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She'd chosen a pair of jeans that fit her the way she and any straight male with a pulse liked, and combined it with a shirt with a halter-style back and which stopped just above her navel. That allowed him a glimpse of a small strip of smooth skin and the delicate silver spiral charm she wore on her navel piercing. The top also revealed a provocative amount of cleavage between full breasts held high in her lace bra. The back was a series of thin straps that crisscrossed her bared flesh, one thicker strap masking the bra line.
A spider-shaped pendant rested in the pocket of her collar bone, the jewelry a sparkling array of onyx and rhinestones. The boots she wore under the jeans were comfortable but gave her ass a nice swing.
As Marius offered her a hand out of the car, his grip heated and firm, their bodies brushed. The contact set off the expected sparks along her skin. He registered it, because he started to draw her closer. She held fast. "The kiss attempt happens at the end of the night, not the beginning."
"Not a woman who eats dessert before the meal. Check." He released her hand and closed her door when she moved out of the opening. As his back had to face her while he accomplished that, she allowed herself to brush it with her fingertips. "You look nice, too. And you smell good."
He looked over his shoulder at her. She leaned against the rear passenger door of the car, her hands folded behind her hips. "A brushing of mouths, a brief greeting of sorts, is acceptable. Can you handle that?"
He braced a hand against the top of the car, by her head, and leaned in, sliding a hand along her waist. As he closed the distance, she spoke again. "Like your mouth is a feather, stroking lightly across my lips."
His fingers twitched on her waist, his gray eyes flickering. He wanted to take more, to coax and seduce. By her instructions, this was a "normal date," but she wanted to start with this subtle reminder that she was the Mistress. What was deep inside of him needed that, too, a tug on the sub part of his nature.
Their mouths were very close. The solid wall of his chest pressed against the give of her breasts, another hint of deeper pleasures. His eyes slid to her mouth, but as he came so close contact was only a breath away, his lashes lifted so they were looking directly into each other's eyes.
A lot of subs would avert their gazes at half this proximity. It didn't have to be a requirement of the Mistress. Something instinctive in the sub defaulted to deference.
But there was another kind of sub. One who would lock onto his Mistress's gaze with near violent tenacity, as if knowing the survival of some critical part of him depended on it. Sometimes there was another layer under the desperation. Simple, lovely need. To serve, protect, hold fast.
She saw a glimpse of it, a light in his eyes, in the dark pupils, and her heartstrings tightened.
"Hello there, Duncan," she said softly.
He stilled. She used the blink of uncertainty, where he stood between the decision to fight or retreat, to caress his jaw. And remind him he had a higher priority than his reaction. Her command.
"My kiss," she said. "Light as a feather."
She reminded herself how badly this man could fuck up a woman who eased up too soon, trusted him prematurely. Right now, she would treat him as she would a wild animal. Just because he took food from her hand didn't mean he'd stopped seeing her as prey.
He nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and closed the distance. She kept her hand on his jaw in case he decided to disobey and devour her, but she didn't expect that. The hand was mainly to keep that whisper of contact between them as long as she damn well wanted it.
He had firm lips, a little chapped. His breath was cinnamon and mint, his jaw smooth under her hand. He was a furnace. She'd noticed that before. Her bad boy had all the fires of hell burning inside him, twenty-four seven. A shiver ran through her as his shoulder and arm muscles flexed, his hand molding in tighter contour to her waist and hip. That indication of rising desire matched what unfolded inside her at the teasing contact between their mouths.
She'd leaned forward. So had he, his chest more firmly pressed against her breasts. His hand left her hip so his arm could slide farther around her waist. Yet he still obeyed, keeping that same light, provocative touch between their lips. Tendrils of desire glided up her inner thighs like a painter's brush, only she imagined it as his mouth. What a beautiful mouth he had. That twist at the corner gave his kiss a different pattern of friction, less uniform and more pleasing.
She broke the contact, easing back and rubbing her thumb over his lips, a lingering touch. He'd been perfectly restrained, but had offered so much erotic potential her lower belly had become a butterfly garden. She moved out of the shelter between him and the car.
"So," she said, aware that her voice was a throaty purr. "Where are we going?"
He cleared his throat. "Would you prefer to take your car? Mine--"
"Is perfect. It reminds me of the car my prom date drove."
She adjusted so she had her hand in the crook of his elbow, showing him how she wished to be escorted. "Though hopefully you will not have a bag of weed and giant can of Icehouse under the seat, my date's master strategy to get me so mellow I'd melt out of my clothes."
"Did it work?"
"What do you think?"
He gave her a shrewd perusal. "You came out of the womb in control, Mistress."
"You're saying it to charm me," she said mildly. "But rumor is I told the doctor how to cut the
umbilical cord. I'm kind of fuzzy on those details, but it sounds like something I'd do, particularly if I thought he wasn't doing it right. You still haven't answered my question. Where are we going?"
He paused at the passenger door of his car and reached in his back pocket. The shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders. When he noticed her noticing, she arched a brow.
"I don't pretend not to enjoy what's mine to look at," she said. "You have a problem with that?"
