Page 132 of Masked Sins
“Color?”
“Green,” I say, my voice petulant.
He chuckles, but before I can ask why he’s laughing, he brings another hand down on my other ass cheek.
My whole body goes taut, and the pain skitters along my nerve endings.
“In the bedroom, I’m in control unless we discuss alternative arrangements. You read my contract, so you understand the dynamic. Do you understand, or should I make you read the entire thing while I edge you to the brink of insanity?”
That sounds nice.
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I’m suddenly aware of the fact that if I am more of a brat, I will be punished. And perhaps he was right—maybe Iama masochist. Plus, a small part of me is still a little ticked off about everything that transpired with Starboy, and I want to shock him just as much as he shocked me.
I look over my shoulder at him and roll my eyes. “I understand, Master.” His shocked expression is too good. I give him a coy little smile, and his hand comes up and down firmly on the back of my left thigh.
I yelp out loud. It’s unexpected—the stinging sensation in an area I didn’t expect is surprising. And not altogether unwelcome.
Why do I like this so much?
Why am I soaking through the front, intact part of my shorts with arousal?
My nipples poke through the thin sports bra, and the rough material of the linen brushes against them with every movement.
“It’s interesting. I didn’t expect you to brat out on me during our first scene. Do you enjoy keeping your stepbrother on his toes?” he purrs.
God, his voice when he’s doing a scene…
“Yes, Master,” I whisper, trembling.
He quickly pulls my mangled shorts down my hips, and one leg at a time, pulls them off my legs, discarding them on the floor.
A warm hand pulls me up by the back of my bra, and he’s holding my back against his chest as his hands explore my body.
He unconsciously ruts against me, the firmness in his pants pressing against the small of my back. With deft fingers, he slowly peels the sports bra up over my breasts. His hands cup them, and he groans as he plays with them unabashedly, fingers lightly kneading them, thumbs brushing over my tight nipples. It’s a juxtaposition from the spanking punishment.
“Arms up,” he murmurs into my right ear.
I lift my arms and he pulls my sports bra off, throwing it off to the side. My skin pebbles under his touch, and my ragged breathing pushes against his chest with every inhale and exhale.
“I know it feels natural to resist, to question, to fight back,” he says, running a finger down the side of my body. “But true submission is beautiful. It’s even more beautiful when someone resilient, capable, and strong—like you—submits completely.Thatturns me the fuck on more than anything else. That you would give me that power. It makes me feel omnipotent… and invincible. Do you remember what I said the first time we spoke over video?”
My brain can’t focus on anything other than his finger trailing circles around my hip bone and the way his warm breath feathers against my ear.
“No, Master,” I whisper.
“I said when I punish my submissive, it’s only because she’s letting me. It’s all about consent—that’s the core of sadism, of masochism, of any sort of dynamic.I only have the power I’m given.I don’t take the power away. You hold all of it. Is that clear?”
I nod, but a low sound emerges from his mouth, skittering across the sensitive flesh between my ear and neck.
“Words, Layla.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Are you going to let me do this my way?”
“Yes, Master,” I whisper, voice shaky as his thumbs dig into my waist. I drop my head back against his chest and close my eyes. I can feel his rapid heartbeat against my upper back.God.The way he’s touching me feels so good, and I want him to keep touching me, to keep talking to me in that bossy tone.
“Lie down on your back.”
