Page 80 of Jewel of the Assassin

When he shifts away, I flip my hair over my shoulder. It flicks my skin with droplets as I find him on the other side of me, collecting something from his perfectly-folded clothes. “What are you doing?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, can’t have you spoiling the surprise,” he says, returning to me and using his tie to blindfold me. I groan a little but shut up as soon as he smacks my ass. He hums in low approval from how I arch my back, thrusting it out more.

I feel his body heat disappear as he walks away and goes to the stock room. The chilled air assaults my wet skin, pulling up goosebumps everywhere. But my pussy is still hot. Whatever he’s going to do, it’s going to stoke the heat to volcanic levels, I’m sure.

I listen for him, smelling him before I sense him.

“My creativity knows no bounds when it comes to you, Valentina,” he tells me, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, I will reward you for your courage tonight, your fearlessness. Butyou went to that graveyard like a lamb to the slaughter. You must not endanger yourself by walking at night with no escort.”

I almost call him out, but he’s right. I could have taken more precautions. At least I know now Roman’s sanctuary here is not faultless and impenetrable.

He kneels before me. My breaths quicken as I feel his eyes on me. I lift my chin ever so slightly, turning toward him.

“You’re there,” I whisper. “Here.”

“Arch your back more.”

I do. And something round and cold taps, then rubs my left nipple. I hiss and swallow a sob. He rubs my other nipple with the same object. It’s not an ice cube. It’s too round. Ovular. My hands twitch. I want to cover my tits, protect my nipples, but I dig my nails in, raking them into the soil. A whimper escapes my throat as he trains the frigid object on each nipple. They harden to erect points. I sigh in relief when he cups my aching breasts, kneading them, and slapping them gently before the ice returns.

“Mmm…” I moan.

I hear the whistle right before the sharp thwack comes. I shriek. He brings the icy oval down harder, stronger, sharper, striking my nipples until I’m writhing from the pain. My breaths heave and cleave. I can feel the buds turning red, fat, sore. Hypersensitive. He captures them. I gasp as he rolls each one between his index finger and thumb, triggering my pussy to clench…and drip.

“Roman…” I plead.

“I did not give you permission to speak, moya zhena,” he says harshly, twisting the reddened buds, prompting me to yelp. “And you will call me Master. Your head. My soul.”

He circles the pads of his thumb along the nipples, and I soften for him, nodding. “Yes, Master.”

“Da, good girl.”

I said I’d give him everything. And I will.

He gets behind me now, approving of how spread I am. Hetouches the wetness glistening on my thighs and pubic lips. “So responsive…”

Then, a cold slap right to my pussy.

“Master!” I gasp.

“Shh,” he hushes me and smacks my folds three more times. “Sixteen strikes to your lovely pussy.”

“God, it hurts!”

What the fuck is that? I swallow hard, holding back a moan. It’s a frozen vodka bottle, glass coated with frost. It’s smaller, narrower, but it still hurts like icy hell.

“It should. You must learn, Valentina. This is not merely a punishment.” He rubs the iced glass along my pubic lips, a precursor. “It’s so you understand that your life is mine to guard. Your body, mine to protect. Your pleasure, mine to grant. You will feel it deep in your muscles tomorrow. And you will remember: reckless bravery does not make you untouchable.”

He unleashes on me. Feral and mindless. Because he’s remembering. Somehow, I know he’s remembering the sight of me plunging that dagger in again and again with blood spurting all over me, streaming down my naked tits and body.

He strikes my cunt over and over again. Until my folds are flared and swollen from the ice. Until I’m a weepy, needy, quivering mess. My whole body shakes. I’m barely staying on my knees. But I’ve soaked the glass with my fluids.

I hear the sound of him uncorking the vodka. Oh, God! He rubs the alcohol like salt in the wound.

“No, please, Master!” I nearly buckle, my elbows holding me up. “It’s burning. I can’t?—”

“You can. And youwill!”

He seals the cap back on. And then, the pressure comes. Fuck, he’s shoving the neck of the bottle right into my opening. I scream even as my inner muscles squeeze around the chilled glass. “Oh, bloody fucking fuck!”