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He cups my chin, possessively. His grip is strong, demanding, but desperate too. “Tell me what you want, Jules. We have one night. I want to give youeverything.”
He’s unreal, and I hardly know where to start. I want it all.
I want to take everything he’ll give. “I don’t want to think. I want to feel,” I confess, baring a little bit of my naked soul to him. But I have a hunch he’ll not only understand me—he’ll want to deliver.
His smug smile saysoh yes, I will deliver.
He drops his lips to mine and claims me in a hungry kiss. When he lets go, he says, “Good. Then know this—I’m in charge. I’m going to focus on you. Just you, Jules. Just fucking you.”
My pulse races. The role-play is over, but the night is just beginning. “Thank you,” I say, grateful he’s taken the lead. I don’t want to at all.
He brushes his thumb along my cheekbone. “No, thank you,” he corrects, then steps back and drops to his knees.
Wow. Just wow.
I shudder.
This handsome, stern, older man is on his knees before me, pushing up my skirt, spreading my thighs and roaming his hands along my legs. “I need to see how much you want me.” He pauses to lock eyes with me. “Show me.”
I gulp, but it’s from the thrill of his command. I widen my legs a little more.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be shy. Hike up your skirt. Put your hands on your thighs and spread them for me.”
I comply, tugging up the stretchy material, then parting my thighs.
My reward is the animalistic groan that rips from his throat. “Fuck, honey, you’re so wet for me.”
“I am,” I say breathily as he stares at my soaked panties.
He presses a kiss to my knee then journeys languidly up my flesh. Is he going to start his orgasm marathon by going down on me? I don’t think I’d object.
But he stops when he reaches the middle of my thigh. He looks up, stands, and offers me a hand.
I don’t know what we’re doing. And I don’t know if I trust any man, but I might trust him a little since his want is so clear. His actions spell out his wishes. He’s dirty and honest, and the combo is heady.
He cups my face, rough again like he was at The Scene. “I’ve wanted to worship your body since I met you.”
I tremble. “Really?”
“Yes. This is what I’ve wanted to do since that first night.”
It seems so impossible. “You did?” I sound doubtful. I know I do. But I don’t know how to sound any other way.
His eyes hold mine fiercely. “When you walked into the mansion, I could tell things about you instantly,” he says, dipping his face, kissing my neck, adoring my throat, making me melt.
“Like what?” I ask in between his caresses.
“You’re sensual. You’re in tune with your body.”
Me? In tune with my body? He has it all wrong. “I don’t know if that’s true,” I say, skeptical.
He nods, firm and decisive, as he meets my eyes again. “I see it in the way you play piano with your whole being. The way you dress, like you’re becoming the character. I knew you were the kind of woman who craved pleasure even if you didn’t know it.”
I’m warm everywhere. I’m…adored. I’m understood. After years of being shut down, I’m a flower opening to the sun, my petals spreading.
“That’s what you like? Giving pleasure?” I ask, still stunned that his kink isn’t role-play. It’s…making me come. This is like answering the job interview questionwhat’s your biggest weaknesswithI work too hard.
He answers with a carnalyes, then says, “Let me show you.”
