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When I say I did not expect her reply, I mean… I. Did not. Fucking. Expect it. I march back to the door and lock it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, no fear in her voice, just curiosity.
“You have no panties on,” I state.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. Well, I did, but only because I didn’t want to show any panty lines.”
“But you told me,” I say. “Which is just as good as spreading your legs right now and showing me.”
“I’m not going to show you,” she bites back, crossing her legs.
“You aren’t?” I smirk. “Are you so sure?” Stepping closer, I lean down to her ear, then breathe on it before I whisper, “How wet are you right now? If you stood up, would it leak down your thighs?”
“Oh my God.”
“No, we discussed this. I prefer my women to call me Master.”
She turns so our faces are touching, our lips close to each other. “Is that what you get other women to call you? Master?” She raises a brow, and my eyes fall to her lips, coated in red to match her hair.
“Yes, they all do, eventually.”
“I’m not all women, Jake.” She licks her bottom lip, and her tongue touches my lips ever so slightly with how close we are.
“No, I guess you aren’t.” I pull away and drop to my knees. Oriana tries to push the chair back, but it’s stuck. When I touch her calf, she jolts in her seat.
“What are you doing?” she screeches.
Dropping my hand on her foot, I lift it. “Admiring my shoes on your feet.” She lets me lift it, and I smile. From my kneeling position, I can see up her dress. “And you are wet.”
Then she surprises me again.
She spreads her legs.
