Maxime knelt beside the bed precisely as instructed, posture immaculate, hands resting palms-upward on his thighs. The marks I'd previously left remained visible against his throat.
He maintained perfect stillness upon my entrance.
"How long have you been in this position?" I circled him slowly.
"Thirty-seven minutes, sir." His voice betrayed no discomfort.
"Look at me."
He raised his head, dark eyes meeting mine directly. No shame. No hesitation.
I reached down, fingers tracing the marks on his throat. His skin jumped under my touch.
"These are fading," I murmured, pressing against a particularly vivid bruise. His pupils dilated instantly. "I promised to refresh them."
"Yes, sir."
"Stand up."
He rose in a single fluid motion. His cock hardened as I looked at him, no touch needed.
"You spoke with Shaw," he said, eyes flicking to the blood crusted between my fingers.
"He mentioned you. Said you tasted sweet." My hand found his throat, fingers lining up perfectly with the marks I'd left before. "The thought of his mouth on yours makes me need to erase every trace of him."
"Please," he whispered, leaning into my grip. "There's only you now. Only ever you."
I walked him backward until his legs hit the bed. "Lie down. Arms above your head."
He complied instantly, stretching out on the black silk sheets. I removed my jacket and shirt but left my pants on.
"I've been thinking about how to mark you," I said, trailing my fingers over his chest. "Something more entertaining than bruises."
"What did you have in mind?"
I released him and crossed to the leather armchair in the corner. From beside the chair, I retrieved a crystal decanter and poured myself a measure of whiskey before reaching for what lay on the side table.
The riding crop was Italian leather, expertly crafted with a braided handle that fit my palm perfectly. It made a satisfying sound as I slapped it lightly against my open palm.
Disappointment flickered across Maxime's face, quickly masked.
"Were you hoping for something else?" I asked.
"I assumed you wanted to leave a lasting mark."
"All in good time. Tonight, I want entertainment." I tapped the crop against my thigh. "Touch yourself. Show me how you pleasure yourself when you're alone."
Color flooded his cheeks, but his hand moved to his cock without hesitation.
"Slower," I instructed. "Tell me what you think about when you're alone."
"You," he admitted, his voice rough. "Always you. Your hands. Your mouth. The way you look at me across conference tables when no one else is watching."
"And now? What are you thinking about now?"
His eyes fixed on the crop. "How much it will hurt. Where you'll use it. If you'll let me come afterward."
"Edge yourself. Take yourself to the brink, then stop."
