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His thumb makes contact with my clit. I rock my hips to push him deeper.
He rubs me.
Almost. A few more strokes and I'm going to—
Nick pulls his hand away.
What?
His eyes fix on mine. "Are you still okay with me leaving?"
No. My exhale is heavy. The only thing I can feel is the tension in my core. How badly I need his hand. How badly I need to come.
"Lizzy, I asked you a question. I expect an answer."
"You already said that you're not—"
"Put your hands on the desk."
"Are you leaving?"
"Now."
I do.
He runs his fingertips down my back. My legs shake when his fingertips skim my sex. It's almost enough. But not quite.
"Keep your eyes on the wall." His voice is rough.
I do. I can't see him, but I can feel the heat from his body, hear his breath.
"Explain to me why you showed up at that hotel."
"Because I want you to fuck me."
"Do you think I'm that easily manipulated?"
"It's not manipulation. You want this too. Or is that a flashlight in your pocket?"
"Don't be smart. Not about this." He slides two fingers inside me. "What is more important to you—keeping your job or fucking me?"
Our conversation fades to nothing. The only thing I know is how badly I need to come.
He pulls his hand away. I gasp. My legs go slack. No. He can't stop.
Nick grabs onto my hips. He repositions me. "I asked you a question. Answer it."
I can't.
His hand comes down hard on my ass. The smack of flesh on flesh echoes through the tiny room. My skin stings.
"The job," I say.
"Then what the fuck do you think you're doing baiting me?"
He spanks me again. There's something sweet about the sting of pain. It pulls me into the moment. It reminds me that I'm alive.
"Lizzy."
"I don't know. It was an impulse. I've never wanted anyone enough to ignore my judgment before."
He growls, his hand coming down hard on my ass. Harder than the last. It pushes all the way to the brink of tolerable pain.
A groan escapes my lips.
He presses his palm against me. "Right now, what do you want?"
My sex clenches. My legs shake. My entire body is desperate for him.
"You," I breathe.
"How?" He teases my sex with his fingertip.
I shift my hips, trying to push him deeper. "Inside of me. Fucking me. Screaming my name as you come."
He pulls his hand away. Drags his fingertips over the flesh of my ass. "This is a punishment."
"Yes."
"You're not getting fucked."
I bite my tongue.
"You're going to bed dripping and desperate. And when you touch yourself tonight, you're going to think of me, and it's not going to be enough."
It's impossible to breathe. My legs are shaking so hard, I'm sure I'm about to tip over.
He pulls his hand away. "Get dressed."
"What?"
"Now." He steps aside.
I pull my body upright, suddenly feeling much more exposed. "This is my apartment."
"If you don't get dressed, I'm leaving."
He's still hard.
How can he be so calm when he's so fucking hard?
My cheeks flush. I pull my tights up, push past him, and find my robe in the bathroom. I'm sure I look ridiculous with a fluffy purple robe and knee-high stiletto boots, but it's not an immediate concern.
Nick's eyes are on me. His expression is harsh.
I want him so badly I'm aching, and he's ready to leave. How is that possible?
I cinch the robe's tie. "Is that enough?"
"You'll need to compartmentalize at the office. Treat me the same way you'd treat David, Gabriel, or Jasmine."
"And when we're not at the office?"
"I want to fuck you, Lizzy, but only if you're ready to submit. You keep pushing me. I won't tolerate that."
"What does that mean?"
"You do exactly what I say, when I say it. If you don't want that—"
"I do." I want it so fucking badly.
His expression gets serious. "You can't tell anyone. Not your sister. Or your friends."
It's difficult to concentrate on the conversation with the tension between my legs. But I can't admit it to him. Can't prove him right.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps something. A moment later, my phone buzzes. It's a text. An address.
"Meet me tomorrow night at eight," he says. "Wear that dress again."
"You liked the zipper?"
"Yes." His eyes bore into me. "I'll send a package in the morning. Wear that under your dress. Only that." He takes a step backwards.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"But we—"
"Push me again, and you'll go to bed alone again."
I bite my tongue so I won't object.
He leans down and plants a kiss on my cheek. "When I see you tomorrow, I don't want to hear anything about Odyssey or the Haley project. You understand?"
"Stop asking if I understand. It's patronizing. I can make terms too, and I'm not doing this if you keep treating me like a child. I know what I want. I want you."
Something flares in his expression. Almost like he's impressed by how I'm standing my ground.
I fold my arms over my chest. "Good night, Nick."
"Good night." He turns and leaves.
In the bathroom, I strip down to nothing and run the shower. The hot water does nothing to cool me down.
I try, hard, to resist touching myself.
But I can't.
One hand presses against the tile wall. The other goes between my legs. With a few strokes, I'm there. My sex clenches and I come.
It's not at all satisfying.
All night, I toss and turn. I'm wound up, desperate for Nick to release me from this tension.
What if he's right and I can't handle him? Our sex in the hotel was nothing compared to this. I've never submitted to anyone before.
Can I really submit to Nick?
I'm not at all rested when I wake. A long session of yoga fails to clear my head. A cold shower fails to temper the heat racing through me.
I need him, need his hands on my skin, his voice in my ears, his body against mine.
But there's so much at stake. My job, my future, my apartment—he can snap his fingers and destroy me.
Sure enough, there's a package waiting for me at the front desk: a white clothing box adorned with a purple bow.
Back in my apartment, with the door firmly locked, I force myself to unwrap the present as slowly as possible. Rolled inside purple tissue paper is a matching lingerie set?
??black thigh-high stockings, black garter belt, black thong.
They're beautiful, but there's something strange about the thong. It's heavy. I play with the fabric until my fingers hit something hard—a bullet vibrator tucked into a fabric pouch.
Only there's no way to turn it on.
I bang on the toy for a full minute, but it stays off. It's not the smoothest move, but I have to know.
I text Nick.
Lizzy: How does it work?
He responds with a picture message—his hand wrapped around a remote control.
Holy shit.
He wants me to wear this in public?
My heartbeat picks up. Someone will know. Someone will see. Can I really risk that?
The picture grabs my attention. His hands are so strong, so expert. I need them on me again.
I need to submit to him.
I need to be his.
Even if it might destroy me.
Chapter Nine
The restaurant is on the top floor of a nondescript building, all the way at the end of the hall. The lighting is dim—ornate chandeliers and flickering candles.
Nick is in a booth in the corner, his gaze turned towards the entrance.
He motions come here as his eyes catch mine. I walk past the hostess stand. I take in none of my surroundings. I'm too fixed on his hands.
One is around his glass of whiskey. The other is under the table, out of sight.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the vibrator to suddenly turn on.
It doesn't.
He stands to greet me. One hand goes to my lower back. The other slides to the back of my head.
My eyes flutter closed as he pulls me into a soft, slow kiss. It's the first kiss we've had since San Francisco, and it's every bit as good as it is in my memory.
That hint of whiskey on his lips.
And something else entirely Nick.
Warmth spreads out from every place he touches—my back, my head, my lips—until it fills my entire torso.
He releases the kiss and motions for me to sit.
I nod a thank you as we slide into the booth.
I cross and uncross my legs, willing the tension in my lower back to relax. He seems so calm, so in control.
I'm all mixed up. My hands are shaky. My breath is uneven.
Still, I manage to hold Nick's gaze. I have to figure out where I stand. "I have a few questions."
He nods go on.
"I'm assuming this relationship is monogamous."
"Yes."
"But what is it? Are we screwing around or—"
