YES MASTER

Crossing The Line

JUSTIN’S POV

I smirked slightly as she tried so hard to hold back her moan. It was useless. Her body was betraying her in the most beautiful way.

Every sharp inhale and every involuntary shiver told me exactly how much she felt me and how much she reacted to everything I was doing. The knowledge sent a dark, satisfying thrill through me.

I flicked my tongue slowly over her navel, lingering there just long enough to make her squirm. Her back arched off the mattress and a soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her body trembled beneath me, heat radiating from her skin as I placed a gentle kiss just below her stomach.

She looked down at me then, eyes glossy with unshed tears and her cheeks flushed a deep pink. The sight of her like that vulnerable, conflicted, undone made something tighten in my chest. She was adorable in a way that caught me off guard and for a brief moment I could not look away.

Blood rushed straight to my groin, thick and insistent, forcing a low groan from my throat. I wanted her desperately. I wanted to take my time, to strip away every wall she had built and show her pleasure she did not even know existed.

Slowly and deliberately, I trailed my tongue from her navel up toward her chest. She gasped sharply, fingers curling into the sheets as her hips lifted, seeking friction, seeking more.

Her body moved on instinct now, chasing sensation even as her mind resisted it.

I lifted myself just enough to meet her eyes.

The moment our gazes locked, everything changed.

She shrank back slightly, tension snapping through her body.

A hiss escaped her lips as she demanded I let her go. She tried to glare at me but the attempt only amused me. I laughed softly, shaking my head before gently pecking her lips.

By then her face was burning with anger, embarrassment, and pride all clashing at once.

“Don’t f*****g touch me, you f*****g pervert,” she screamed.

Then she did the one thing I hated more than anything else.

She spat in my face.

JAYLA’S POV

For a moment, he just stared at me. Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I could tell he was shocked by my outburst.

It was not like me at all. I had never spoken to anyone that way before, never let my temper snap so violently. But the emotions inside me were too much. Anger, humiliation, confusion, and fear tangled together until I could not separate one from the other.

The second the spit left my lips, regret slammed into me.

Or maybe it was fear.

My heart began to race uncontrollably as reality settled in. A man like him would not let something like that slide.

Disrespect like that did not go unanswered, not by someone who carried himself the way he did. My chest tightened as panic bloomed.

I whimpered when I saw his expression shift. Shock melted into something far more dangerous. His eyes darkened and hardened as they locked onto mine. I knew then that I was going to regret what I had done. He would make sure of it.

My breathing turned shallow and erratic, each breath scraping my lungs. My heart hammered so violently I thought it might burst through my ribs.

Cold fear crept up my body, leaving my limbs trembling and numb.

Without saying a word, he climbed off the bed. I flinched at the sudden absence of his weight, watching as he walked into the suite’s bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed in the room, far too loud in the tense silence. I could only assume he was washing his face, erasing what I had done.

When he returned, a towel hung loosely in his hands. He dried his face slowly and deliberately, leaning lazily against the doorframe as if he had all the time in the world.

I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unblinking, but I could not bring myself to meet his gaze. I was terrified of what I would see there.

He stayed silent and somehow that made everything worse.

The only sound was my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, so loud I was sure he could hear it too. Each second stretched painfully, my nerves screaming as I waited for him to speak, to move, to do something.

After what felt like an eternity, he tossed the towel onto a nearby chair and walked toward the large walk in closet.

He opened the doors and disappeared inside. I jumped when something slammed loudly, my breath catching as fear spiked again.

He reappeared holding a large black leather case.

My stomach dropped.

I watched, frozen, as he walked to the left side of the bed and placed it carefully on the table a few feet away.

“I was hoping I would not have to use this yet,” he sighed, his voice calm and almost disappointed.

He looked at me then, really looked at me.

“But I did warn you that I would train you,” he continued evenly.

“So that is just what I am going to do.”

Panic surged through me as he turned toward the intercom and pressed the button, calling for two of his guards to assist him. The color drained from my face.

“Wait, assist you?” I cried, my voice climbing toward a scream.

“Why do you need assistance? What are you going to do to me?”

A cruel smile slid across his lips as he looked down at me.

“Punish you, of course.”

The cold, almost playful tone of his voice sent ice through my veins.

“Oh no, no, please do not,” I stuttered.

The guards knocked and entered, and by then I was shaking uncontrollably. My mind spiraled, racing through horrifying possibilities. Why did he need help? What was he planning?

Oh God, no. Please do not.

The look in his eyes told me one terrifying thing. I was right to be afraid.