I smirked, reaching behind me to unzip my dress. I’d sit—eventually. And on my own terms.
Hunter narrowed his eyes at me. But I spun away, ignoring him as I gathered my curls over my shoulder, baring my neck to him. I made a slow, seductive show of it. I wasn’t concerned about being caught, because I really didn’t care. I only cared about this man and this moment.
The zipper of my dress hissed in the quiet of the room, the material swishing as it slid down my body to pool at my feet. I stepped out of it, finally turning to face Hunter. His mouth gaped open and shut, and he seemed to be at a loss for words. That had to be a first.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror, and I was glad I’d worn my new lingerie. I looked good, damned good. It was one of my more expensive sets, and it was worth every penny to see his reaction.
“Holy fuck.” He stepped closer, forgetting his earlier command.
I bit back a smile, trying not to gloat about the fact that I was winning.
But as he circled me, trailing a finger along my collarbone and over my back, the grin vanished from my face. Goose bumps rose in the wake of his touch, and my core throbbed with need. I didn’t understand how he did it. How he could barely even touch me, yet electrify me.
He came to stand before me, his eyes dark with want. “Mm.Ma tigresse veut jouer.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, loving the way he pronounced the words—like he was making love to them.
“My tigress wants to play.” He flashed me a wolfish grin.
I was so hung up on the emphasis he’d placed on “my,” the possessive undertone to his voice, I couldn’t think about much else. It sounded so beautiful when he said it in French. But it was more the way he said it, the inflection and the soft look in his eyes that told me he intended it as a compliment.
“Sit,” he ordered.
With one finger—that one little finger he’d used to set me aflame—he pressed me down onto the couch. The pressure he’d exerted was featherlight, yet I found myself responding, lowering. Submitting to his will.
“Ma tigressewill learn.” He stepped back, removing his jacket and folding it before placing it over a chair.
He smoothed his hand over the fabric, drawing my eyes to his long fingers. I didn’t know whether it was the fact that he seemed to take great care of his possessions or the idea that he might be doing it to draw this out, but I found that simple movement incredibly sexy.
“That sounds like a threat.” I reclined against the plush velvet of the chair, delighted when he swallowed. Hard.
God, I hoped it was a threat. A fresh wave of heat rushed through me at the idea of Hunter punishing me and all that might entail.
He rounded the chaise lounge so he was standing behind me, which meant we were both visible in the mirror. We looked incredible together—him projecting confidence and power. Control. And me, relaxing on the couch in my sexy as fuck new lingerie. It was like a scene from a movie, from a fantasy. For a moment, I thought it couldn’t possibly be real.
Despite all the sex I’d had, all the men I’d been with, somehow nothing compared to this.
Hunter met my eyes in the mirror, placing his hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t deny how hot that made me—the idea of us watching ourselves. And I thought I might burst into flames from that alone.
“Last chance.” His skin was warm, searing my flesh. “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”
Both of us knew exactly what this was, and there was no turning back now—at least not for me.
“Don’t tease me,” I choked out.
He was so close to touching me where I wanted, I could feel the energy bouncing between us. I could sense the anticipation, and it filled me with excitement. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this eager to sleep with a man, and I wondered if that was due to the buildup, the weeks of torture, or if it was just him. Further investigation was definitely necessary.
“I need to hear you say it. Say you want me.” His blond hair glinted in the low light. That, coupled with his darkened eyes, made him look like a devilish angel.
“You want me.” I grinned, repeating the phrase, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d intended.
“Careful, or I’ll fuck that feisty mouth.”
I tilted my head back, baring my throat to him. “I wish you would.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into my skin. He might think he was in control, but I knew the truth. And that movement—that reaction—confirmed I was right.
His lips spread into a smile—brilliant and dangerous, just like him. He kept one hand on my shoulder, sliding the other down my skin, over my bra to cup my breast. We both groaned, and I clamped my legs together in a futile effort to ease the ache.
