K is for Kinky Read Online Free Page B

rush to the powder room to masturbate. Or maybe I’ll follow you and fuck you on the bath mat with your knees pushed to your shoulders because I know you like it deep. You’ll do whatever I say because you’re marked now, Sophie. You’re mine.”
    As I ground my hips into him, teetering on the edge of climax, I knew Mark was right. He did have me in his power. He’d trained my body to respond to him like some groveling sex slave, which was the last thing I’d had in mind when I met him. And yet, in my own way, I’d won, too.
    I’d finally found myself the kind of kinky bastard I could get attached to after all.

NOT TONIGHT
    MATHILDE MADDEN
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    K NOCKING ON HER DOOR was always the most frightening part.
    His heart hammered, just as it always did. He swallowed gently and stood up straight, just as he always did. But when she opened the door, everything was different.
    â€œNot tonight,” she said, without any sign of regret. And then the door closed again.
    Taken aback, he stood for some time, staring at the wood grain of her front door; not quite able to believe it. Steeling himself—finally—with something that was more desperate desire than real courage, he took hold of the door handle and turned. It wasn’t locked.
    Uninvited and uncommanded he walked into her hallway. “What did you say?” he called, sounding far sharper than he meant to, than he would have dared to.
    There was no reply. So he went to find one.

    He found her in the study; in half dark. The only light in the room came from a small lamp on the desk, which was making a pool of light on her paperwork and sparkling glints in her hair and the rims of her spectacles.
    She didn’t even look up. “I said ‘Not tonight.’ ” He could hear her gritted teeth. “It’s just not a good time.”
    He stepped into the room and pushed the study door closed behind him. This place looked so ordinary, even in semidarkness, and yet this was the room she also used as his torture chamber. There was the corner where she would make him stand and face the wall, his trousers lowered so she could see the marks her cane had left. And under that covered table he knew there was a cage, which was too small and caused cramps in his long limbs and muscular shoulders. It was too dark to see the iron rings that she had had sunk into the walls months ago, high enough that if she manacled his wrists to them he would be forced up onto tiptoes.
    In this room of all places, it was impossible for him to let it go. “But it’s Wednesday,” he said.
    She still didn’t look up from her desk. “I know perfectly well what day of the week it is.”
    â€œSorry.” He creased his brow. He felt himself growing more petulant by the minute. It was all he could do not to stamp his foot. Stamp his foot or get down on his knees. “What’s wrong?”
    She sighed and finally looked up at him. The light caught her face then, and he caught his breath. “Nothing, I’m just tired. I don’t have the energy tonight.” She did look tired.
    He cocked his head and fixed his coyest expression. He lived for Wednesday nights. Work had been hell these last few months and he
didn’t think he could bear to trudge back into London without some kind of tension release. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said, very gently. “I’ll wait on you. Please.”
    â€œI said ‘No.’ ”
    He swallowed and moved closer to the desk until he was near enough to rest his palms on the top. “But why? You know you want to.”
    She held his gaze. “Don’t tell me what I want. You are really pushing your luck now.”
    â€œAm I? What are you going to do about that?” He lifted one knee onto the desktop and lowered his gaze, deferent and needy and hard. Ready.
    Her expression was unreadable. “Do you take me for