I don’t know whether to gleam with shock or horror when he requests me to lean over the desk and raise my ass high in the air.
“W-w-what?”
I realize the spectators can hear us as clearly as we can hear them when Dimitri repeats, “Lean over the desk and stick your ass in the air.” They’re as turned on by his domineering command as me, they just vocalize their excitement, whereas I remain as quiet as a church mouse. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Roxanne. I am not a patient man.”
I’m torn. I don’t want to agitate him more than I already have, and I’m super curious to see where he’s going with this, but only now am I realizing I don’t want to be fucked in front of spectators. I don’t want anyone but the person I’m sleeping with to see if the light in my eyes changes. It isn’t something I want to share.
With that in mind, I shake my head. “No.”
Dimitri balks like I slapped him. “What did you say?”
“I said no.” I run a shaky hand across my cheeks to ensure they’re still dry before adding, “I want to be a part of the festivities, not fucked like a whore.”
He lowers his head until we meet eye to eye. “Who said I was going to fuck you?” He cages me to the desk by bracing his tattooed hands on each side of my hips and leaning in really close. The strong smell of whiskey bounds from his mouth when he whispers in my ear, “These rooms are only rented for an hour.” He locks his eyes with mine. They’re as blistering as ever. “I’d need a lot longer than that to work out all your kinks.” I don’t know if he’s sucking in the scent of my arousal or fear when his nostrils flare during his next statement. Either way, it doubles the width of his pupils. “But your punishment for entering this room with another man won’t take an hour. I’ll have your ass as red as your cheeks in not even five minutes.”
I respond to the jealousy in his tone as if it’s legitimate. “I didn’t know he was sitting there. I would have never entered if I knew he was there.”
“These rooms are for fucking, Roxanne. You only enter them to be fucked or to fuck someone.” When he takes a step back, the mask he was wearing when he entered the room slips back over his face. My closeness didn’t calm his agitation. It made it worse. “Mitis thought you were here for him, and he was prepared to make you his no matter how many times you begged him not to.” The expression on his face reveals he isn’t lying. This isn’t a room where ‘no’ is acknowledged. “That alone deserves punishment for both of you.”
I have a feeling I’ll leave this exchange less scarred than Mitis. The vicious glint in Dimitri’s eyes assures me of this, much less the murderous smirk etched on his face when his eyes shifted to the door Mitis snuck through only moments ago.
My eyes snap to Dimitri’s when he growls out, “If I’m forced to repeat myself, you won’t leave this room until your ass is dribbling blood like the bullet hole between Mitis’s brows.” He shifts on his feet to face the only solid surface in the room. “Chest flat on the desk, ass high in the air. I won’t ask you again.”
Ignoring the tremble of my thighs—which I’m confident are shuddering with an equal amount of excitement and worry—I spin around to face the desk. Spit seethes through Dimitri’s teeth when I curl over the sturdy material. The high rise of my dress is already indecent, but my stretch to reach the other side of the desk makes it outright immoral.
My butt cheeks are showing, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t force my hands to tug at the hem. I could use the excuse that Dimitri is towering over me, so even the spectators who paid top-dollar for a prime spot will leave tonight grumbling about bad seats, but what excuse do I have for the wetness between my legs?
Unexpected hotness races through my veins when Dimitri lifts the hem of my dress, so it sits on the lower half of my back. He doesn’t take the time to notice the only underwear Alice supplied me with for the next four weeks are lace thongs, he just takes a step back, breathes noisily out of his nose, then spanks my right butt cheek.
The brutal crack his palm makes with my backside verifies he didn’t hold back with his hit. It doubles the heat teeming between us and has me torn on whether I should sob or curve my knees inward.
I’ve never been spanked before, but I’d be lying if I said it was more painful than enjoyable. It’s an odd feeling that rapidly explains why people crave it along with hairpulling. It’s naughty but oh so good.
“Grind your pelvis against the desk, Roxanne. I don’t want to miss.” Dimitri’s voice has me wondering if he’s enjoying this as much as me. It’s hot and edgy and has me so eager to reacquaint his hand with my ass. I stretch my toes to the max, seeking the hand he’s pulling back in preparation for his next smack.
I call out when his second hit has perfect aim. It doesn’t just add to the fiery burn racing across my butt cheeks, the tips of his fingers encroach an area thudding as fast as my heart rate.
By his third spank, I’ve forgotten we have an audience.
By his fourth spank, the fact this is supposed to be a punishment has slipped from my mind.
By his fifth spank, I’m grinding against the desk as per his earlier request, needing something to take the edge off the tension in my clit. It’s buzzing like crazy, verifying my madness. I’m being used as a gimmick like my mother was, showcased as if I’m a dirty whore, yet, I feel the most alive I’ve ever felt.
I’ll do anything for this to continue, anything at all.
I will even beg.
“Again. Please.”
My words are separated by big, needy breaths, but Dimitri has no issues hearing them. He spanks me again, his hit so exquisite, an orgasm crests at the peak of my core, threatening to topple at any moment. I just need one more spanking, one more brief touch of his fingers on my drenched panties, or better yet, the quickest flick of his thumb against my clit, and I’ll be done.
But instead of doing any of those things, Dimitri lowers the hem of my dress, demands for me to immediately return to my room before he pivots on his heels and exits the sex chamber without so much as a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dimitri
Damn Smith and his ability to reach me at any time.
Damn foreign dignitaries who prefer to watch instead of participating.
Damn my whiskey-soaked veins that had me refusing to listen to a rational thing my brain has to say.
And damn Roxanne and her delectably fine ass.
When she begged for me to spank her again, my cock sat so snugly against the zipper in my trousers, it took everything I had not to whip it out and plunge it inside her drenched cunt. She was so wet, every spank had evidence of her arousal glistening on the top of my fingertips. Even smacking her ass six times didn’t see its redness overtake the wanton heat on her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed I was punishing her in a room full of spectators, she was too turned on to care we had an audience.
Roxanne’s non-existent morals had me wanting to forget my objectives. I almost took her right on the desk, as destitute of standards as her greedy cunt. If Smith’s desolate tone hadn’t snapped me from my trance, I guarantee my cock would be coated in her juices right now. I only went into the sex pod because of the urgency in his tone, just like I left it for the exact same reason.