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Only June.
“Romance, huh?” She looks away wistfully for a second, and then turns back to me. “Hardcore domination romances, I bet.”
“Lucky guess.”
“Is that right?” Her eyebrows both raise. “So that’s actually what you do? You’re a BDSM writer?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sadly, no, but I have some wonderful ideas for stories.”
“Tell me,” she says, surprising me, and when I look at June, I notice how her lips are slightly open as she waits to see how I’ll react.
She wants to know what I’m going to say.
She wants to know if I’ll give her what she wants.
The thing about being a Dom is that sometimes, we do give our submissives what they want. Sometimes we give them everything that they want and things they didn’t even know that they wanted. Sometimes we give them little bits of ourselves and sometimes we give them just a little bit more.
But sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we hold back, instead giving them what they need. Sometimes, instead of offering what the submissive has requested, a good Dom gives what the submissive is too afraid to ask for.
Sometimes she might not even know she needs it.
When I look at June, I see a strong, brave woman. I see a beautiful woman. I see a princess who has had to be strong for far too long, guarding her whole castle while the prince is away, but that day is over for June.
She doesn’t have to be strong on her own anymore. She doesn’t have to be brave. She doesn’t have to guard the castle towers because her prince has come.
Me.
It’s going to be me.
I shouldn’t be propositioning her. I shouldn’t be flirting with her, teasing her. I’m here for a specific reason, and it’s not to get close to June. It’s not to fall in love with her, yet somehow, over the past few months, everything has fallen into place for June and I. Somehow, when I see my future, it’s always with one arm firmly wrapped her shoulders.
“Tell you what?” I ask her gently, smoothly. I reach out and touch her palm with my own. She glances at our hands and then looks back up at me. She doesn’t pull away from my touch. In fact, it seems to relax her a little.
“Tell me your stories, Ryder Hawke,” her voice is breathless and deep, and I turn my hand so our palms are touching. I squeeze, holding her hand tightly. June doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t pull away. She looks eager, excited.
She looks nervous as fucking hell.
June is a lot of things, but I’ve never, ever seen her nervous. I’ve never seen her scared or afraid. I’ve never seen her feeling anything but complete self-assuredness, and now her breathing quickens.
“All right,” I say slowly, looking at June. With my other hand, I begin to trace lines on her forearms. She doesn’t pull away. Again, she glances down, and then her eyes lock with mine, and I realize that this is the moment.
This is when everything changes.
This is when I pull away and we go back to being friendly acquaintances. This is when I realize reaching for June is a bad idea. It’s the moment when I decide that I shouldn’t kiss her, shouldn’t pull her into my arms, shouldn’t promise to worship her body.
Only this is not that moment.
I don’t want to live my life wishing I’d been brave.
Everything is going to change tonight. That’s for sure, but I’m not leaving until I get the girl.
June is the woman of my fucking dreams, and I don’t plan on letting her go. Not tonight. Not ever.
I lean forward, and I claim her mouth with my own.
This is no gentle kiss: no timid peck.
