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I realize in the back of my mind that this ismine—my room, my fantasy. Demyen can be whoever I want him to be. I can make him touch me and speak to me exactly how I want him to.
So I’m surprised—and aroused beyond all reason—when I feel myself slide my panties down my hips and cup myself in my hand.
Because even in my fantasy, in this moment I have full control over…
… Demyen still has full control over me.
We’re back at the dinner party—truly back, and not just grinding against each other up against an adobe column under the solar lamplights. Of course, in my fantasy, we weren’t interrupted by anyone or anything and his wicked fingers made me come while he whispered such delicious things in my ear.
He pants against my skin. He doesn’t want me to know how close he is to losing control, but I can feel it in the way his breath fans over my neck. Hot, heavy, labored.
When he pulls his fingers from me, I whine. I don’t know why I do, other than the aching emptiness at their absence. It makes him chuckle, and he nibbles my earlobe as he uses that same hand to grip my ass under my dress.
“Such a needy little thing,” he murmurs. “Was that not enough for you?”
It should be. I know it should be. And I know I should be grateful that it’s all he’s done to me, especially given how furious he was when he first dragged me here.
So why do I feel this ache for more?
“Please,” I breathe. When he leans back to gaze into my eyes, I feel myself reaching for him like he’s really, truly my lover. Like he doesn’t hold my life over my head. “Dem, I want…”
But I don’t know how to tell him what I want.
What Ireallywant.
It’s too dark. Too extreme.
But he already knows what it is. His mouth curls in a wicked smile and that hand in my hair tightens, pulling me to him as he lets out a low, sexy growl.
“Mmm,” he rumbles against my lips. It’s the barest of kisses, but it makes me squirm with need. “Are you sure?”
He’s asking me for permission. Like he always does, despite the fact that hecouldjust take from me no matter what I say. There’s something to unpack there, but I’m too fucking horny to care.
“Yes.” It’s a sigh and a plea as much as it’s consent. “Please.”
His eyes harden. “Why?”
It’s a fair question. One that I’m probably asking myself. And considering the truth will never leave this moment…
“Because I want them to see. I want them all to see who I belong to.” I trail a finger from his jaw to his chest, slow and languid. “I want the whole fucking world to watch you own me like they never can and never will.”
Demyen growls again. I feel his hands wander over my body, claiming me right here and now, and I half-expect him to scrap the idea and just fuck me here.
But he pulls back again, this time to take my hand in his and wrap his other arm around my waist.
“After you, my queen.”
And then we’re back at his table, surrounded by the leering men and bored women—but this time, everyone is watching with rapt attention. Rouged lips part with aroused gasps as Demyen holds me from behind and snaps the thin gold chains on eitherside of my dress, one by one, until the fabric puddles on the mosaic floor.
His hands are everywhere. Cupping, kneading, squeezing, caressing. He moves my hair to one shoulder so he can mark a path of lovebites from the tip of my shoulder to just below my ear, all the while staring darkly at the men who dare to lay eyes on his woman.
His woman. Me.
His.
A sweep of his arm scatters the cards and chips off the table, and I’m bent over the edge without warning. It feels softer than I expected. The tablecloth rubs over my sensitive nipples and I let out a breathy moan.
Demyen kicks my feet apart. I go the extra mile and spread even more for him, arching my ass up for good measure. His hands knead my cheeks with an appreciative rumble in his chest before he lands one, then two, slaps.
