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When he looks up, his eyes are apologetic. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my mistake.” He drags a hand through his thick hair. “It’s been a while.”
He sounds pissed at himself.
But I’m just disappointed, and my heart weighs two tons.
I don’t know what to say either, but he’s faster and communicates without words. He touches my cheek tenderly, then cups my chin in his big hand. “But I didn’t mean punish with pain,” he says.
He didn’t? I’m completely confused, then. “What did you mean?”
He inhales deeply. “I don’t want to lead you astray. Role-play is fine. I like it enough,” he says, and I see shades of my past, of my ex mocking me for my desires, twisting them, using them against me.
I can’t go through this again. “I’m going to leave.”
I turn away, but he grabs my arm, urgency in his voice as he says, “I’m doing this wrong.” He sounds like he’s beating himself up. “Let me explain.”
Shaking my head, I try to pull back from him. “This was a mistake,” I say as I search for my bag, my back to him.
He wraps his arms around me tightly, resting his face against my ear as his warm breath fans across my skin. “Jules, I want to torture you exquisitely with orgasms. I want to edge you all night. I want to punish you with pleasure.” After a weighty pause, he adds, “That’s my kink. More than role-play.”
I can’t move.
I can’t speak.
I can’t think, and it’s the most freeing feeling in the world. He wants togiveto me. I don’t even know what to say. My knees are weak. My skin is hot. And I ache for him.
There’s one thing that nags at me, though, and against my better judgment, the voice telling me to shut up, I speak out. “But you let me suck you off that first night. And it was hot, don’t get me wrong. I loved it. But that seems more vanilla.” What if he’s just fooling with me tonight? What if he’s playing a cruel mind game?
“I’m rusty,” he admits. “Like I said, it’s been a while. And I did want to fuck this pretty mouth so much.” He spins me around and runs his thumb along my lower lip. “Itookthat night. But tonight, I want togive,” he says, roaming his fingers down my arm. As he touches me, I catch the scent of his cologne, that leather and fire mix chased with orchids. Something about this man’s cologne, the way he wears it, not too much, not too little, says he’s not lazy. Says he knows how to make a choice. And Finn’s choice is sofine. Everything about him is strong, masculine, and somehow warm too.
“Tonight is about you. Just you.” He holds my gaze with so much lust and need in his eyes—it’s like he can’t contain either one. Same here.
I choose to trust he’s not playing mind games. Still, though, I ask, “You want to just give me orgasms all night?”
Well, it’s important to make sure I heard the sex superhero right.
His face remains serious as he gives the simplest answer. “Yes. Now the question is—do you want to stay or go, Miss Marley?”
The name and the return to our roles makes me warm all over, like liquid gold flows through my veins. I feel both relaxed and turned on as he gives me my wishes while reaching for his own.
And while there’s still one big reason to go—there will always be a reason to go—tonight, I’m ignoring our forbidden connection, including the years between us. “I want to stay, Mr. Adams,” I say.
“Good. Now take another drink of water—you’re going to need it for this…project.”
Project Multiple Orgasms, here I come. I take another sip, then set the glass down.
He points to a staircase at the edge of the kitchen. “Go to my room on the third floor. It’s a bedroom suite. Sit on the bed. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to watch your ass as you walk up the stairs.”
My pulse soars to the sky as I turn toward the stairs and ascend.
I don’t look back, but I can feel the heat of his gaze with every click of my heels.
I go up the first flight then round a landing, barely paying attention to my surroundings as I focus on my sexy destination. I head up to the next floor, then find what must be Finn’s bedroom door. It’s open. As his footsteps grow louder on the stairs, I step inside his spacious room. Like his brownstone, this bed is huge, bigger than a regular king-size.
The bedspread is striped navy and white, utterly masculine. But the pillows are warm yellow. A nice touch. The click of his wingtips tells me he’s near, so after I take off my glasses and put them on the nightstand, I follow his order, perching on the edge of the bed. A few seconds later, he enters the room, tugging on his tie, unknotting it, and stalking over to me.
“You’re such a good girl,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. “And you look absolutely beautiful.” His voice is low and intimate.
I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore—if I’m his secretary or if I’m just me. It makes me nervous. Makes me think too much. “Are we playing or are we…”
