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“I like this skirt. The mix of dark and sweet.”
“I bought it for you.” On Thursday, when she was still counting down the hours to Friday, she’d seen it in the window of a little shop in Georgetown. It was a cheap skirt. Black cotton with a pattern of tiny roses scattered across the hemline.
His hand palmed her ass cheek. She, of course, was bare.
That was another thing. She rarely wore panties anymore. She had to really think about it every morning before she went to work. Today, she didn’t have to think at all. She was going to see Griffin. So the skirt went on, and the panties stayed off.
His fingertip lazily drew up her thigh. “I’ve missed these responses from you. And I look forward to seeing what you wrote in the journal.”
Her body stiffened a little. Was she ready for him to see it? Courage—that was what she wanted to display, but perhaps she’d overplayed her hand with her entry.
Still, she’d done what Charlotte had said. She sat in the parking lot, took a big breath, and wrote, in big letters, eight words. That’s all it took to express exactly what she wanted.
Rough trouser pants pressed to the back of her thighs. And his bulge just barely touched her above her ass cheeks.
He placed one hand along her head, and the other reached for the journal. He flipped the page open. The room went still.
Oh. God. He was reading her eight words.
She swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, but what? Sorry if it disappointed you? What would she do if he said “no”?
“I see.” He held it up to her, but she didn’t need to see it. “Read it.”
Okay, big breath. Stop being a rabbit.“Belong to Master Griffin. Be his only someone.”
He fisted her hair, and a delicious shudder ran through her. “Belong. That’s a strong word.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You wish to be bound to me? Mine?”
She gave the only answer she could. The only answer she was destined to give. “Yes.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“I am yours and only yours. There is no one else, Sir.”
“You want me to take possession forever … here.” He roughly forced his hand under her chest and squeezed her breast.
She nodded.
He then moved his hand down her side, curled his fingers under one thigh, and roughly yanked it open. He thrust a finger inside her. “And here?”
She was so wet. The minute she saw his name on the door, it had started. But lying across his desk? As she had so many times? She could have returned the Sahara Desert to a garden.
“Yes, sir.”
He spent long minutes driving her mad with kisses, bites, and licks up her earlobe. She swore she felt the thrum of his pulse in his neck touch hers. Was he pleased? Testing her? All she knew was that she’d give anything for him to keep going.
“And?” He kept asking her every time he moved to another part of her body.
Her answer was the same—always. “Yes, Sir. Yours.”
But when he slipped his hand under her chest to just over her heart, she whimpered. “Especially there.”
He’d said they’d find out what she was desperate for. It wasn’t any kind of play or scene or kink. It came down to one thing—him.
His mouth claimed her neck while his hand passed over every part of her torso, the other with a firm hold of her hair. All firm, deliberate touches. She’d learned over the last two weeks how tentative other men had been. Clumsy, searching … and nothing like Griffin’s moves. Hesitation wasn’t in his repertoire.
