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A shiver went through her, that raw desire in his eyes like a stroke along her skin. She grinned back, admiring the fading marks on his back, wanting to lick them. She’d taken him to the Ranch a week ago, tied him up, and performed a whip demo. The people watching had been awed at how much he could take, what it did to him, how turned on he got. Even Grant had seemed impressed.
Her Gibson, man of steel.
But like that first night she’d put him on display at the Ranch—Gib’s coming-out party—after the whipping, she hadn’t shared the rest. Her exhibitionist streak was strong, but she found that her possessive streak was even stronger. She didn’t want to share Gib with an audience when things got intimate. The sex was for them alone. So when they played at the Ranch, they did the pain stuff in public and then moved to a private room or cabin. It worked for both of them.
But it’d been a week since she’d touched him. He’d been on a business trip for the last few days and the time apart had seemed like an eternity. When he’d headed here from his flight this afternoon, she knew he’d expected it was for immediate, urgent, oh-my-god-we-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-a-week sex. And, man, had she wanted to jump him when he’d strolled up the walk. But she’d wanted to play more. And she had a plan. So she’d made him strip down to his jeans and had put the boy to work, gi
ving herself a view and prolonging her own slow-building pleasure.
She carefully adjusted herself in the chair to fully face him. “Ah, that breeze feels nice.”
“Mmm,” he said, focusing on his task.
“So glad I decided to forgo panties. Nice air flow, you know.”
His head whipped around, his gaze zeroing in on her thin sundress. But she had her legs tucked beneath her, concealing all her secrets.
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Sam.”
She took a long sip of her tea. “Show me. Unzip your pants.”
He licked his lips and set the sander aside. Then dusted off his hands before unfastening his jeans, opening his fly, and displaying his own commando state.
Mmph. Desire was a sharp kick between her legs. Flat belly, dark hair, heavy, thick cock presenting itself proudly. If she weren’t wet already, she’d have soaked through her dress. She set her tea aside and tipped her chin at him. “Come stand in front of me and let me look at you.”
His mouth hitched up at the corner, male smugness. No matter how submissive he was, the cocky streak ran deep. She loved that. He wiped his hands off on a rag and walked her way, stopping an arm’s length away from her, his cock displayed like the most decadent temptation.
“Hands behind your head.” She waited until he followed the instruction. “How many times did you fuck your hand while you were out of town?”
“How many times did you?”
Her gaze flicked to his, finding him with a smirk. Oh. He wanted to play that game. Bratty sub. Bring it on. She reached over to her glass, grabbed an ice cube, and promptly touched it to the head of his cock.
Breath hissed from between his teeth.
“I asked you a question.”
“Only when you gave me permission on the phone. I didn’t break the rules.” He grimaced. “Okay, that’s not true. Once. I broke the rule once.”
She hid her smile. “Tell me.”
“I was getting ready for a meeting and I forgot to wear loose boxers. The boxer briefs kept rubbing against the whip marks, reminding me of our night together. I wasn’t going to be able to give the presentation I needed to with a hard-on. So I went into the restroom and handled it.”
She lifted her brows. “You jerked off in a public bathroom. Your lack of control is astounding.”
And hot. So hot. God, he would’ve been wearing a suit. She could picture him there, looking sharp in one of those Armani numbers he had, tie perfectly knotted, fly open and fancy watch shining on his wrist as he stroked himself and bit his lip to stay quiet.
A sound of pleasure escaped her.
She froze. Shit. She’d been so good.
Gibson frowned “You okay?”
She shifted, and the toy she’d so successfully hidden from him for the last half hour moved into just the right place at the wrong time. Oh, God. She moaned and heat flooded her.
His eyes narrowed. “Sam?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions,” she snapped, but the words didn’t come out as firm as she’d hoped.
