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ADDIE
Theo opens the door. He’s changed back into a suit, and the only concession to the lateness of the hour is that his tie is slightly loosened.
He's in dominant mode. It's not just the clothes. His entire demeanor has changed. The man I’ve met so far has been easy-going, considerate, and unfailingly polite. Even in our mini-scene yesterday, he was mild-mannered and flexible. Well, apart from that conversation about dinner, when I discovered there was a spine of steel underneath that pleasant exterior.
But now? Dominant Theo is intimidating in the best possible way.
I amsoturned on.
He surveys me silently before stepping aside. “When you enter, Addie,” he says, “You obey. Those are the rules. Any questions?”
Elliot used to call me a bratty submissive. He was right. Theo’s rules are clear enough, and I don't have questions, but I can't resist challenging him. “Yes, I have a question. Are we going to have sex tonight?”
His eyes narrow. He takes a step back and beckons me inside. A thrill shooting down my spine, I obey. The door shuts behind me.
My eyes dart around the small, square room. I don’t think I’ve been here before. Two doors are set across from each other. One behind me, the employee entrance I used. The other is straight ahead. The walls are covered in mirrors.
Shane is sitting on a couch across from me, watching me with hooded eyes. In front of him, in place of a coffee table, is a much more interesting piece of furniture. A punishment bench.
Theo circles me slowly. I stay still, my nerve endings firing in excitement. “This is a very sexy dress.” His fingers brush my cleavage. “Soft.”
“It's silk,” I respond. My heart hammers so loud in my chest that I expect them to hear it.
“It looks fragile,” Shane notes.
I meet his gaze. “It's stronger than it looks.”
A slow smile flickers over his face. Neither of us is talking about the dress anymore. “I'm counting on it.”
Theo completes his inspection. “Take it off.”
I know what I should do, which is obey. But the brat in me can’t resist saying, “You didn't answer my question.”
Mistake. Theo steps behind me, close enough that we’re touching. He gathers my wrists in one hand and holds them behind my back. “Now, Addie,” he murmurs, his breath caressing the shell of my ear. “Do you want to start off with a punishment? Already?”
I’ve worn my hair down. He brushes it to one side and presses a kiss to the nape of my neck. “You want to know if we’re going to have sex tonight? Define sex. If I do this. . .” His large hand roughly kneads my right breast through my dress. “Is this sex?”
My nipple hardens. Blood rushes from my brain. I feel dizzy. I have masturbated in the last two years; I'm only human. I’ve squeezed my nipples between my thumb and forefinger. But the sensation that shoots through me at Theo's touch is entirely different. Partly because he's so much stronger than me, and partly because I don't know what he will do next. My heady anticipation is a drug injected directly into my veins.
“No,” I whisper. “Squeezing my breasts isn’t sex. I haven't even taken my dress off.”
“Indeed,” Shane observes, his voice faintly disapproving. “And I believe I remember Theo telling you to do that.” He gets to his feet and walks to an armoire in the corner. Every private room has one. From experience, I know it houses an impressive assortment of sex toys. He opens it, considers the selections thoughtfully, and pulls out a riding crop, setting it on a table in the corner. “At the rate you’re going, this is shaping up to be a very painful evening, Addie.”
Apart from the newly added riding crop, a pair of nipple clamps on the table are joined by wrist cuffs, an arm binder, a spreader bar, a blindfold, and a penis gag.
Oh, hell yes.
Theo lets go of my wrists so I can pull the dress over my head. He takes it from me and drapes it on a padded hanger. He clasps my wrists again and steers me to the mirror covering the wall. “Look at yourself,” he says. “I want you to watch everything I am going to do to you.”
“Yes, Theo.”
“Mr. Keppel,” he corrects.
Arousal shudders through me at his stern tone. God, this is so good. How could I have forgotten this mix of nerves and desire and anticipation? “Yes, Mr. Keppel,” I say dutifully.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. My bra and panties are unabashedly sexy, Agent Provocateur's finest. The dark green fabric is sheer. Black straps crisscross my cleavage and hips. To complete the outfit, I’m wearing a garter belt and sheer black stockings.
No need to be coy; I’m dressed for sex.
