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“You’re different like this,” she says.

“Good different?” I ask as I run my fingertips over her inner thigh.

“Fuck me.” She purrs.

I shake my head and press my palm flat against her. “Not until we agree.”

“This is hardly a fair way to negotiate.”

“What was it you said at the party?” I ask. “You know how to stop me.” The safe word we used way back when. She never used it. I never pushed her hard enough.

Could anyone?

I look into her eyes as I slip a finger inside her. “Take off your dress.”

“I’m going to kill her if she attacks me again,” Jamie says.

“If it comes to that, I’ll kill her myself.” I pull back and drive my finger inside her again. She’s wet. And she’s pliable, already. She’s been sitting here, thinking about this, working herself up.

“Baby, please…” She arches her back so she drives against my hand. “Fuck me. I can’t keep waiting.”

“You just had me.”

“That was hours ago,” she says.

“Not even,” I say. Even if it was a different universe. “You can handle a few more minutes.”

She lets out a whine that’s half agony, half pleasure.

“I’m going to leave her here. Call someone to pick her up and turn her in,” I say.

She looks up at me. “You’re what?”

“Take off your dress,” I say, as if I’m already lost in how much I want her.

She pulls it over her head and tosses it aside. “And then what?”

There’s noise in the other room. Camille is moving.

Jamie will hear it.

“Turn over, diavolessa,” I say.

She does.

“Hands behind your back,” I say.

“Do you really have another pair of handcuffs?” she asks.

“I’ll do this the old fashioned way.”

She doesn’t move. She’s too busy trying to hear outside the room.

“Now. Or I stop,” I say a little more firmly.

She rolls onto her stomach.

I pull her right hand back. Then her left. I hold them there with my free hand.