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He didn’t look at her, merely rubbed his fingers over his lips. After a long moment, he seemed to reach some conclusion, though she had no idea what that conclusion was.
“One last item on our P list I didn’t mention yet.”
She knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Punishment.” He flipped the pages back into place, tucking the stapled sheaf of papers into the envelope. The envelope disappeared back into the shadowed space between his seat and the wall, where the incongruity of it wouldn’t distract.
Benson rose, looking down at her. “Punishment is a yes.”
“I think… I think we’ll both feel better after that.”
Benson didn’t react to her words. After looking down at her for another moment, he turned, heading for the door.
“I’ll give you a few minutes by yourself to decide if you really want to do this.”
Funny, she’d forgotten that he always did this. It was a last check, a final opt-out, before the scene started. He’d give her a few minutes of privacy, an opportunity to walk away from the situation and the potential scene.
As he opened the door to leave, she called out, “And when you come back?”
She already knew the answer, but she needed to hear the words from him.
“When I come back, the game starts.”
Benson slipped out, closing the door behind himself.
CHAPTER 6
She was on her knees facing the door when he returned.
The skirt of her sheer dress spread in a circle around her. The floor beneath her knees and legs was concrete, cold enough that the chill had spread up her body. Her nipples were tight and hard, the areolas ruched in.
Her hair was out of the work-bun, and back in the half-up-half-down hairdo.
The light from the courtyard seemed bright as it spilled through the open door, illuminating an elongated trapezoid of the floor. Then the door closed, and the light was gone.
Benson’s steps were heavy thuds, the sound almost, but not quite, drowned out by the pounding of her heart and the whoosh of her shallow breaths.
His boots came into view. The familiar sight felt almost nostalgic.
She expected him to say something. Maybe give instruction or set expectations. Instead, he bent down, one hand slipping under her jaw, raising her face. Surprise widened her eyes, but her eyelids fluttered closed when his hand switched position, closing gently over the front of her neck. His other hand was hooked under one armpit.
“Up,” was all he said.
Mal adjusted her legs, balls of her feet on the floor, then braced her palms on her thighs and used her leg and core muscles to stand. He helped her up, lifting with the hand tucked under her arm, while keeping a steady, slight pressure on her neck.
Once she was up, he adjusted his grip, hand now under her hair, fingers and thumb pressing in on the sides just enough to make her aware of his physical prowess and the reality that she was no longer in control.
Again, relief was the first emotion to sweep through her.
Benson led her to the stone table under the spotlight.
Without speaking, he turned her to face him. Mal looked up, tracing his features with her gaze.
“Eyes down.”
“I’m sorry, Master Benson.” She lowered her gaze to the vee of chest visible above the edges of the vest.
Strong hands gripped her waist, and though she couldn’t feel his touch through the stiff corset, the added pressure felt good.
