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“The table also converts.” He slid a drawer out of the side to show her it was a padded place to kneel, which worked well as a spanking bench. The decorative loops on either side of the table were at the right height and position to attach cuffs in case his guest was reluctant about being punished.
She stared at the thing wide-eyed, as though it had turned into a venomous snake. Considering how recently she’d been disciplined, he could understand her reaction.
“The rest of the room has other features that make this a functional dungeon. And because I redid this entire room, it’s quite soundproof when the door’s closed.”
“You could . . . lock a girl up down here, and no one would know.” She shivered, then jumped as he traced a path up the back of her neck, from the collar of her T-shirt into her hair. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly.
“I only let good girls who want to play with me in here.”
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Oh, and am I part of that exclusive club now?”
/> “Yes. It’s a very small club. You’ll have to fill all of the positions at the moment.” There were several positions he could think of off the top of his head that he’d like to fill her in.
The words he left unsaid seemed apparent to her. She was looking up at him, her eyes docile, the softness of her mouth doing crazy things to his imagination.
He kissed her, unable to resist the temptation, but made it more of a tease than a kiss—over before it had begun, and featherlight.
As he stepped back, she followed, looking for more. She was the one who wanted to keep her clothes on. She didn’t want sex, or so she insisted. There was no way in hell he was initiating anything.
His dick was disgusted with him for being a gentleman.
“So, what makes you think that I love losing control, especially to you?” The tilt of her head and the tone challenged him for dominance. Always testing.
“It’s all in the quality of your screams when you come for me, and the fact that you called me Master. Twice.”
Her face crimson, she sputtered, hunting for words. The right ones came to her, eventually. “I’ll admit that you’re good in bed, but that doesn’t mean I love losing control to you. The words are just words. They slipped out. It happens. You’re just lucky I didn’t accidentally call you William or Rob instead.”
“So you always come that hard?”
She frowned. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“In other words, no.”
“You can choose to believe what you want, but I’m not feeding your ego anymore today.” She pursed her lips. If someone Googled the word “arrogant,” there’d be a picture of Kate making that face.
Sassy little bitch.
A wave of sexual aggression took him by surprise, but he caught himself before he even twitched a finger. He wanted to make her scream for mercy, beg for cock. He wanted to do any number of things she wasn’t ready for yet.
Instead, he shut his eyes and thought about swirls of paint, quiet blues in shades that soothed his soul.
When he opened his eyes again, Kate was looking less certain of herself.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She actually looked ashamed.
He shrugged. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re competitive, and you don’t want me to win. And yet, you do.”
“I do?”
“Don’t you?” He went to the chest of drawers and opened one, fishing out a coil of rope. “Have you ever played with rope before?”
“Not rope, no, but my ex tied me to the bed once. Just my hands. He got bored, though, because he didn’t want to do the work, so he untied me after a couple of minutes.” The frustration in her tone made him sad. What was it with men who didn’t want to blow a woman’s mind in bed? Was there no pride in workmanship anymore?
“I apologize on behalf of my sex. Men like that should have warning labels.”
“He didn’t believe in reciprocating for oral either. Add that to his label.” She shook her head as though incredulous that she’d dated such an idiot. “And why on earth am I telling you this?”
“I think it’s because deep down you know you can trust me.”
