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"You don’t do this very often, do you?"
I sense my cheeks redden and resist the urge to look away. "You don’t ever mince your words, do you?"
"Told you, I am forthright in my dealings."
"So, what now?" I twist my fingers together in front of me. "What’s the protocol in these situations? Should I strip or something? Or will you take off your clothes first?"
"All in good time." He looks me up and down, and his gaze is so searing, so hungry, that my knees nearly give out from under me. I sit down on the bed and place my hands in my lap.
"Let me get you a drink." He walks over to the bar and busies himself.
I glance around the room, take in the clean-but-faded carpet, the faded wallpaper, and the old-fashioned chandelier in the ceiling. "This place has a certain charm about it; is that why you chose it?"
"I chose it for the location. It’s far enough to not be anyone’s regular haunt. At the same time, it’s not too far away."
"So, you live in Palermo?"
"Do you?" He turns to me with two glasses in his hands. He walks over, hands me one, then sits down next to me.
“Orange juice?” I glance from my glass to his which is half-filled with what looks like whiskey. "I see what you’re doing there.” I scowl.
"Told you, I need you sober for what’s to come." He twists his mouth, and good God, there’s so much hidden meaning in the curl of his lips. If every, single, filthy thing I’ve learned from the internet was distilled into an expression, it would be this smirk.
He clinks his glass with mine, then tosses back his whiskey. He leans around me to set his glass on the side table, and goosebumps unfurl across my skin. My hand trembles and some of the juice spills on my jeans. "Shit." I place my glass on the bed-stand, then look around for something to mop up the juice with.
"There are towels in the bathroom." He jerks his chin in the direction of the door I saw earlier.
"Give me one sec." I jump up and head for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I draw in a breath, then another. Jesus, I can’t believe how nervous I am. And I’m not a virgin, obviously. I mean, I’ve done it with my two ex-boyfriends and a few others. But none of them had the kind of presence this guy has. Am I out of my depth here? Did I make a mistake coming here? On the other hand, he’ll definitely know how to handle my body. He’ll know how to bring me to orgasm, and so far, the conversation has been anything but boring. I glance at my features in the mirror. My eyes are bright, my cheeks flushed. In fact, I’d go so far as to say my skin is glowing, and I haven’t even fucked the man yet.
I am going to fuck you.
Yeah, yeah,doesn’t mean I can’t take the lead in some of our interactions, right? I wriggle out of my boots, shuck off my socks and my skin-tight jeans, then wash my jeans under the tap before I drape them over the shower rod. I reach for the strings of my corset and stop. This could be fun, actually. I walk out of the door, clad in my corset and panties.
Before I can take another step, his gaze locks on me. He takes me in from head to toe, and his nostrils flare. He’s lost his jacket, and the black T-shirt stretches so wide across his shoulders, it’s as if the fabric is molded to his pecs. His gaze narrows. Those gray irises seem to turn lighter, until they’re almost colorless.
I put one foot in front of the other until I’m standing in front of him. He parts his legs and I step into the gap between them. With him sitting down, his gaze is at eye level with my breasts. My nipples tighten, and my flesh aches. A slow burn flares to life between my legs, and I resist the urge to squeeze them together. He raises his gaze slowly to mine, and oh, I was wrong. His eyes aren’t colorless. There are flickers of blue and green in their depths, as if hinting at the emotions churning inside. He’s not as unmoved as his expression seems to imply.
I bite down on my lower lip, and his chest swells. He raises his forefinger and twirls it, indicating I should turn around. I comply. For a few seconds I stand there with my back to him. The heat from his body wraps around my waist and slides down to the space between my legs. My clit begins to throb. I sense him standing, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. A soft touch on my back has goosebumps smattering across the nape of my neck. He begins to undo the lace that holds my corset together at the back. The edges separate. Cool air assails my back. I shiver.
"You cold?"
I shake my head.
"You nervous?"
I hesitate. "A little."
"Don’t be." He pulls apart the ends and the entire contraption slides down my waist until its top end is balanced at the tips of my nipples.
He runs his big fingers down my bare back, and I arch into his touch. That feels so good. He traces lines across my back, probably the marks left in my skin by the bindings. Then, he pushes aside my hair, and a soft touch brushes the nape of my neck. I feel it all the way to my toes. He’s not even kissed me, and my body is primed to receive him. Every nerve ending in my body is alive, every cell alert, and every pore on my skin opens as if to absorb his very presence.
He slides his big palms under the corset and around to cup my breasts. Sensations crowd my skin, my toes curl, and I push into his hands wanting to feel the imprint of every finger of his on my skin. He massages my flesh and I lean back and into his shirt-covered chest. I place my head on his shoulder, wind my arm around his neck, and turn my head to glance up at him. He’s watching me so closely, with so much intensity. Those gray-blue eyes of his now a dark blue. It’s incredible how they change with his moods. His jaw hardens and he pinches my nipple.
I huff.
He tweaks my nipple again, and I groan. My thighs clench, and moisture beads my core. I try turning to face him, but he stops me. He continues to strum my nipple, while with his other hand, he squeezes my other breast. I wrap both of my arms about his neck and pant. A nerve throbs at his temple as he squeezes both of my nipples at the same time. I yell. A shudder grips me as I grind my butt restlessly into his groin. He’s thick, and long, and throbbing. The column in his pants feels alive and angry enough to stab into me through the layers of clothes that we’re wearing.
"Jesus," I groan, then once more, try to turn. He pulls me flush against him, so every inch of my back is plastered against that hard, unforgiving surface of him.
