Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie
Ashton is a pervert, plain and simple. Sure, he’s a gorgeous pervert with his endearing cocky smile, hard muscles I want to grope for hours, and the mischievous and sexy glint that lights his eyes when he’s turned on.
He’s still a pervert.
The lingerie ensemble I took out of the box and laid on the king-sized bed in the hotel suite is evidence enough. Plum colored lace shelf bra—the kind that will leave my nipples exposed—and matching crotchless panties. Not just crotchless, but this scrap of lace opens in the back as well, which tells me one thing.
Ashton’s got plans for my ass.
A pair of black thigh-highs and garter belt complete the outfit.
I gaze around the large room, impressed with the suite despite my nerves. The side facing out is a wall of windows dressed in gauzy curtains that flow to the floor. I can imagine them billowing into the room if the windows were left open. A doorway leads into a bathroom that appears bigger than the kitchen in my apartment.
He went all out for this night, which makes me wonder what he’s up to. Surely, he could have gotten this punishment thing over with at his house?
So why a hotel suite?
I’m equal amounts intrigued, scared, and excited. As I’m fingering the soft lace, my cell dings from inside my purse on the nightstand. I dig it out, and one glance at the screen kicks my heart into overdrive.
Ashton: Be ready in ten minutes. I want your sexy little body in that lingerie. Wait for me on your hands and knees on the bed. Face the headboard and don’t move when I come in. Understand?
Is he serious?
Jesus, he is.
I shoot off a quick “yes” then grab the lingerie before hurrying into the bathroom. There’s a jetted tub, and I’d love nothing more than to spend an hour in it, soaking in hot water and bubbles. It sounds like heaven.
But there’s no time for wishful fantasies of relaxation. I freshen up quickly before dressing in Ashton’s slutwear. Even if it is racy, leaving me too exposed and vulnerable, I can’t help but admire my figure in the full-length mirror. With my hair cascading around my shoulders—because I know he likes it down—and my breasts spilling over the shelf of the deep purple bra, I’ve never felt sexier.
What the hell is Ashton doing to me?
Maybe the real question I should ask is what did I do to myself by getting into this situation to begin with? What did I think was going to happen when I crawled under that table and put my mouth on his cock?
Problem is, I wasn’t thinking at all.
I was drunk, desperate, and drawn to Ashton. I’ve been drawn to him for years, but that night, after witnessing what went down in Jake’s office, ignoring my attraction to Ashton Levine was impossible.
And though I’m standing in a hotel room, dressed like a slut and feeling like one, I can’t regret my actions.
We’re gonna be fine. Our friendship is too strong to let this come between us. We’re just having some fucking fun, Sadie.
I return to the bed, eye the clock on the side table, and groan. My heart thuds to the bottom of my gut. I spent too much time in the bathroom, and now I’ve only got two minutes left. Heart pounding a furious tempo in my chest, I crawl onto the mattress and face the headboard, just like he instructed.
Instinctively, I spread my knees and arch my spine until my ass is elevated. I know it’s what he wants.
Me, vulnerable.
My pose submissive and exposed.
Air drifts between my legs, reminding me that there’s no material covering my pussy and the slit of my ass. My nipples tighten into two hard buds. Jesus, I’m turned on. My breaths come fast and thready, then stall altogether as I hear a card slide into the lock, followed by the beep that signals Ashton’s entry into the suite.
“Damn, Sawyer, you’re a sight.”
I’m tempted to turn my head and look at him, but I don’t. Not because he told me not to, but I can’t muster the courage to meet his eyes while I’m on my hands and knees, dressed like this. His quiet steps bring him closer, and I sense him hovering behind me at the end of the mattress. I can’t be sure what he’s up to, but it sounds like he’s unpacking something.
“What are you doing?”
“Setting up.”
“Setting up what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I bite back a growl, but my frustration vanishes when I detect the unmistakable sound of his zipper, followed by the slide of his jeans. He crawls onto the mattress behind me, over me, one hand propping him up while the other brings a black rubber thingamabob to my mouth. The thing is intimidating, especially when he teases my lips with the contraption.
“Open your mouth, Sadie.”
“What is that?”
Shit. I know what it is, but I don’t want it in my mouth.
“Open your mouth and find out.”
I hesitate. He waits me out.
Because he knows me too well—knows how easily I buckle under his demands.
“Will you take it out if I want you to?”
“No.”
“What if I take it out myself?”
“You won’t be able to.”
God, his low tone at my ear sends a gush of liquid desire straight to my sex. I want to press my thighs together, but I don’t dare move from my position.
He smashes the gag against my lips, ending our argument, and adds firm pressure until I can’t help but part my mouth. He shoves it in, and I feel him shift on his knees between my spread legs as he tightens the strap around my head.
A few seconds later, he wraps what I’m assuming is one of his ties around my eyes, and I’m thrust into blackness. Everything is escalating too fast. He shoves my upper body to the mattress, and I rest my cheek on the fluffy comforter as he pulls my arms behind me. Soft leather circles my wrists, and I realize too late that he’s restraining my hands at my back.
“Mmmmfffh,” is all I can say. I fight his hold, squirming and protesting in muffled indignation.
That’s when he smacks my ass. Hard. His palm comes down four more times in rapid succession. “You’re not getting out of this, Sawyer.”
I don’t know what it is about the command in his tone, but I stop fighting instantly. Maybe it’s too close to the way my father has spoken to me for years.
Or maybe I just want Ash, and I’ll do anything to have him.
“You’re so damn beautiful. Seeing you exposed like this is turning me on like crazy.”
Yep. Ashton Levine is a pervert. But I am too since I’m wet just from the gruff sound of his voice—from the heat of his knees between mine as the chilly air in the hotel room teases my most intimate places.
And I’m helpless.
Gagged and unable to ask questions or protest beyond a muffled whine.
The ability to touch taken by his cuffs.
My sight stolen by his tie.
The real kicker?
I’m sticking my ass in the air of my own free will, just waiting for him to punish it.