break her.
“One more question.” I stroke a finger up her thigh and slide it through the soft, wet flesh between her legs. “Have you ever had an orgasm?”
I press my face into the manly scent of Emeric’s bedding and force my trembling legs to keep me from sliding to the floor. Cool air brushes against my bare backside, and his fingers… Holy hell, his fingers slide back and forth between my thighs, producing the strangest, most invigorating kind of warmth down there.
I can’t focus on anything but the path of his strokes, my entire body singing for him to keep doing that…that…exactly what he’s doing. Please, don’t stop, don’t—
He stops, cupping me in his huge palm. “I won’t repeat the question.”
I press my teeth into my lip, hating his gruff, impatient tone. Or maybe I love it.
“I don’t know. I…I touch myself sometimes.” I’ve tried to create the toe-curling Oh yeah, right there! the women in my neighborhood go on about, but it never feels as good as they claim. “Can it happen when I don’t enjoy it?”
His hand flexes against my pussy. “All those motherfuckers, and not one of them got you off.” He relaxes his fingers, caressing lazily. “It’ll be different from now on.”
The next stroke curls all the way inside, thrusting me into a whole new world of different. Air shoots from my lungs, and my body clenches around the invasion. Oh my God, it’s so…painless. Not dry or searing or too tight.