The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

And I discovered I do.

To make it worse—or perhaps to make it work—I’m not sure which—I somehow landed the sweetest, most submissive, angel of a slave. Which means I must be constantly vigilant for signs I’ve gone too far.

I open my suitcase to unpack my toys. Nipple clamps to begin with and a buttplug. I often like to start by claiming her most vulnerable parts while I play with the rest.

I bought her new nipple clamps—beautiful flowers that will cover her areolas with tiny bolts that tighten against her nips.

As I approach, Kayla’s stomach audibly growls. I stop and arch a brow, hiding my amusement. "Uh oh. Did you just lie about being hungry?”

She flushes, guilt scrawling over her expressive face. Her big blue eyes plead with me. She knows I’ll punish her transgression.

“Lying is a serious offence, blossom."

Her big eyes get even bigger and her mouth goes slack. She doesn't answer. I put a knuckle under her chin. "Tell me, beautiful. Did you lie because you didn’t want to disappoint me?”

She doesn’t answer. Her deer-in-the-headlights look will go in my spank-bank for the week. "Or did you lie because you wanted to play before you ate?” When she still doesn't answer, I guess again, “Or was it a combination of the two?"

She nods and licks her lips, which makes my dick go rock hard. "A combination of the two. —Sir,” she adds hastily.

She’s so fucking adorable. Like, makes-my-chest-squeeze adorable.

“All right, here's what we're going to do.” I walk to the dresser to find a room service menu. “I’m going to order us some dinner, and then I'm going to punish you for lying. Hopefully I'll be through by the time the food gets here.” I bring the menu over, sitting beside her on the bed to share the view. “What sounds good?”

She quickly scans the menu. “I’ll take the Caesar salad, Master.”

“With chicken?”

“Yes, please. Master.”

I brush my lips over her bare shoulder because it looks so delectable and leave to call in our food. “Tell them to knock when they get here and then leave it outside the room,” I instruct. No fucking way I’d open the door with a chance of anyone seeing Kayla like this, even if she was under the covers or in the bathroom. I want her to feel vulnerable with me—not to the outside world. Plus, I’d have to kill anyone who saw her naked.

Not a joke.

I return to my suitcase full of toys and unpack a few more surprises then return. “Come off the bed for a minute.” I beckon to her, and she crawls toward me. I hold her elbow as she swivels her legs around to stand on her sexy heels. I sit on the bed and hold her between my legs. Her glorious tits are in my face, nipples pouting, begging to be tortured. I take one in my mouth and suck it to an even stiffer peak.

Kayla moans softly.

Sweet little slave.

I slide the flower plate over her nipple and tighten the screws, watching her face closely to judge when it’s enough. When she sucks in her breath and shifts on her two feet, I give her a second to see if she acclimates or whether I need to back off. She seems to, so I leave it and move onto the next nipple, first sucking it, rolling it around over my tongue, then fastening the plate over the top and tightening the clamps.

She whimpers a little, her belly shuddering in on a breath. I stroke my hands up and down her sides.

“Over my knee, blossom,” I intone quietly. I’m the type of dom who generally keeps his commands soft. The more trouble she’s in, the quieter I get. It keeps her straining to listen, to hear me, to please me.

She dives over my lap like a good girl. I take another mental picture because the sight is so fucking beautiful. The thigh-highs have tiny bows at the tops and a thick black seam that runs down the centers of her legs before it plummets into the high heels. They frame her bare ass perfectly. She shifts and squirms a little, arranging her breasts underneath her on the bed. I love the curve of her long slender back as it slopes down from my lap to the mattress.

I take my time, using the flat of my hand to warm her ass up. I relish the sting on my own palm as I deliver pain to her, which isn’t like me. I’m usually the guy who refrains from exerting himself too much in an interrogation. I stand back and watch Oleg, our enforcer, deliver the pain. Even with my first BDSM partners, I preferred distance from their bodies and the use of an implement. I’d bend them over a chair and use a long cane—maximum pain at minimal effort on my part.