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“Your hands. The window,” I tell her again, making sure to keep my voice dark and stern despite my overwhelming need to cuddle her close to me.
For long seconds she doesn’t move, as if she’s contemplating whether she should do what I’ve instructed. I wait patiently, let her decide. Other Doms, other men, would do something to persuade her—maybe even punish her for her hesitation. Setting the precedent. Beginning how they plan to go on.
But I’m not those guys and my goals are very different from theirs. I don’t want a slave, don’t want her to obey my every whim inside the bedroom and out.
No, what I want from Aria is something
completely different. In the end, I want to build her up, not break her down. I want to give her control, not take it away.
I want her strength, not her submission.
And so I wait, to see how she’ll respond. To see what she’ll do. Already I have plans for her, so, so many plans. Plans that include taking her to the very edge of cataclysmic pleasure and then hurling her over. Again and again and again.
But not until she’s ready. Not until she takes this first small but imperative step.
She’s watching me, her head turned toward me even as her body faces away, the look in her eyes dark and dangerous and delicious. She’s taking my measure, deciding how far she wants to go. How far she’s willing to let me push her—how far she’s willing to push me. Too bad she can’t yet imagine the depths we’re going to explore.
Long seconds tick by while neither of us moves. We just stand there, eyes locked. Breathing in sync. I think about repeating the command, but no. She heard me. Saying it again is a sign of weakness, a loss of control that I just won’t give her. Can’t give her.
But there’s an uncertainty in her eyes, a fear that I don’t like to see. Keeping her off-balance is one thing, pushing her boundaries, her limits, far past where she thinks they should be. But genuine fear? That’s not what either of us is here for.
I reach out, stroke the back of my hand softly down her spine. The contact must be what she’s waiting for because she shudders, arches back into my touch. And then does what I tell her, turning her face back toward the window and moving the final step forward before pressing her hands against the window in front of her.
Muscles I didn’t even know were tense relax, and I move that one extra step, too, until our bodies are once again flush against each other. She made the move I needed her to and now I can help her.
I pull her hands out a little and up, so that her arms are spread wide above her head. And nudge a knee between her legs, waiting patiently as she relaxes and opens to me.
She does—of course she does—and I slip my hands between her inner thighs, pressing outward until her legs are as open as her arms.
Aria moans a little, a deep, throaty sound that has me longing to shove up her skirt, yank down her panties and thrust inside of her. She’s close, I can feel it. It wouldn’t take long to get us both off.
But here, now, when her body is trembling and her breathing is erratic and she’s nervous, so nervous but trusting me anyway…now is the time to reward her. To show her a little bit of what her trust will get her.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” I tell her, leaning forward so my breath is hot against her ear. She shivers, but she doesn’t duck her head, doesn’t shy away. Good girl.
“I want you like this always.” I slide her panties down her legs—of course they’re black lace—wait for her to step out of them. “Open to me. Ready for me.” I move my hand back up to the juncture of her thighs. “Wet for me.”
“Sebastian—”
“Yes,” I murmur, in between pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the nape of her neck. “I want my name on your lips. Almost as much as I want your taste on mine.”
I drop to my knees then, shove my hands beneath her skirt and grab her hips, pull them back so that she’s canted forward at an angle, her back arched, ass up, her sex on display.
Pink and wet and beautiful. So beautiful.
There’s so much I want to do to her, want to do for her. I ache to touch, to smell, to taste, so badly that for a moment I’m paralyzed. My mind is a red haze of want, of need.
But that’s not what this is about. Not here. Not this time.
And so I force the need back, sublimate it and lock it down until it’s just her. Just Aria, with her broken breaths and trembling thighs. Her closed eyes and open sex.
I reach forward, slide my fingers along her slit.
She cries out, a dark and fractured sound. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t lower her arms or shift her hips. Doesn’t do anything but stand there, locked in the position I placed her in, and wait for what I’m going to do next.
Her strength shatters my resolve to make this last. Leaning forward, I deliver one long, slow lick to her sex before thrusting my tongue hard and deep inside her.
She screams then, a wild, desperate sound that rakes down my spine and burrows deep inside of me. I grab her hips, hold her still, take her higher. She’s so far gone it doesn’t take much. A stroke here, a lick there, a few slow, steady circles of my tongue around her clit and she’s fracturing, breaking apart.
