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“Kneel.”
Her temptation was to rebel, but she realised they were fighting over scraps of fabric. She’d packed little more than lingerie and some don’t-appear-in-public skirts. He’d have the same access to her body regardless.
“Tell me the problem.”
“I’ll have no way to hide,” she admitted to both of them.
“That’s why I want you nude.”
At times she wasn’t sure she liked him much.
“Now kneel, Maggie.”
Something primitive, as old as the heartbeat of time, responded to his dominance.
Looking up at him, she obeyed. Her face was near his crotch, and the masculine scent of him combined with the power of his body to make her feel utterly feminine.
“Mine,” he said as he buckled the collar closed.
She was scared that was true, and more frightened that it might not be.
Chapter Seven
“Have a seat,” David told Maggie, indicating a stool beneath the stone countertop.
She did as he’d instructed—her motions deliberate.
“Trying to get comfortable should be impossible. If it’s not, I can give you a second beating now.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her words a jumbled rush. “Thank you, Mr Tomlinson.”
“More wine?”
“Please.”
From the living room, he collected his unfinished glass.
“Mine’s upstairs, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll get it later.” He put his in the dishwasher then asked, “Red to go with the steak?”
“I’ll stick with the white unless it offends your sensibilities.”
“You should have whatever you prefer, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He uncorked a bottle of red and poured her a white. He liked having her collared, naked body in his kitchen. Other than when he’d hosted a party for several people, he’d never invited a woman to his house.
Since his divorce from Sandy, he hadn’t had the inclination to share his space. But with this dark-haired beauty, he hadn’t had a choice. The other night, he’d realised a few hours wouldn’t satiate his need for her.
All week, he’d noticed her growing frustration when he’d stayed away from her at work. But he’d needed some time to think things through. What the hell was he supposed to do when he knew he wanted uninterrupted time together, but was honest enough to admit he was a less than perfect partner when it came to committed relationships? He hadn’t just failed with Sandra—he’d been guilty of withholding attention no matter who his partner was, be she submissive or vanilla.
He’d known that spending more time with Maggie would take a concerted effort on his part. He hadn’t been sure he was capable of expending the energy on a long-term basis, or if she’d appreciate it even if he did. She’d been clear that sceneing was all she wanted. Once he’d reached his decision, about twenty minutes into a run on Wednesday morning, he’d set his sights on having her. He’d turned part of his considerable energies towards figuring out how to make it happen.
He’d wanted her as hungry for him as he was for her.
He’d wanted privacy and a place where she was out of her element. His house. With no clothes.
Objective accomplished. Not that he’d doubted it would happen. They wanted each other bad enough to break all their self-imposed rules.
For the first time that he could remember, he’d left work early on Friday night. As he’d blazed through the grocery store with at least two hundred other people then cruised the aisles at the supersized liquor store, he’d realised that he’d never made the time for a relationship. Wanting to be available for all her needs, he’d climbed out of bed at five a.m. to exercise, answer emails and plan next week’s schedule before Maggie arrived.
It was hard for him to admit he’d been a jerk before. Not that it should have come as a surprise. He’d been told that often enough.
He slid Maggie’s drink towards her.
She glanced around before taking a sip.
“You can relax. It’s just us.”
He noticed she crossed her legs then uncrossed them again and pulled back her shoulders. Within seconds, she’d curled back into herself.
