Page 34 of Demon’s Temptation

She remained utterly still in front of him.

It felt like forever before she moved, one step then two, until she was right in front of him. “You really want this?” she whispered.

He tilted his head back and let her see it—the need, the hunger for what only she could give him. “Yes.”

“How long?” she asked.

He searched her face, her eyes, for disgust, for the rejection about to come, and saw none. “For as long as I can remember.” He shook his head. “What happened tonight, I know you were scared, Chaya. Confused. You were forced to do something against your nature. That can cause damage, could hurt you. I want to make that right,” he said. “It’s the job of your sub, his fucking privilege, to take care of you, to serve you. I don’t want that negative experience to taint what we could share. I don’t want you going to bed tonight with the shadow of what happened hanging over you, making you doubt what you want, what you need. I want to wash it away.” He clenched his fists at his sides, staring up at her, and hoped like hell she would give them this. “Will you let me do that?”

Her chest expanded with her sharply indrawn breath. “Yes,” she said, eyes bright with emotion, with excitement, with a need as wild as his.

God only knew why or what she saw in him, but he refused to fight it anymore. Refused to turn away from her again. And maybe, yeah, he hoped that Chaya could wash it all away, wash away what Garrett had done, what he’d made him feel.

She bent at the knees, lowering herself so they were eye level. “Do you trust me?” she said.

Oh fuck, this was really going to happen. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Trust? He wasn’t sure he knew how to trust anymore, but he knew he’d never wanted anything more. So he said, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” she said, no hesitation.

His cock filled, hardened, and he had to clear his throat to speak. “Yes, Mistress.”

Fuck yes, that pleased her, and seeing that pleasure in her eyes almost had him undone.

He hadn’t done this, not since before Lazarus came for him. He’d suppressed, hidden, denied this part of himself. Not that what was about to happen resembled in any way what he went thought with Garrett.

But it had been a long time for him and would be a first for Chaya.

This would be a learning curve for them both. But, fuck, he wanted it, whatever she gave him.

She stood smoothly and moved to the front of his desk. She’d slipped into the role of Domme like she was born to it. Her shoulders were back, chin high, stare unwavering. “Stand here,” she said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the room.

He growled under his breath as he got to his feet. He wanted this, but his instincts told him to resist, listening to the voice in the back of his mind telling him not to lose control completely, to be careful.

He moved to the spot she’d directed him.

“Clothes off,” she said, voice firm.

He reached for the buttons of his jacket and slid one free under the weight of her stare.

Please don’t let this be a dream.

Chapter 10

Chaya fought to keep her composure, not to show how damned nervous she was. She thought of the Dommes she’d watched at The Dungeon, how cool and controlled they could be, and channeled them as best she could.

Brent slipped his jacket off his shoulders and flung it to the couch. Her gaze moved over him. This was actually happening. She’d never in her wildest dreams imagined Brent was a sub. He’d hidden it so well, she guessed for such a long time, it had become second nature to him.

She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like. How hard that must have been for him.

After what happened tonight, he wanted to take care of her, to take away the memory of what happened with Victor. But she wondered how long Brent had been suffering without this. How long he had been unfulfilled, craving, feeling hollow, alone. She wanted—no, needed—to make this good for him.

Besides the tame scenes she’d watched here and the ones she’d observed at The Dungeon, she’d done a lot of research online since her revelation, searching for answers.

She’d found some, had read as much as she could, but she was far from an expert. She didn’t want to make some terrible mistake and, God, hurt him—that was the last thing she wanted—so they needed to start slow.

His shirt came off next and she struggled to remain impassive. His bare chest was perfection. The male was gorgeous, his skin a beautiful deep gold despite barely seeing the sun. He was all cut, lean muscle, and there was a large cross tattoo on his ribs on the right side and numbers, a date, on his forearm. He looked lethal.

And for tonight at least, he was all hers.