I blink. Did he really just say that?”
“That’s enough,” he says in a low, steady voice. A sudden chill paints his voice.
Excuse me?
I have a sudden urge to shove him. “Enough what?”
“Mouthing off.” There’s a steel note of warning in his tone.
I open my mouth for another smart retort, but clearly he has had it.
A chair seems to materialize out of nowhere. He sits on the edge and yanks me over his knee. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as soon as I realize what he’s doing.
I open my mouth to protest but realize that it’s fruitless. A slave should be submissive to her master. He’s well within his rights to punish her if he sees fit. She can’t disobey and if I really were a slave, I would know this is only a matter of course.
Still, I curse under my breath at the first searing smack of his palm. Beside me, there’s a woman giving a man a blow job, and his loud grunts of approval drown out my own pathetic squeaks.
I squirm on Fabien’s knee, and jerk when another slap cracks against my ass. Goddamn that hurts like a bitch. There’s no pause, not a single chance to catch my breath when he slams his palm down again, and again, and again.
I gasp when he lifts me bodily off his knee and stands me in front of him.
“Something to say now?” he asks, the flash of his eyes warning me not to step one more toe out of line.
I shake my head and gulp. He reaches for my hair and wraps it around his fist. A shot of arousal, as potent as whiskey, hits my veins. My breasts swell and my belly dips.
His voice is liquid magma when he bends his mouth to my ear. “You opened your mouth like you were going to talk back to me. You sure you’re done?”
I half wonder if he set this whole damn thing up just so he could do this to me.
“I’m done,” I whisper.
My breasts ache and my sex throbs. He’s done more in half a minute of dominating me than in a full make-out session.
“Good,” he whispers. “Touch yourself.”
I’m so eager for release, so desperate for an end to this relentless throbbing between my legs, I obey without thinking. I don’t care that there are people here. I don’t care if they can see me. Talisman? What talisman? I press my fingers to the vee between my legs and whimper at the first stroke of relief.
“Mon Dieu,” he curses under his breath. “Christ. I want to taste you. I want to eat you out.”
I’m practically looking for a place where I can spread my legs for him when I come to my senses.
I stroke again and blink, holding his gaze.
“I know, I fucking know,” he says on a groan. I stroke myself again and shudder as the need to climax builds, and builds.
“Come here,” he growls. With a savage yank, he pulls me to his chest and shoves my hand aside. “That’s my pussy. Your climax is fucking mine.”
With expert moves, he slides his hand down the flat of my tummy and moves clothing aside in hurried movements until he finds my slick, swollen pussy.
I come apart on the third stroke. I lose my ability to stand by the fourth. By the fifth, I convulse against him and bite my lip to stop myself from saying his name.
Holding me bodily against him with one arm, he brings his fingers to his mouth and casually licks them before he releases a deep, guttural groan.
“Fucking mine.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fabien
