Page 82 of Say My Name

She reaches for my belt.

I close my hand around hers. “Elena.”

Her eyes meet mine. Frustration flashes across her face, but she waits.

“You can change your mind at any point,” I say. “Before I touch you. After. If we’re naked. If I’m inside you. I’ll stop.”

“I know.”

“Say yes if you want this now.”

“Yes, Dominic. I want this now.” She turns her hand beneath mine and threads our fingers together. “Do you?”

The question catches me off guard. She knows the answer, but she deserves to hear it as clearly as I’ve asked for hers.

“Yes. I’ve been trying not to arrange this opportunity since the clinic called.”

Her lips part on a breath she doesn’t take. Surprise, maybe. Or the shock of hearing a truth that mirrors her own.

Elena looks down at our joined hands, and when she speaks, her voice is quieter. “Then come with me.”

She leads me through the living room, her fingers still laced with mine.

Her bedroom is as ordered as the rest of the condo. The bed is made, the curtains are closed, and two books sit in a perfect stack on the nightstand. Elena stops beside the bed and reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress.

“Let me,” I say.

She turns.

I draw the zipper down slowly. Her skin appears one inch at a time, warm and smooth beneath my knuckles. I press my mouth to the place where her neck meets her shoulder, and her head tips enough to give me more room.

My hands move around her waist and over her stomach. She covers one with hers, her fingers cool over my knuckles as she guides it higher. The silent instruction, the trust in it, is more intimate than the touch itself. My palm closes over her breast through the dress. Her breathing turns uneven as she presses back into me. I keep my other hand at her hip and wait.

“Still yes?” I ask against her skin.

“Yes. And if you ask again in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to assume you’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.” I squeeze her breast and feel her nipple harden beneath the fabric. “I’m trying to remember this.”

The dress slides down her body and pools at her feet. She’s in a matching set of black lace that covers her breasts and hips.

“Did you put this on for me?” I ask.

“No.”

I think about her wearing this across the hall from me while she touched herself at my instruction. “Fuck.”

She turns and starts on my shirt buttons. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m thinking about what was under that dress all day.”

“You should have maintained professional focus.”

“You locked your office and put your hand between your legs while I was on the phone.”

“After most people had gone home.”

“Of course. Completely appropriate.”