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He shakes his head and looks to be holding back a comment.
“I’m still mad at you,” I remind, “for not putting my profile back to normal, you know?” My own stern look is reflected back in his.
“Good. I like you angry,” he says in a relaxed tone, softening his eyes. “I’ll take great pleasure working out some of that hostility in you.” His fingers dust behind my neck, pushing my hair away to cascade in soft layers down my back. “Nice socks.”
I stare down at the red fuzz and smile at the compliment—despite knowing that it was full of snark. “Why are you here?”
Graham’s caresses travel up to my chin and come to a stop on my cheeks. If they weren’t a rosy hue before, they are now. I can feel the electricity passing through my skin like a torch in the night.
“To remedy your dilemma.” The words fall off his lips like melted butter. “Think you can be a good girl and take some direction?”
How can I resist him when he phrases it just like that? My heart quickens, and it’s as if I am once again caught in his web. I nod in agreement, but it isn’t good enough. “I need your words,” he insists.
I want nothing more than for Graham to ravish me. To tear off my clothes and have his way with me. This is why he came tonight, right? The charity gala preview only whetted my appetite and made me hungry for more. Tonight, I hope to get more.
“I’ll be good.”
“Oh, baby, I am equally fond of you being good—and bad. We’ll see which side of you wins tonight. Now, for the instructions, I am going to give you three tasks. Do you think you can handle them?”
Depends. What are they? “Y-yes.” The sound of the simple word quivers with my nervous vibrations of my vocal cords.
“Yes, sir,” he corrects.
Ohhh, he is playing a game. “Yes, sir,” I echo back the words, trying hard not to giggle like a high schooler.
“Good girl. First, I need you to go upstairs to your room and close the door. Do not lock it. Second, I need you to kneel on your bed facing away from the door. And third, I need you to think about how turned on I make you.”
I slowly nod to show that I understand but am greeted with an intense look of expectation. “Yes, sir,” I murmur.
“Your cute shy act will not work on me tonight, kitten. Now go and wait for me.”
I turn on my heel and dart upstairs, careful not to slam the door to wake up Claire and Ethan. Shit. What if they hear me yelling during the night? That will definitely make for some awkward morning-after discussions over an organic fruit smoothie in the kitchen. As soon as I am safely in my room, I start to freak myself out over following the directions to the letter. Did he want me to get naked? I can’t remember! I run through the list in my head, playing his words back as if coming from a recording device. No, I don’t think he mentioned anything about my clothes.
Instantly, I grow self-conscious of my blemishes—something I have never felt before, even with previous boyfriends. Walking toward the bed, I pull the waistband of my pants and panties down to reveal several scars on my hips. What if Graham is disgusted by the whitened streaks over even paler skin?
I stare at the scars as if I am seeing them really for the first time. Some are curved. Some are a series of straight marks. I trace the ugly lines with my fingertip, visually erasing them. I was barely conscious when the glass was being pulled from me after I was admitted to the hospital. James had glass in him too, but it was too late to try to get it out of him in a hurry.
Oh, James, I miss you.
What if Graham asks me about these marks? The few times we have been in intimate positions together I have not been naked. But if I am, he will notice. He always notices the details. And I don’t want to talk about it. Talking about it doesn’t help.
I listen for any movement on the stairs or in the hallway. My own heartbeat distracts my senses. The thump-thump sound lulls me into a state of comfort; it is the calm before the storm. I suspect he is making me wait, just because he can.
I use my alarm clock to keep track of minutes as I carefully kneel on the bed as instructed, cringing at the feel of the fresh scabs on my knees. I rest my butt against the heels of my feet, not knowing how formal to be. It takes seven minutes before I hear the telling creak of his weight hitting the middle step of the staircase. He’s coming. Now.
My pulse picks up rhythm, and I raise my posture to a full-on kneeling position, scolding myself for being so eager to please and hoping I didn’t open my wounds again beneath the bandages. The click of the door and the soft pads of his feet hitting the floor are the telltale signs of his presence. However, it is the energy that fills the room to capacity that makes every cell in my body awaken. Graham has that effect on me. His confidence alone commands the room to bow down at his feet. I, on the other hand, am kneeling on the bed, desperate to turn around and see him.
“Close your eyes.”
I do as I am told—not out of fear, but out of trust. Expecting a blindfold to cover over my vision, I am surprised by the warm breath at my ear. I get the impression that nothing about tonight is going to be what I predict, and that alone is exhilarating.
“Submission can be a powerful aphrodisiac, Angie,” he purrs. The velvety smoothness of his voice intoxicates my senses. “But it involves mutual trust. Do you trust me to give you the ride of your life tonight?”
“Good luck with that, Graham. I trust that you’ll give it your best try.”
“Hmm…I’m going to have so much fun with you. You are the perfect combination of sexy and cute. A rare blend of defiant and submissive.”
I want to respond with something sassy but decide to just keep my mouth shut. If he thinks he can break my bad luck streak then more power to him.
