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Too bad something about this man made her mind feel about as wimpy as her decidedly un-buff biceps.
Pull yourself together, woman, and give the man what he came for. You’re The Wicked Stepmother. Start acting like it.
“Don’t cross me, slave.” Each word was a warning to her submissive: he would abandon control now, or spend eternity suffering her wrath.
Or at least the next fifty minutes. He had paid for the hour, and Eleanor didn’t believe in cheating her customers. She might be The Wicked Stepmother, but she had a business to run, and a business didn’t thrive on unsatisfied clients.
Still, she wished she could let this one go, simply send him on his merry way without a spanking or nipple torture or a hot wax treatment or whatever else he’d had in mind.
God, she was sick of all of it, every last bit of kink, and even sicker of the whiny, clingy men who made use of her unique services. Still, the man in front of her had her wishing for the usual obedient, boot-licking client. She was a dominatrix by necessity, not by calling, and had never felt like more of a fraud than she did tonight.
“I’d rather not,” Baldy said in that voice that dared her to show him what she was made of.
“Less back talk, more groveling!” There, that had sounded intimidating.
“Groveling?” He grunted then, just once, and a smile quirked at the edges of his full mouth.
What was that grunt supposed to mean? And the smile?
What was she going to do with this man, this giant who seemed to see through her façade like a pair of see-through panties? From the second he’d entered the room he’d assessed her and found her lacking. It was as if he could sense her fear.
Even worse, those blue eyes that roved brazenly over her body seemed to recognize that he affected her in other, more…primal ways.
Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and her breath grew shallow.
She bit her lip. She wasn’t aroused by this man, she couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. She did not feel a tightening low in her belly, and her panties weren’t suspiciously damp.
“So what happens when you don’t get your way?” His gaze flicked from her breasts to her eyes and back to her breasts with an air of carless entitlement.
Damn.
Who was she kidding? She hadn’t been this hot for a man in longer than she could remember. Her sex-starved body was screaming for satisfaction, preferably from this man’s thick cock.
“On your belly. Last chance,” Eleanor said, willing her voice to stop quivering, and her thighs as well.
She wasn’t a trembling virgin, for God’s sake. Her thighs hadn’t quivered for over a decade. It was embarrassing.
And completely exciting.
She’d never felt the urge to play the submissive role before, but she couldn’t deny the thought of this stranger overpowering her aroused as much as it alarmed. What would it be like to have those large, calloused hands on her body, demanding that she bend to his will or suffer the erotic consequences?
