“Look at me, Baby girl,” he orders in that commanding voice I can’t deny. When he tacks on the new endearment, I melt. Good thing I’m lying down.
“Autumn…” he warns when I don’t readily obey him.
He has no clue what he’s doing to me. I squeeze my legs together when he says my name in that same demanding tone. What is it about his bossy instructions that turns me on? I shouldn’t be having such illicit thoughts. My father just died. My mind should be on him, not his protégé—a man I have a crush on. This isn’t high school. It’s real life.
“Baby…” His voice is even softer. It reaches into my soul. Meanwhile, the underlying dominance is still there. It’s always there, no matter what tone or volume he uses.
My heart is racing as I turn my head to face him.
He smiles. “Good girl.”
My cheeks heat as he says the one thing that I’ve longed to hear for years. Not from just anyone. From him.
He searches my eyes. “You’re submissive.”
I swallow hard.
“How much experience do you have in the fetish lifestyle, sweetheart?”
Did my face catch on fire?
He continues, “Do you belong to a club?”
“No, Sir,” I whisper, barely audible.
He frowns. “Have you ever been to one?”
I shake my head. How is he so totally dominating me? Am I still asleep?
Mace’s brows furrow. “How do you so easily use the word Sir, Baby?”
“Books.”
His eyes widen. “You learned about submission from reading?”
“Yes, Sir.” I have no idea how I’m so compelled to address him as Sir. It feels natural. I’ve never called anyone Sir before in my life. It’s Mace. He brings this out of me.
“Have you ever submitted to anyone before, Autumn?”
“No, Sir.”
His eyes can get larger. I’ve stunned him.
Mace slowly sits upright, releasing my hand. He’s still staring at me, but now I’m freaking out. I don’t think he’s pleased with my total ignorance. Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. But I couldn’t have lied to him. Ever.
When he stands, I start to panic, but before I can utter a word, he pulls the covers back, leans over, scoops me into his arms, and returns to sitting with me cradled in his lap.
“Mace!” I jerk my hand down to tug on the hem of my T-shirt. It feels like it has gotten shoved halfway up my back.
Mace sets his hand on top of mine, stilling me. “Your shirt is fine, Baby girl. Look at me.”
I’m panting. Ten thousand emotions are rushing through me. Mortification is at the top of the list.
Mace leans me back and gently cups my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Put me down, Mace,” I plead.
He shakes his head. “Answer a few questions, then I will.”
