My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3)

by Michaels, Megan

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About This Book

  Copyright Page

  By Megan Michaels

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Excerpt — Colorado Christmas

  By Megan Michaels

  From The Author

  My Russian Master

  Megan Michaels

  About This Book

  Sometimes the road to happily-ever-after begins with two simple words: “Yes, Sir.”

  For CEO Caroline Turner certain truths were inescapable. No matter how powerful, successful, and pretty she was, it didn’t matter when it came to the number on her scale — a number she wasn’t at all happy with. Like every other obstacle in her life though, she had a plan for overcoming it. The famous Maxim Volkov chef and fitness expert wasn’t cheap, and he wasn’t exactly falling in line with her wishes either, but he was perfect for the job… and extremely easy on the eyes. However alpha and devastatingly handsome the taciturn Russian might be, he seemed to have a different understanding about who the boss was in their particular arrangement. She’d just have to put him in his place… and try to ignore the insane urge to kneel at his feet.

  Taking the job offered by the spoiled, if intriguing American CEO was something Maxim wouldn’t normally do. He didn’t need the money, and he usually found Western women trying at best, maddening at worst. But something about the pretty Caroline spoke to him, her defiance, and acid-tongued ways hiding an appealing vulnerability he longed to bring to the fore. Despite her self-image, he saw little wrong with the curvy, brunette beauty. Nothing wrong that is that couldn’t be cured with a little strict, bare bottom discipline, and some loving, sensual aftercare. That the appealingly disobedient, mouthy American woman would surrender to him was never in doubt.

  The only question was when.

  But behind Caroline’s strong, professional facade, something else lurked, a part of her painful past that threatened to endanger her future — and perhaps her life. Hiding his own potentially explosive secrets, Maxim must help her finally put that dark chapter behind her — no matter what it took, no matter how much she might fight it, no matter how much it hurt. Worse, hated competitors, circling like sharks, threatened to destroy all that Caroline had worked so hard to create.

  Struggling with demons both internal and external, her last, best hope might just be a man as hard and implacable as a Siberian winter...

  Publisher’s Warning: Intended for mature audiences. 18 and over only!

  This sensuous romance contains explicit sexual situations, spanking, and anal play. This book deals with eating disorders and could be a trigger for some. This book can be read as a standalone. Enjoyment of the novel will be enhanced by reading the previous entries in the series, but it’s not necessary.

  Copyright © 2015 by Megan Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Rachel A Olson (www.nosweatgraphics.weebly.com)

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and as such, any similarity to existing persons, places or events must be considered purely coincidental.

  This book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.

  For mature readers only.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First Electronic Edition: October 2015

  By Megan Michaels

  The Service & Submission Series:

  Finding Submission

  Mastering Inga

  My Russian Master

  The Widow Wagon Series:

  Book One: Second Chances

  Book Two: More Than She Bargained For

  Book Three: Cinch Your Saddle

  Published By Stormy Night Publications

  What Naughty Little Girls Get

  The Little Princess Cruise

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to my wonderful friend, Kristin. You're always kind, caring, and supportive, giving me an honest opinion on all things, and making me laugh on the days I can't even muster a smile. I appreciate you taking the time out of your crazy life to be there for me.

  To all the women who have had to overcome obstacles — big or small — to accept and love themselves.

  “We can always find each other, we girls with secrets.” — Crystal Renn

  Chapter One

  Caroline Turner stalked out of the conference room and down the carpeted hallway. Neither the spring sunshine pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, nor the spectacular view of Manhattan far below did anything to improve her mood.

  How dare he?

  He’d had the nerve to turn to her and tell her she’d find more success with men if she fixed her attitude — and lost about twenty pounds. While there was no way she’d ever let him know that his comments had hurt, they definitely had.

  She’d smiled. “Why, Derek, you sweet talker. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were putting in an order. When I’m ready for you, I’ll give you a ring. Until then, wish me well and stay safe.” She’d quickly turned on her heel and left before he could make another cutting retort.

  As she passed by Samantha, the receptionist, Caroline plastered on a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammi.”

  Barely managing to hold back her tears, she picked up her pace, dashing toward the elevator.

  Pressing the button for the door harshly, staring at the cold, steel doors, she felt the all-too-familiar sting of impending tears behind her eyes and nose.

  As soon as the doors opened, she quickly entered, not turning around until they had closed. Caroline dug around in her Louis Vuitton bag, pulling out a tissue, hoping she wouldn’t need to use it, still willing her tears not to fall. She looked at herself in a small mirror, to be sure her eyes weren’t too red. She opened her cell, punching in the numbers as if it had insulted her rather than Derek.

  “Jason. I’ll be out front soon. I need to go home. Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Looking in the mirror again, she turned her head from side-to-side, observing her skin and neck, assessing how much weight she’d gained. She supposed she could lose some weight, but she thought she looked pretty good. After all, she’d seen many other women that looked older — or heavier — than she was. If anyone asked why she was dabbing at her welling eyes, she’d say she had allergies.

  At thirty-two, she knew she no longer looked like she had at twenty-two or, for that matter, even how she looked at twenty-six. But how dare he insinuate that she hadn’t been dating because of twenty pounds? Didn’t some men like a little weight on their women? She’d read in her romance novels about Doms wanting women who were curvy, women with generous, swaying breasts. It meant there would be enough ass to squeeze and spank, a soft cushion for sex. She liked big, burly men, and they in particular liked a soft woman, a curvy woman. She’d been told that many times. Wasn’t that true?

  It still hurt though. She wasn’t
sure she could ever get back to her size eight clothes. Even if she could though, would she want to?

  From the very beginning, as a young intern, she’d diligently worked her way up the chain, eventually managing to become the CEO of a prominent advertising firm in Manhattan. Of course, she’d made enemies in the process, many of them men like her current nemesis, Derek Miller. He had set his sights on the company, and vowed he’d wrest it from her control. He’d gotten backers and supporters, but not enough to succeed. With the backing of her family and a few very prominent and wealthy close friends, she’d been able to outbid him, winning over key members of the Board with her class and knowledge.

  He never let her forget that he would be her biggest competitor — and someone she could never trust. Her interpersonal skills, her ability to influence people and to communicate with ease, had kept her at the top.

  Derek had been brash and conniving, trying to thwart her success at every turn. Thankfully, most people saw his evil nature for what it was, no matter how much he tried to mask it. And fortunately for her, her board of directors were very savvy, and were able to warn her of any sly maneuvers Derek cooked up. Overall, she loved her board of directors, even though some days they’d made her life difficult; she couldn’t manipulate them as easily as she’d have liked. Despite her occasional clashes with the Board though, they backed her on almost all her endeavors. The combined intelligence and experience of the men and women who made up her board were an invaluable ally to her.

  Derek Miller, as a competitor in their same industry, ended up being at many of the same conferences and joint media campaigns that Caroline attended. Today had been one of those days. And because Derek thought being rough with women would make him look like he was part of the “old boy’s network,” he never missed a chance to make misogynistic digs at her or other female competitors. The immaturity of his remarks didn’t make her look incompetent — they simply illuminated his lack of finesse and ungentlemanly demeanor. It always seemed to backfire on him, but he never learned the lesson and continued in this crude behavior.

  She expected today’s comment from Derek would actually land her the Parker account, but rather than celebrate another victory over the bastard, she suspected she’d be wallowing in self-loathing and regret. She’d more than likely go home and drown her sorrows in carbohydrates. A big bowl of pasta and fresh Italian bread, followed by a large bowl of ice cream would make her feel better. Right now, she wouldn’t think about how much she’d hate herself the next morning.

  Exiting the lobby of the high-rise, she stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. There was nothing like the mayhem of Manhattan to help you forget your problems — or add to them. Right in front of the door was her sleek, black SUV and Jason, ever-faithful Jason, her security guard. Tall, broad, and muscular, and wearing a well-tailored suit, he held the truck’s door open for her. She walked briskly, anxious to sit in the secluded, peaceful back seat — and more than likely cry.

  “Thank you, Jason. I’ll be glad to get home and do nothing for the rest of the night. Feel free to see that lovely wife and children of yours. I’m done for the day.” She slid into her seat gracefully, drawing her long legs into the vehicle.

  “Caroline, was it Derek again?” Jason looked at her through the rear view mirror, as he slid in behind the wheel. “I can take care of that for you.”

  “I’m sure you could.” Caroline gave him a frown, a gentle rebuke. “But that wouldn’t be good for business now, would it?”

  “Probably not. But he deserves it, and I’d love to get a hold of him. Teach him a lesson.” He held up one of his huge hands. “They’re just itchin’.”

  Caroline laughed, shaking her head at the loyalty Jason felt toward her. He was protective and as much as he defended and looked out for her as her chauffer and bodyguard, he was almost obsessed about protecting his wife and children. Watching him now, she could see how that was possible.

  It would be nice to have someone fiercely protective of her for a change, someone she called her own. Her father cared about her in a business sense, but what she did and where she went outside of work was of no concern to him. And for whatever reason, any of the previous men she’d dated never seemed protective either. They looked to her as the woman in charge — the strong woman whose lead they comfortably followed. However, she wanted a man to lead, someone she could follow — and answer to. She longed to shed the role of the executive in charge and instead be the one taken care of. She wanted someone who would protect her out of a sense of love and caring, rather than because she paid them to.

  “You won’t be teaching Derek a lesson — at least not today, Jason.”

  He clenched his jaw, sending a piercing glare her way in the mirror. “Let me know when, Caroline.”

  “I assure you, you’ll be the first person I contact.” She giggled, seeing how serious he was.

  “You better. You don’t want to piss me off by keeping me out of the loop. I need to know when things become serious.” He nodded at her, his penetrating gaze making her break eye contact.

  She bet he was a force to be reckoned with when angry.

  * * *

  Finally home, Caroline immediately threw on her sweat pants and an old t-shirt from her alma mater, University of Tennessee. Now she would be ready for her carbs, junk food, and her favorite movies.

  Once the pasta and Alfredo sauce was cooked up and ready, she sliced the Italian bread, lathering it with butter. If one piece was good, two would be even better.

  She curled up on the couch with a blanket after popping in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. She thought back to Derek’s comment. It had been almost a year since she’d had a date. Maybe he was right? Maybe twenty pounds would do the trick? She had tried to lose weight herself before, and it never worked well. Her long hours and busy schedule didn’t always allow for healthy eating. Fast food and take-out always sounded better, and it was definitely more convenient.

  She had dabbled with anorexia in college, but never could force herself to vomit. She’d spent most of her college years not eating well or not eating at all, then eating pizza and beer on the weekends. But she took laxatives and diet pills daily, purging her system, and trying to vomit. Having more pizza and beer. Rinse and repeat. She’d been struggling with her hips and ass since she started high school. Again, men — most men — seemed to enjoy her curvy ass and hips. But it was the occasional guy like Derek that made her want to start using laxatives and try vomiting again. Even though she’d never call herself an actual anorexic — and it had been probably ten years since she had last struggled with it — however, the temptation was real at times like these.

  She would have Sammi call around to find her the best chef. She had heard about those fitness chefs — a combination of gourmet cook and fitness trainer. She had a huge kitchen that might as well have been a museum for all the use it got, and a fitness room that went unoccupied save for the cleaner that dusted in there every week. It would be good to get in shape again and have someone cook healthy meals for her. She’d show Derek. He wouldn’t make fun of her again in public.

  Putting her dishes in the sink, she made herself a large bowl of ice cream — birthday cake ice cream with syrup and sprinkles. Pulling her laptop onto her lap, she searched for her favorite spanking video site. She expertly maneuvered through the pages to her favorite videos by a Russian guy who had a penchant for the whip.

  The woman in the video had been stripped down to just a black corset and matching black panties, wrists fastened to a hook in the ceiling. She’d been blindfolded. Her knees were bound and she swiveled her hips in clear anticipation and arousal. The tall Russian was anonymous, like the woman, the footage shot only from below the head. He roughly jerked the woman’s panties down to her knees. She had an ample and fleshy bottom too, making Caroline feel better about her own ass.

  The crack of the whip found an initial slow and steady rhythm that matched the sway of the woman’s hips, light pink stripes quickl
y covering her ass. They didn’t look bad though, her moaning accompanied by the swivel of her hips let the viewer know she loved the whip.

  Crack. Crack. Crack. The quivering in the woman’s body was visible, her movements increasing in pace with the strokes, her keening heard above the whip. Her ass pushed outward slowly, moving in circles. Her thighs tightening, squeezing together, stiffening, thrusting, and then stilling as she uttered a shrill whine. Then her hips thrust forward once again, the whip still snapping against her flesh.

  Crack, crack. The whip struck her repeatedly, and all the while, she pushed her ass out, her pink pussy visible and moist with excitement. The whip lashed twice in quick succession and she shouted, waggling and swiveling her hips, pushing back into the whip, seeking the pain, seeking her orgasm. Two more quick flicks of the whip struck her now pinkened flesh, her body becoming rigid, clenching her bottom, hollering in pain. But despite her anguish she kept thrusting, quivering, mewling.

  Her hands pulled at the restraints, her body now writhing in slow, sensual arousal. More expertly placed and timed strikes landed upon her wobbly bottom then, the momentum finally propelling her over the cliff. She stiffened, screaming with her release, the thrust of her hips and clamping of her ass, both moving in rhythm. She shuddered, her orgasm drawing forth one more long groan.

  The whip became silent and motionless as the Master waited, waiting for her tremors to subside. But expertly he knew when to start the whipping again to reignite the fire, leading to another orgasm. She whined and whimpered, her resistance evident in the tone. She was unable to fight it though, her arousal climbing, her body quaking and writhing as it had with her previous orgasm.