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“Take that fucking dress off that’s been torturing me all night…before I rip it off.”
“Oh,” I murmured, immediately pulling on the dress because I really liked it and didn’t want it ruined. Although staring at the feral glint in Lincoln’s gaze…it would be worth it.
I slid the dress off, enjoying the look of pain on his face as he watched me like his life depended on it. I hadn’t worn a bra or underwear because I hadn’t wanted…lines. So once the dress was off, I was completely naked.
I tossed it onto a nearby chair. I went to step out of my heels, but he held up a hand. “Keep those on.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I whispered, and his eyesburnedfor me.
“Now on your knees,” he said roughly.
I kept his gaze as I fell to my knees, as gracefully as I could in four inch heels.
“Good girl,” he murmured, taking a slow step towards me. “Now put this on.” He threw me a jersey that I hadn’t noticed him grab. I lifted the fabric, smirking when I saw that it was obviously his.
“Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” There was an edge of madness in his voice that sent shivers down my spine.
“It wasn’t my idea…” I said lightly.
“Obviously I knew that. Because we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we, Monroe? About whose jersey you’re allowed to wear?”
I nodded as he took another step towards me, sliding off his suit coat and slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“I want your words,” he pressed.
“Yes,” I whispered, pulling the jersey over my head. Before I could pull it on all the way, he caught the fabric, holding my hands above my head.
“I like this view,” he purred, and a second later I felt his warm mouth on my nipples, suckling and biting them until I was writhing against his face.
He moved away abruptly and I cried out. Lincoln pulled the jersey the rest of the way down until it pooled to the floor.
“Please,” I murmured.
“Please what?” he asked mockingly.
I squeezed my eyes closed and rubbed my legs together, trying to ease the ache.
“Please fuck me,” I finally whispered.
“I think it’s time for the next part of your education for one of the great things about Christmas, actually,” he answered.
I bit down on my lip and shivered at the darkness in his gaze. “And what’s that?”
“The color red.”
Lincoln pulled a red ribbon from his pocket and dangled it in front of my face. “Hands behind your back.”
I hesitantly obeyed him, reaching my hands behind me, and he swiftly tied my wrists together with the ribbon. My breasts jutted out, and I could just imagine how obscene I looked at the moment.
As if he could sense my thoughts, he spent a moment kneading and massaging my breasts before he cursed.
“Up,” he growled, making no move to help me as I struggled to my feet.
Lincoln went to one of the big velvet armchairs that sat by the floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the city, and he sat down in it with the ease of a king who had claimed his throne. His posture was relaxed, and he sprawled out, commanding the space around him.
He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
The room seemed to bend to his presence, as if the very furniture had been arranged to accommodate his aura of dominance. His gaze, sharp and focused, surveyed the surroundings with a hint of amusement, as though he were privy to a secret that the rest of the world had yet to discover.
