Chapter Thirty-Four

Ian’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he walked to his seat while opposing counsel had their turn. He quietly pulled it from his pocket while watching Tori.

She was staring straight at him, a hint of a smile on her face and her head tilted slightly. It struck him that the message might be from her. But what could be so important she couldn’t wait until after court?

Thoughts of her had consumed him for days, to the point of nearly going to her flat unannounced and uninvited. He’d barely restrained himself, settling instead for sending yet more flowers.

Now, maybe, she was finally reaching out to him.

Furtively he read the text.

Candi: Meet me in my chambers at 12:00. I’m aching, soaking wet, and throbbing for YOU. Give a nod if you’re interested.

He choked, sucking air in a loud gasp. Several heads turned his direction. The phone burned his hand, screaming for him to read it again. But he didn’t dare. Nor did he need to—her words were emblazoned in his mind. Aching, soaking wet, throbbing.

Unexpected happiness made his chest tight. Exploding lust made his pants tight. He was completely distracted.

She wants me!

She was taking him back!

He raced from one electrifying conclusion to another.

We’re going to fuck! Maybe right there in her chambers.

Unable to resist, he gripped his phone and reread the message. For a moment, he lost all sense of time and place while he contemplated what he would do to her, with her. And in just a few short, short minutes.

Shite!

So much blood flooded his cock, his erection tented his slacks. Sitting still became a struggle. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Good god.

His head jerked up, suddenly aware that she was watching him.

Their eyes met.

She was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

No, more like a cat in heat.

Her expression looked calm, but the fire in her eyes burned like an inferno.

He fought to keep his expression neutral. He should be angry she was playing with him during court, but he recognized payback when he saw it. He had to admit, he’d earned it.

He grinned broadly, unable to stop. He loved her devious, sexy, wicked style. Very much.

Abruptly, he realized that everyone else was watching him, too, expectant looks in their expressions. He’d nearly missed his turn.

His eyes flicked back to Tori, and she wore an amused expression. He needed to get back in the game. He stood up too quickly and had to grab the table to keep from tipping over. His brain was drunk on desire. It was brutal, but he managed to choke his way through a series of questions, holding a sheaf of papers in front of his X-rated groin.

He gratefully sat down when his turn was over and waited for her to look at him again. When she did, he gave her a single nod.

Hell, yes, I will meet you in your chambers.

Sitting in a haze of anticipation, he barely registered the bailiff’s order, “All stand.”

Watching Tori file out of the courtroom, his pulse raced.

Soon!

Wanting to run to her, he exited the courtroom in a fast walk, the most dignified he could manage. He gripped the handle of his briefcase tightly. Inside was another small gift he’d bought for her before they became “just friends.”

He paced the halls for ten minutes until finally it was noon. He walked into her vestibule precisely at twelve and approached the receptionist.

“Justice Whittingstall is waiting for you in her chambers. You can go right in,” the girl said, pointing toward the door at the end of a long stone hallway.

He knocked once and opened the door. Tori sat behind her desk, but she wasn’t smiling. She was also still wearing her high court robes, which seemed odd.

After shutting the door behind him, he stepped forward, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he went into formal mode, since—sexting aside—it was always the safest strategy when invited into a judge’s chambers.

“Your Honor, Justice Whittingstall. Thank you for seeing me. I want to say again how sorry I am. I promise never to lie or keep the truth from you again. Ever. And I hope—”

“Lock the door,” she interrupted, her tone cold.

He hurriedly did as he was told. Turning back to face her, he tried again. “Please, give me another chance.”

She sat behind her desk, looking prim in all black with her hair pulled tight in a bun. Her expression remained stony and unyielding.

He took a few steps closer. “I thought you invited me here today t-to—” He stammered to a stop.

One did not tell a high court judge that he was there to bang her wet, throbbing, aching person, even if she had said it first.

Facing her icy glare, he retreated. “Or did you mean that you wanted to meet after hours or at the club tonight? I’ll do anything you want.”

“Will you really do anything I want?”

Seeing an opening, he eagerly said, “Yes. Wherever and whenever. We can start slowly and then—”

“Take off all your clothes.”

“What?” He lurched backward, surprised by her request. “Here?”

“Already you go back on your word.” Her voice was crisp, sharp, and frigid, like ice.

“No, I’m not… I mean yes, sure. Okay.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Hurry up. We don’t have all day.” She rose to stand behind her desk.

Tossing his jacket onto a chair, he hastily undid his waistcoat and tie. He yanked his shirt over his head after undoing only two buttons. He stopped then, assuming she just wanted to embarrass him, to give him a little payback.

His eyes followed her as she moved from behind the desk, her black robe billowing as she stalked toward him.

She ogled his bare chest, and he endured a novel sensation. Their roles had reversed—she had become the huntress, and for the first time in his life, he was the prey.

He tightened his pectorals, abs, and biceps. Might as well give her something worthwhile to look at.

She circled him slowly, her gaze roaming his whole body but pausing on his erection, obvious in his pants. She looked beautiful and strong and determined.

But why wasn’t she also removing her clothes?

She walked to the door, and his anxiety spiked. Was she planning to humiliate him? To open the door so the clerks could see him standing there without his shirt?

What if she claimed sexual harassment?

His breath stalled, and he fought the urge to physically stop her.

“Come on,” she chided. “Off with your trousers and underwear.” She placed her hand on the doorknob and leveled a challenging stare at him. In her most officious court elocution, she grilled him, “Were you or were you not sincere in your desire to make reparations to the offended party?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. Take off your clothes.”

Was he really willing to risk everything?

That question played in both their minds as they stood facing one another, locked in challenge, the air bristling around them. It seemed an eternity to him but was probably mere seconds.

She looked flushed—but with desire or anger, he couldn’t tell. Did she want him, or did she only want to get even? She demanded his total surrender, and at the same time, she held his career in her hands. The only thing he knew for certain was, in order to prove his sincerity, he would have to trust her.

He took a deep breath. With the frightening jolt of someone jumping off a cliff, he kicked off his shoes and yanked off his remaining clothes in a rush. It was done—the decision made and carried out in seconds.

Stark naked with his cock on full display, and only one turn of the door handle away from humiliation and ruin—he’d never felt this exposed in his whole life.

Her gaze flicked down.

She grinned.

Again, the prickly sensation of being hunted grazed his psyche—both unsettling and arousing at the same time. Her eyes scorched him, and, unable to control it, his cock twitched, growing harder and jutting higher.

She gave him a wicked smile and a wink. Then her warm wet tongue slid out to languidly lick her lips.

He groaned, his hands clenching into fists.

“Mmm,” she murmured, but gave no other outward sign of what she was thinking or planning.

Breathing erratically, he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs with enough oxygen. Light-headed and dizzy, he watched her inspect him. Under her hot gaze, his cock jerked again and again, pulsing and insistent. He feared he might blow right then in front of her. Both he and his body were now slaves to her will.

Then, finally, her hand still resting on the doorknob, she casually checked the lock, making sure the room was secure. Turning, she walked over to the windows and shut the blinds.

His breath whooshed out—his relief immediate and overwhelming. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

They were going to make love!

Elation filled him like helium, making him light and buoyant. He would soon be holding her in his arms, kissing her senseless, and then—

He started toward her.

“Stop! Right where you are.” Her hand shot out to warn him off.

He hesitated, confused.

She smiled at him—like a hungry cat smiling at a mouse.

“Get on your knees.” Although quietly spoken, unyielding determination bolstered her command, like steel rods inside concrete. She meant business.

He didn’t move.

“Now.”

It unnerved him, this role reversal, but he wanted her so badly he would have agreed to almost anything. He went down, and the peculiar sensation of his naked knees on the cold stone floor sent a shiver up his spine.

But she wasn’t satisfied. “I think you know the position I want you in.”

His addled, aroused brain began to understand the game she was playing. She must have paid close attention at the club or done some internet research. Clever girl!

But he wasn’t sure he could he do it. His competitive, alpha-male drive fought against the very idea.

Could he give up control to her?

Compelling himself to act, he slowly molded his body into the required posture—one he’d seen many times in the club dungeons. After rising onto all fours, he sat back on his heels and held his spine ramrod straight. He placed both arms behind his back to grasp his hands together and tilted his head subserviently down. Lastly, he forced himself to spread his thighs as far apart as they would go, exposing his genitals.

Only his twitching, jutting cock stood out in defiance of submission.

He hated how defenseless the position made him feel. His body trembled against the need to jump to his feet to take control of the game. Take control of her.

“Mmm.” Approval rang in her timbre.

He kept his gaze respectfully lowered. He heard soft sounds and wanted to know what she was doing. He played his submissive part well…until the whooshing sound of silk falling on the floor made him inadvertently glance up.

He stopped breathing. Completely stopped. He could stare at the magnificent woman standing before him for an eternity and it wouldn’t be enough.

“Keep your eyes down, slave,” she snapped. “I don’t want to punish you any more than already necessary.”

He obeyed, dropping his eyes, but it was too late—he’d seen her!

Tori’s gloriously lewd image would be forever emblazoned in his memory. He groaned. Beyond simply aroused, she’d lit him on fire, and it seared him in a vortex of white-hot lust.

“You’re the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen,” he groaned out.

“Silence!”

He closed his mouth, but his mind screamed, Justice Victoria Whittingstall is a Dominatrix!

He salivated, thinking about her nipples, which were pushed up over the top of a tight black leather basque. She wore no knickers at all, the tuft of her blond thatch peeking out beneath the bottom point of the corset. Completing her guise, she wore thigh-high black boots on sky-high heels.

Bloody fuckin’ hell!

Had she been wearing that under her robes all morning?

He broke out in a sweat.

Then he remembered what she’d said. “…punish you more…” He shuddered at the images that sentence inspired.

The sound of a drawer opening caught his attention. She removed something and returned to him. He desperately wanted to look up at her, see again her mind-blowing attire, but he forced himself to submit to her commands. His gaze on the floor, he watched her six-inch patent-leather heels strut by him.

She bent down behind him and murmured, her voice like velvety sex, “You look good enough to eat.”

Once again his cock juddered, and he groaned.

“I want you,” he begged.

“You don’t get to talk unless I give you permission.” Her voice was as strong and confident as any Domme he’d ever heard. “Now, bend forward and put your hands on the floor, and raise that gorgeous bum of yours high into the air.”

He waited on all fours for whatever this exciting new woman would say or do next.

Whack!

It took him a full two seconds to comprehend what she had done.

No fuckin’ way. She’d spanked him!

He turned his head. He had to see. In her hand she held a big black leather paddle. She looked exquisite, standing there with her legs slightly spread and a hand on her bare hip. Waggling the paddle at him, she smiled roguishly before reaching back.

Whack!

“Keep your eyes down, slave. I can keep this punishment going all day until you show proper obedience.” She paused and for a moment said nothing, as if she were having second thoughts. “You have permission to speak. Tell me what you are thinking.”

Mind racing, he tried to figure out what she would want to hear. In a husky whisper, he said, “Mistress, I willingly submit to anything that pleases you.”

“It’s a good thing the walls of this old stone building are thick.” She’d managed, somehow, to sound mischievous and threatening at the same time. “I tested them out this morning with some extremely loud music.” Her tone changed to something more like the purr of a dangerous lioness. “Shall we begin again?”

But it wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t want an answer.

Down on his hands and knees, he worried, his gut tight. Was this all about humiliating him? Or did she want him as much as he lusted after her?

He sneaked a glance over his shoulder, but her bland expression gave nothing away. He prayed this was both her payback and their makeup wrapped up in one unbelievably raunchy game.

After a moment, she whined in feigned regret. “Oops, I forgot where I was. I’ll have to start all over. Please count the chastisements for me.”

He wanted to end this and claim her. Now.

But he’d agreed to her rules, and he never backed down from a challenge. He snorted quietly. Who was he kidding? The rampant desire she inspired made him her willing supplicant…for as long as she wanted to play the game.

He’d stay in position and let her have her way until she told him otherwise. He smiled inwardly but kept the revealing grin from his face.

How could he have guessed that giving up control would be so damn blasted hot?

“Here we go,” she sang, sounding too happy by far.

Whack!

He grunted, but silence followed. It was one thing to let her spank him, but counting them? That was a female submissive thing, and he wasn’t going to do it.

Whack!

Silence.

The blow was harder this time, and he had to clench his jaw not to grunt from the pain.

“Slave, we stay on number one until you start counting.”

“One,” he ground out.

“Much better,” she singsonged.

Unexpectedly, her hand cradled his ass, gently caressing his hot bum. “Mmm. Such nice, rosy, warm skin on such a nice firm arse.”

In a state of bemused shock, he couldn’t quite believe he was truly allowing her to spank him while he humbly knelt on a stone floor, naked, on all fours in a high court judge’s chambers in the Royal Courts of Justice.

He almost never gave up control in any aspect of his life. It went against every fiber of his being. Most especially, he always took charge in the bedroom, the complete master of the woman’s pleasure.

Until now.

Whack!

“Two,” he muttered, quicker on the uptake this time.

It took all of his willpower to hold himself still, clenching his muscles to keep from leaping up to grab her and pull her tightly to him and, at long last, fuck her senseless. He wanted to devour her with an all-consuming kiss. Reduce her to a babbling bundle of nerves—once again his sexual conquest and at his mercy.

But he instinctively understood she needed this so she could trust him again. Needed to wield her punishment before they could start having some real fun. He must get through it so she could be his again.

He gritted his teeth.

Whack!

Shite! She wasn’t playing but was striking with all her strength. It bloody hurt!

“Three,” he yelled before she hit him again and it didn’t count.

Trying to distract himself from the blistering heat, he envisioned the revenge he would demand from her.

Forget the club’s damn private dungeon. I’m going to tie you up in the public playroom, strip you naked for all to see, and spank the blue blazes out of your pretty little bottom.

Whack!

“Four,” he ground out.

But he desired immediate relief, immediate payback. He imagined forcefully yanking her down to him right now so he could ride her roughly on the hard stone tiles. Grinning, he pictured the distinguished and respectable Judge Whittingstall providing a different sort of public service—flat on her back, screwing away bare-ass naked in her own chambers. Almost in a trance, he felt himself thrusting his cock into her, her warm, wet sex sucking him deeper, and he moaned aloud.

Whack!

“Five,” he grunted.

His fantasy evolved in equal measure to his increasing discomfort.

Now, he wanted to leap to his feet, catch her by surprise, and grab the damn paddle. He would bend her over her antique wooden desk and spank her sexy arse to a fiery scarlet, enjoying her cries of pained arousal. But unlike her, not too many, nor too hard. He would demonstrate leniency.

Then he’d take his time caressing her two round cheeks, warm and red, before he plunged into her from behind, thrusting and thrusting until he rode them both to a frenzied orgasm.

Whack!

“Six,” he managed.

On and on it went, and he dutifully counted.

But now he had another problem. His lust was out of control. He was out of control. His burning arse had caused more blood to flow to his ever-swelling shaft. It throbbed, juddering and twitching, just shy of climaxing. It needed to be touched. If only she would put her hands on his cock, he would come instantly. He grunted, barely stopping himself from begging her to touch him.

“You are being a very good boy,” she said, sounding cheerful and carefree. Her pleasure was the only thing that kept him on his knees. He’d gratefully endure more pain, more humiliation, to see her this happy.

As if she were deliberating, she added, “Perhaps this is enough. Perhaps you’ve learned your lesson.”

Eyes shut tight, he moaned loudly, his head swaying back and forth. Silently he urged her to be done, his mind consumed by memories of her tight, wet snatch caressing his aching knob. Soon!

His tormentor, seducer, or lover—he wasn’t sure which anymore—walked slowly around him, seemingly deep in contemplation. He waited, holding his breath, almost trembling with anticipation. She bent down, and her breath soothingly fanned his burning bum. Under her gentle ministrations, he exhaled and relaxed into a floating haze of warm desire.

Suddenly, intense pleasure shuddered through his body, shaking him violently. Her warm, wet tongue licked leisurely across his burning ass. Panting and sweating, he willed her to go farther, the need to sink his throbbing cock into her warm, moist mouth filling his brain so he could think of nothing else.

Soon!

Whack!

Bloody hell! She’d surprised him, again.

The moment you stop, I’m going to fuck you senseless!

She wouldn’t know what hit her until she lay panting in a stupor of satisfied euphoria.

“Well?”

“Thirty,” he said with a groan.

With a throaty whisper, she ordered, “You may return to the presentation posture now.”

Finally, it was done. He eagerly anticipated the fucking that would come next, certain she was as turned on as he. He doubted he could keep up the submissive act for much longer—but he would try. He wanted to please her.

Breathing hard and sweating, he crawled back into position, hands clasped behind him, back straight, and head tilted submissively downward.

And waited.

She squatted down directly behind him, and he panted in excitement.

She kissed his neck and let her tongue slide down his right shoulder.

Ahh. So good.

Languidly, leisurely, she repeated the wonderful wet caress on the other side, but his control had reached a breaking point. If she kept him waiting much longer, he would take back the role of master. He’d give her one more minute.

Her small, warm hands brushed down his arms, and in one swift motion, he felt the snap of metal handcuffs locking around his wrists.

What the…?

Jerking apprehensively, he twisted his head around to see what she’d done. He caught a glimpse of his wrists, now locked together in standard-issue police handcuffs.

“Shite! I can’t believe you actually handcuffed me!”

She grinned down at him while she lightly swatted the leather paddle into the palm of her hand.

Stunned, the stark situation hit him. His arse burned. His penis throbbed. And his tongue hungered to lick her mons, now inches from his face. But he was handcuffed and helpless.

He looked up at her. His eyes pleaded with her.

“I want you so much,” she said. “I’m willing to give us a try. What do you say?”

Trying to sound subservient because, clearly, she was still playing the game, he murmured, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Now you may lick me until I come.”

A huge grin spread across his face. Who was this exciting woman?

She’d been hidden all this time under a black cloak of respectability. Pride filled him that he’d been the one to unleash this utterly alluring siren. It made him want to learn everything about her, both the salacious and the sweet.

“Yes, Mistress. It would be my pleasure.” He would enjoy licking her until she exploded, and then he would plunge his engorged shaft in her come-slickened hole.

He leaned forward and licked her very wet, very aroused quim.