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“Up.”
That one word command was the only warning she got before he lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the table. She gasped, not having expected it, and grabbed his upper arms to steady herself. His skin was warm and hard under her hands, in contrast to the cold stone under her thighs. The sides of this almost altar-like table looked rough, but the top was smooth.
Benson’s hand rose from her waist to grip the back of her neck. This time he didn’t bother to move her hair out of the way, and the cool strands of her hair acted as a barrier between her skin and his. His other hand dropped, arm sliding beneath her legs at the back of the knee.
With a swift, sure movement he lay her back, the hand on her neck controlling the descent of her upper body even as he lifted her legs onto the table.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warned.
Mal had once more reached out to grab him, an instinctive response to the rapid shift in position.
“I’d forgotten how…physical…you are, Sir.”
He looked at her, seeming to examine each feature. Mal watched him through her lashes.
“You’ll remember,” he said after a moment.
“Is that a warning, Master Benson?”
“Stating a fact. I’ve given you all the warnings I plan to give you.”
The way he said it made her think he was referencing their past, not just the scene negotiations from a moment ago.
He gripped her hips, his hands hot through the thin barrier of sheer material. Benson shifted her butt to the center of the table, then did the same with her shoulders.
Laying there in the gauzy white gown, for a moment she felt like Sleeping Beauty. Not the princess of the fairytales, but the princess as depicted in The Beauty Trilogy.
Her feet were hanging off the edge, and Benson removed her shoes, setting them aside. Naked toes created an unexpectedly vulnerable feeling.
He gripped her ankles, spreading her legs. Mal’s breath caught, and her whole being seemed to center on the places where he touched her.
One quick yank and her body slid a foot closer to the edge. He forced her legs wider still, his hips now between her calves.
“Bend your knees.”
She obeyed, moving with him as, using his grip on her ankles, he guided her feet to rest on the edge of the table.
Mal knew her pussy was wet. A combination of anticipation and the memory of exactly what this man could do to her had her wildly aroused despite minimal actual physical stimuli.
“Spread your knees.”
The command shot arousal through her. She suppressed the urge to reach up and grab him, pull him down and kiss him while she used one hand to free his cock and guide it to her entrance. There was a place for that behavior, and it wasn’t here or now.
She’d never done that with Benson. Never taken the initiative and kissed him.
He’d never touched her outside of a BDSM scene.
Mal forced herself to relax and let her knees fall wide. She slid her feet together so she could spread her legs even wider, but he squeezed her ankles. “No, leave your feet where I put them.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
The long skirt of her negligée was still draped over her knees. Benson released her ankles, then grabbed the hem, and flipped the skirt up in a quick, almost casual motion. The material drifted down, settling over her stomach and chest.
Now two layers of fabric hid her breasts, while her sex was completely exposed.
Benson grabbed her knees, pushing them even further apart, to where it felt slightly awkward, and her inner thigh muscles were put to work since she had to keep her feet in place.
As she spread her legs, she felt her labia spread, too. Her pussy lips parted, exposing not only her most intimate places, but the slick wetness that had gathered.
