Page 50 of Vienna Betrayal

“Yes, Sir.”

“I told you I wanted to do dark things to you.”

He’d gone quiet when they first got to this room, but now he was speaking more, as he had during the climax of the scene, and with the same more casual cadences that he normally used.

It was puzzling, because the contrast was so stark. She wanted to ask him about it, to find out why he’d first claimed to prefer being “succinct” only to become a masterful dirty talker.

She wanted answers, but those weren’t the answers she was here to get.

He withdrew the plug. Her body pulsed as her ass clenched fully closed for the first time in over an hour.

Alexander slid his arm under her shoulders and help her to ease off his lap and onto the couch beside him. She hissed when her weight pressed down on her abused ass.

Alexander stood. “Lay on your back, knees bent, legs spread so I can attend to you.”

The words were formal, and she felt a pang of regret that the dirty-talking, sometimes didn’t use complete sentences Alexander was retreating back into his taciturn shell.

He took the plug to the small in-room bathroom—easily distinguished by the familiar stick people plaque on the door.

Alena started to lay back so she could spread her knees as he’d ordered, but stopped.

This was supposed to be aftercare. He shouldn’t be giving orders, he should be helping her transition away from a submissive headspace.

It didn’t feel like last night’s aftercare. Playing with her nipples, fucking her ass with the plug rather than just removing it, had blurred the line.

He’d proven last night that he was both capable of, and good at, aftercare, so this deviation wasn’t the result of ignorance.

There was one, very obvious, explanation. Alexander was as affected by their scene, was as reluctant to end this, as she was.

Good, that will make this easier.

She shook her head to get rid of that nasty thought. Rather than lay back and lewdly spread her legs, Alena grabbed one of the large pillows and propped it up against the wrought iron “arm” of the daybed couch.

She stretched out on her side, arm on the pillow, head propped in her hand. Her other arm lay resting on her hip, and the urge to slide her hand down into her panties, to stroke herself to orgasm, was squeezing her.

Alena lifted her chin, kept her hand on her thigh, and waited.

A moment later Alexander emerged. The plug was nowhere in sight, but he held a stack of linen and a small bowl.

He stopped when he saw her, his gaze wandering from her toes up to her face.

“That wasn’t how I told you to wait.”

“I’ll move… I’ll obey, if we’re still scening. But if this is aftercare…” She arched an eyebrow.

Alexander’s lips compressed into a line. Then his shoulders sagged. Alena pulled her knees up to make room for him as he sat. She rolled onto her back, her shoulders and head propped up by the pillow so she could see him.

“It’s aftercare. My apologies.” He gingerly set the bowl of water down and dipped a washcloth into it.

As he wrung out the excess water, Alena stretched out one leg, sliding her foot across his thigh.

“I wasn’t complaining. Just clarifying.” She pointed her toes, rubbing them across the laces of his leathers. “I think neither of us is fully satisfied yet.”

This time when she arched her brow, she smiled.

Alexander grasped her ankle, lifting her foot away from his crotch. He bent his head and for a minute she thought he’d kiss her foot, and some long-buried saccharine part of her was giddy, citing that one ridiculously romantic scene in The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Alexander glanced at her, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a sexy little smirk, and then he yanked on her leg.

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