Embarrassment scalded me, as hot as the thing itself.
But as I scanned the crowd—I saw parted lips, captivated expressions, increased tempos—my shame morphed into . . . stimulation. Yet another stimulation.
Just as it had aroused me to bare myself to the camera in Sevastyan’s bedroom, this was turning me on beyond anything I’d imagined. As he used my wetness to force the dildo inside me, inch by stretching inch, I basked in their stares.
Sevastyan followed my gaze. “My little exhibitionist. They covet my woman almost more than I can bear.” He leaned in until his face was beside mine. “There’s a need in me—to destroy them for desiring what’s mine. Never forget that.”
His jealous possessiveness only made me wetter.
“I want this deep inside you, Natalya. Open and accept it.” I tried to relax my muscles, taking it, taking it. . . .
When the phallus slid into place, he pumped it a few times until I was nearly drooling around the chain. Then he fitted slim leather straps around my waist to lock the heavy thing within me. Once it was secured, he gave the base a decisive slap that made me—and others—moan. “Do you thank me for it?”
I nodded, adjusting my wrists and ankles in their bindings, readying for whatever was to come next.
I noticed one rangy man near the glass seemed to be riveted to my crotch as he pounded his partner, a voluptuous woman bound atop a silken cushion on the ground.
When I circled my h*ps a few times to get used to the intrusion inside me, the man shuddered, gave a loud yell, and pulled out. His heavy-lidded gaze met mine as he spurted onto his partner’s mound.
Had he wanted me to see him come? To react? Interact?
“Now, now, Natalya,” Sevastyan chastised. “No need to taunt them with what they will never have.”
Had I been? Well, hell. Maybe?
Sevastyan strode away. Seconds later, I felt strands of leather slink down my spine. A flogger. As I’d suggested to him on the drive to Paris.
“Are you ready, pet?”
I’d been ready. I bit down on the chain and nodded—
Leather snapped across the backs of my thighs.
The sting made my eyes water. But when he moved beside me to assess my reaction, I gave him a that’s-all-you-got? look.
His brows rose above his mask. His lips curled.
The flogger landed harder. And again. Even as I whimpered around the chain, I found myself jutting my ass for more—which earned me groans from the audience, especially from those who were similarly bound.
What submissive wouldn’t want a man like Sevastyan to dominate her?
A man so dark and dangerous. So compelling and powerful.
And he was mine.
Sevastyan snapped the flogger against my thighs, my ass, even the top of my back, then repeated the rotation. With each blow, the pain mounted and mounted, until it . . . didn’t.
Instead of twitching agony, all I could feel were areas of heat; my pain receptors were still pinging, but must be confused. I arched for more, shifting the weighty c*ck inside me.
When Sevastyan’s lashes rained down harder, passions seemed to escalate in the ring. I had to fight the force of the strokes to remain in position. Soon perspiration dotted my skin.
“My lovely Natalya bucks to meet her punishment.” His tone was thrumming with pride.
Every inch of my flesh was growing hypersensitive, as sensitive as my aching clit. When Sevastyan struck me, it became sexual. A sexual stroke. He knew exactly how far he could go to heighten my arousal without dampening it.
He’d wanted me to endure his tools. I wasn’t just enduring, or even accepting; I was exalting in them. When he paused to gauge my response, I faced him with widened eyes. What are you doing to me?
He narrowed his, then seemed to hold his breath as the flogger flashed out to catch my clamped br**sts, my trapped ni**les. The bite of leather against your br**sts . . . I writhed in shocked delight, silently begging him for another.