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“Oh the pressure.” He put the back of his wrist against his forehead in mock distress and then pinned her wide-open with narrowed eyes, a laser-like focus. “But if that’s what you’d like, I’m sure I can rise to it.”
She blinked at his po-faced pun, stunned he was persisting on knowing the details of what she wanted when he could surely see all the way through every sexual thought she’d ever had.
“What I’d like?” How about not to have to talk about this. How about a telepathic understanding of how we best get each other off? “What I’d like is for us to make each other feel good.” Oh, yes, that was really giving him something he could never have guessed.
“How do I make you feel good?”
“Certainly not by talking me to death.” If he so much as breathed on her skin she might orgasm, but she couldn’t tell him that.
He shook his head, but he didn’t try to smother his smile. “Now, now, Teela. Use your words. I know you can. How the fuck do you want me to fuck you?”
“Thoroughly.” There, that was almost an instruction.
“Cute. Noted. Not an answer. I’m asking how to please you.”
More fascinating. “What makes you think you won’t?” And an excellent stall.
“Good sex is a negotiation. It’s about trust as much as it is about thrill and pleasure. I haven’t had time to win your trust, so I’m asking you to talk about your desires.”
All very well for him to want to talk about desire. Eight out of ten people into sex with men would do him. The other two had bad taste and no sense of adventure.
“What do you expect from me, from this?” she asked.
“More of what we started. You’re unexpected and excite me.”
A thousand butterflies with gossamer wings were released inside her pelvic cavity. They had their own Calvin Harris-like DJ remixer and he played them into a frenzy. Haydn might be acting but at this point she didn’t care. Face value was pragmatic under the circumstances.
And he had the most strikingly handsome face.
“I want you to fuck me while you’re fully dressed and I’m completely naked.” Oh Christ. Did she really just say that? She put both hands to her head in case her hair was on fire because her cheeks were so hot. “But you don’t have to. I was just, it was just. Oh shit.” Any notion he’d had that she was a woman of style, substance and subtlety was like a snowfall on Bondi Beach. Impossible.
He wasn’t the least bit rattled, if anything his expression was a little cat who got the cream. “You like the idea of a power exchange.”
Apparently, because now that she’d said it, she wanted it so badly the idea was going to choke her. She’d had plenty of half-dressed sex, the kind where you were too lazy to get all the way undressed, or it was too cold, or you were in a hurry to get it done and do something else. She’d had the kind of half-dressed sex where you were too revved up or tipsy to get all the way undressed and horizontal, but she’d never been entirely naked, vulnerable, while her partner was barely unbuttoned.
On the sliding scale between my sexual fantasy is Haydn Delany’s forearms to my sexual fantasy is Haydn Delany wanting me so badly he doesn’t even undress before he throws me on the bed and has his way with me, she was way over the red line, ready to strip, crawl into his lap and get the party finally started.
“Stand up. Drop the robe.”
Oh, thank God he was Captain Action. He was ice cool, while she was working up to pillar of ash. She was never indecisive like this at work. Never incapable of asking for what she needed or giving instructions to those who needed them, but this, him, it was foreign, bewildering, and turning her inside out so that she was made of the need for sensation.
She pushed back from the table and stood, dropping the robe and facing him in the ridiculous, wonderful underwear; the G-string completely sheer, the bra pushing her breasts up and making them spill over at the same time. He loved it. Sitting forward, his eyes going dark, busy ranging all over her body.
“You are built for sin, Teela. I want you to believe me when I say that.”
He tapped a finger on his mouth. A muscle in his thigh flexed and his eyelids got heavy. Not so cool now.
“Lose the bra.”
But totally in command. She teased him by pulling a strap off her shoulder, letting it droop on her arm, dragging the cup of the bra down and exposing her areola.
He retaliated by unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. Since his eyes never left hers, he would’ve seen her breath stall. Oh, forearm porn was underrated and his were so immensely grippable.
“I’m going to make your nipples ache when I suck them, the best kind of ache. And when they rub against my shirt, you’ll feel that all the way to your sweet clit.”
His words zinged all the way to her clit, a lovely shock like that first touch from a buzzing vibrator.
“Now be a good girl and lose the bra.”
