“I’ll be coming with you sleeved, your silk sashes binding you knees-wide to my bed, those shoes still on but calves bent up and trussed to your thighs, but like now, you’ll be wearing nothing else, your face in my pillow, my cock up your ass,” he growled.
She shivered, impaled on him.
“To do that, you need to untie me,” he pointed out thickly, but rationally.
“After I do, should we enjoy a drink before we leave?” she teased.
“You just earned that ass fucking with very red cheeks.”
That set her to trembling.
“Simone,” he warned.
She kissed him.
He kissed her back.
Then she climbed off, dropping to her feet, and she knew what she was buying when she zipped herself into her skintight cream leather boatneck dress before she moved to her man to release him.
The shades were up on their room at the Honey.
This was at Stellan’s decree.
He liked them to show off, when he worked her, when she used him.
Sometimes, however, if it was in her power, she closed them.
Because some moments were just for them.
This night, her work had been inspired.
So she did not.
However the switch Mistress Sixx and the seemingly switch (but not so much) Master Stellan had lost the allure of most the patrons of the Honey, so their audience tonight was thin.
They were more interested in what was happening with Talia and Aryas.
As it went.
And always would.
Happily-ever-afters only remained exciting to the ones living them.
But as she turned to attend to the white ropes that bound her man, she thought it was a shame she had to let him loose.
Her work had been sublime.
She took a mental snapshot to sketch it later before her fingers moved to the web of rope and knots she’d tied up his back, ropes rounding him at waist, ribs, under his bulging shoulder blades and along the sides of his neck as well as at his biceps with a fanciful (and hot) set of doubled-over bindings at his right thigh.
The ropes also led from biceps to wind again and again around his wrists, and from junctures of the riggings from biceps to wrists led ropes that also wound again and again around a ring suspended from the ceiling to which his arms were raised and his fingers curled around.
All this led up from a similar formation at the front that tucked through his legs, embedded in the crease of his beautiful ass up to web at his back.
As she’d noted …
It was inspired.
She’d had to use him to hold herself up to use him since he was on his feet but did not have the use of his arms, and as she untied him, she saw the marks her heels had made in his ass.
She whisked a hand across one.
“That okay, baby?” she whispered.
“I like restraint, as you’ve discovered. And as with your experimentations with paddles and switches shared, I also enjoy pain. So yes. As those scenes were far more prolonged, this is nothing. However, I liked it understanding I would soon give it, so stop concerning yourself with your marks and untie me, darling.”
She suppressed a smile and got back to the matter at hand.
When he was fully released, the white rope falling to the floor at his feet, with an arm he swept her against his body and took her mouth in a kiss that left her silly.
“Of all of that, outside having your pussy, and your heels digging deep, I enjoyed the placement of the ropes best, my Simone,” he murmured. “So when we get home, I’ll be working you after you plug me.”
God, she loved it when he was in that mood.
Her legs started shaking so she held on.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she answered.
“Please try so I can get dressed and we can go home.”
She nodded, let him go, managed to stay upright on her own two feet as he moved to his clothes, unconcerned there were members lingering outside the windows.
Watching him, the way he was, all that he was, she thought, seriously.
He was just so …
Everything.
Simone stayed where she was and called, “You know I love you,” as he pulled on his trousers.
“Yes.”
She grinned.
“You know this is totally making my sketchpads,” she shared.
“Yes,” he repeated simply.
“You better give it to me good at home, honey, so that’ll make it too,” she urged.
He turned to her, shrugging on his shirt. “Do I ever not?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
His eyes dropped to the rose gold collar at her neck. “You gave a mark, you’ve earned one. Alas, that means that will eventually have to be removed.”
He was buttoning up his shirt when she replied with feeling, “Alas.”
His gaze came to her eyes. “Your impudence will also need to be addressed.”
“Nothing you’re saying is not making me think that you’re dressing way too damned slowly.”
That was when he smiled his oh-so-special smile.
And started doing his buttons a lot more leisurely.
She crossed her arms on her chest and hitched out a foot.
Catching her stance set those smiling lips to twitching.
“Do you know I love you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Good,” he murmured, reaching for his tie.
He lifted up his collar.
“For God’s sake, Stellan. We’re going home. You don’t need to knot your tie.”
“Get over here, Simone.”
She huffed her way over.
The instant she was in arm’s reach, he grabbed hold, shoved her against the door and ravaged her mouth.
She was finding it hard to breathe when he lifted his head.
“You’ll wait, Simone,” he growled.
“Of course, baby,” she breathed.
“Mm?” he prompted in that purr of his that slithered so lovingly against her clit.
She arched into him, tightening her arms around his shoulders.
“Of course, my Master,” she whispered.
“There’s my Simone,” he murmured, staying in her hold even as he knotted his damned tie.
But as ever he was right.
His Simone.
There she was.
And always would be.
No longer wondering what it would feel like not to be healed, but you were again whole.
Knowing precisely what it felt like to be healed.
And made whole.
As well as safe.
In love.
Happy.
Knowing she’d have all this …
For as long as she was breathing.
also by kristen ashley
The Deep End
The Farthest Edge
about the author
KRISTEN ASHLEY is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty novels. She lives in Arizona and can be found at kristenashley.net, or sign up for email updates here.
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contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
&
nbsp; Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Also by Kristen Ashley
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE GREATEST RISK. Copyright © 2018 by Kristen Ashley. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover photographs: honey © Dragan Todorovic/Getty Images; man © Doodko/Shutterstock.com; background © strizh/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-17710-0 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-17711-7 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250177117
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First Edition: May 2018
The Greatest Risk Page 57
