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I’m the one in charge. I’m the one in control. Always.
‘If we do this, there are rules...’ I tower over her, staring into her darkened gaze that reflects the moon back at me, and try to forget that by my own reasoning she is forbidden to me. That we shouldn’t be crossing this line. That she is Caitlin. Fun, flirty, spirited, a candle to my dark. I don’t want to taint her, break her, but I know no other way.
‘I thought we’d put those aside, left them at the club door, so to speak.’
‘I’m not talking about the club.’ This is about me. My shit. But I can’t say that.
‘Oh?’ Her eyes light up. ‘You mean you have rules in the bedroom?’
She practically purrs it out and I almost grind against her, so desperate am I to take her. Desperate and scared at the same time. It’s a complete headfuck but I can’t go back, not now I’ve tasted her, felt her...but she needs to know what she’s letting herself in for.
I force a nod. ‘You do as I say at all times.’
‘All times?’
She’s looking up at me, wide-eyed, curious, so fucking turned on.
‘If you can’t deal with that, this ends now.’
She wets her lips, looks to where I have her hands pinned to the tree trunk and nods.
It’s not enough. I need her verbal affirmation.
‘Okay?’ I push, my fingers flexing around her wrists. They’re so small in my grasp, dainty, just like the rest of her. She’s all strawberries and cream, freckles and ivory skin, and me... I couldn’t be more different, inside and out.
She nods again, her eyes falling to mine.
‘Say it.’
‘O-okay.’
I take a ragged breath, pulling on my reserves just to speak; I’ve never needed my control more and the way she’s looking at me, the way she’s captive to my spell...
‘Leave your hands above your head until I say otherwise.’
She nods, the pulse working wildly in her throat as it bobs. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’
I release my hold over her to trail my fingers down her arms, my eyes never once leaving hers. My jacket is wedged between her back and the tree, but it offers her no protection now; it’s fallen away from her shoulders, leaving them bare save for the slender shoestring straps. I run my finger beneath one, aware of her every response, how her breath catches and her lips part.
‘Bring this arm down,’ I instruct, continuing to run my finger beneath the strap, and slowly she does as I ask. ‘Good girl.’
I tease the strap to the side, let it fall in a low loop at her elbow, and even though I know I’m unveiling her as I encourage the cup of her dress away and slip her arm through the strap, I’m still not prepared for the rush that assaults me as her breast is exposed. The milky skin prickles with goose bumps, the tiny rose-tipped nub is small and puckered and so ripe for touching.
‘Now this one.’
She lets me slide the other strap away and I can scarcely breathe for the tension drawing my body tight.
‘Raise them again.’
She does as I ask, her arms forming a diamond above her head, her breasts lifting with the move and offering up her tautened nipples. Sweet Jesus. I drag in a breath, fighting the urge to cup them. They’re perfect, not quite a handful but perfect in their small, sweet roundness, and exactly how I imagined her to be.
I’ve not let myself catch more than a glimpse of her in the club. Not because I didn’t want to. Christ, how I wanted to; I wanted to see every last inch of her exposed to my gaze.
And that’s just it—my gaze, nobody else’s.
I wanted her for me.
