Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

“No. I don’t like bossy men.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” He yanked her underwear back down, and she could feel the elastic bunching under her ass cheeks.

She dug her nails into the bedspread to stop herself from arching her back to get his hand onto her ass faster. Maybe she was offended, but her body didn’t care what he thought of her.

“So it’s because of this?” he asked. “You want to be controlled? You could have gotten this from Loke, or Rune, or Geir. There was a whole club full of dominant men down there, so why wait for me?”

His hand was resting on her bare ass, as though he owned it, but he wasn’t doing anything except talking and asking the worse questions ever. Ones she couldn’t answer without giving herself away. She was fucked. But she was also so hot for him she could feel her arousal soaking the back of her underwear where they’d ended up pressed against her pussy.

Stubbornly, she didn’t answer him. The idea of messing around with the other guys was hot, but she didn’t feel the same irresistible attraction to them.

The hand on her ass shifted, and she held her breath, but he didn’t do anything.

“Besides, you didn’t know I was a dominant before Loke told you I come here.”

He swatted her ass and a delicious heat spread through her body.

“I could tell,” she gasped. It felt as though there was a throbbing print of his hand over the entire butt cheek.

“You could tell I was dominant?” he asked, his voice full of skepticism. His hand came down on her ass again and the sting made her squirm.

“Yes!”

“And yet you chose to pursue me? Good. Then this won’t come as a surprise. Be a good girl and stay still.”

The smacks alternated cheeks now, not overly hard at first, but one blow laid the foundation for the next until her ass felt as if it was on fucking fire. He held her in place, one arm wrapped around her waist as he spanked her with his free hand. Trapped, humiliated, she struggled and swore at him, but didn’t safeword even though it was on the tip of her tongue.

She hated it. Hated him. Hated how much she loved this.

Tough police detectives weren’t supposed to like being manhandled and spanked like some sort of errant fifties housewife. The fact that he was a few years younger irked her too. She shouldn’t feel like following a younger man around like a puppy dog.

Damn it. If she was going to be into BDSM, why couldn’t she have liked being dominant? The thought of a man kneeling for her, though, didn’t turn her on.

By the time he stopped, she was breathing hard. His hand slid soothing circles over her abused flesh, and the tension in her faded, leaving her with a soul-deep buzz that made her feel drunk.

He picked her up off his lap and put her facedown on the covers, then stretched out next to her, his face level with her poor abused ass.

“Look what you made me do.” He tsked, tracing his fingers over the stinging hot throb. She shivered and clamped her mouth shut on a tawdry moan. Soft lips cruised over her abused skin, contrasting with the rasp of his stubble. Her brain melted into a gooey puddle. “You have a gorgeous ass, Mila. It matches the rest of you.”

Before she realized what he was doing, he’d stripped off her panties, then did the same with her bra.

He rolled her onto her back, and his sharp blue gaze devoured her. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Usually she felt like a tightly wound machine, between work and her lack of personal life, but with him looking at her like that she could almost believe she was hot. She was hot for him, anyway, and if he was willing to overlook the parts of her she was less enthusiastic about, that was a pleasant change from her overly critical ex.

He grabbed her by the hair—a man who was obviously sure of himself and used taking possession of a woman’s body. His mouth came down on hers, teasing, his lips barely touching hers. Slowly, he eased himself downward, his breath tickling just behind her ear, then her neck.

She arched against him, moaning, wanting to rush him, but not wanting him to stop this either. His mouth slid from her neck, then up the mound of her breast to her nipple, hovering close, his breath making it pebble in anticipation. She tried to make contact with his mouth, but he held her down, making her wait, then making her shiver and cry out with every gentle brush of his lips. When she couldn’t bear it, he switched to her other breast, teasing there until she complained. Her protest was rewarded with the drag of rough stubble over that sensitive peak, and she flinched away, mewling.

This reaction seemed to amuse him, because he kept teasing her with his lips and tongue, then punishing her with his stubble, until he finally held her down by the throat so she’d stop trying to wriggle away. The feel of his hand on her neck—gentle, as if her body was simply his to control and command—made her almost as horny as his teasing.

Finally he moved downward, leaving a trail of shivery kisses down to her navel, then over to her hip. He bit her there, just hard enough to make her hiss.

“Show me your pussy, pretty girl.”

Holy fuck. Nobody had ever dirty-talked like that with her. He waited, and she was suddenly shy. The idea that he wanted her to obey him, and expected her to do so while he watched, was both sexy and embarrassing.

She drew up her knees and parted them, but had to look away from his gaze.