Page 22 of Leverage & Obedience

“Lead the way.”

In the elevator on the way to his condo, he stands close enough that I can feel his body heat through my dress, but he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The anklet hugs my skin every time I shift my weight, and that’s already touching me on his behalf.

I usually fill silences, but I stay quiet and just enjoy being close to him. This doesn’t worry me as much as it should.

His condo is beautiful, but it’s in the same way a hotel room is beautiful. The Charlotte skyline spreads behind floor-to-ceiling windows. A charcoal sectional faces the view. The kitchen is stainless steel with dark countertops, and I bet he rarely uses it. The dining table seats six and has clearly never seated more than one.

It looks like a more expensive version of my apartment. The same vibe of nobody planning to stay.

“Water? Wine?” he asks from the kitchen doorway.

“I’m good.” I turn from the window. “This place looks like a magazine spread. Nobody would ever know you live here.”

He shrugs. “I like it clean.”

He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. My body responds like he just hit the “on” switch, and my nipples tighten.

His voice is quiet. “I’ve been replaying yesterday in my head all day.”

My breath hitches in response.

“You saw me in considerable detail.”

“Considerable detail. Yes.”

His hand slides to my bare back, and he kisses me slowly. It’s slower than anything we’ve done in the office, and if my panties weren’t already a lost cause, they would absolutely be now. My clit is throbbing on principle.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. “Come to bed.”

It’s an invitation. He’s giving me a chance to say no.

I don’t.

His bedroom is as sparse as the rest of the condo, and it’s almost too quiet. There’s no intercom, no coworker fifteen feet away. Nothing to distract us.

He's in front of me and slides the straps of my dress down my arms. The champagne silk pools at my feet, and I step out of it and ditch the heels. I’m in a strapless bra, panties, and the anklet.

His eyes drop to the gold chain and linger. The thought I’ve been avoiding slips in. It could be a collar. A pretty day collar around my throat that would be impossible to pretend was anything else. I shove the thought to the side. Not tonight.

He turns me and gently kisses the back of my neck while he unclasps my bra and slides his hands around to my breasts. The fabric drops, and the cool air on my nipples sends a spike of pleasure straight between my legs. I lean back against him, my head on his shoulder.

He hasn’t ordered me to do anything, and my brain keeps tripping over the lack of command. I don’t know what to do with this version of him.

“Bren.”

“Hmm?”

“This is different.”

His thumbs circle my nipples, and his breath tickles my ear when he answers. “Yes.”

When he turns me around, his shirt is already open. When did he do that? I press my palms flat against his chest and slide them up over warm skin and the dark hair that trails down his stomach. No forty-something guy who works as much as he does has any business with a body like this. I trace his collarbone and the ridge of his shoulder while wetness pools between my thighs. We’ve barely done anything yet, and I’m already a disaster.

He walks me backward until the bed hits the back of my legs. When I sit, he kneels in front of me. Then he looks up at me.

I’m the one who’s supposed to kneel. That’s the arrangement. My knees and his office carpet are on a first-name basis by now. This is backwards, and his expression is so open I have to fight the urge to look away. There’s a word to describe that expression.

It’s devotion.