Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
My lips part and my shoulders square to face him, but not a word slips out. I’m caught in his heated gaze. Fire crackles there and my body is paralyzed from the look he gives me.
“I require your obedience,” he tells me, his gaze dropping from mine to my lips. “You are struggling with that tonight,” he adds and his hand is released from my thigh. Leaving a chill to settle where the contact has been every moment he’s been able to rest it there since we left.
As he sips his drink, an Arnold Palmer, I watch him.
“I am struggling,” I admit and gather my strength to make my demands, but again I’m cut off.
“You have no reason to,” he tells me and unbuttons his jacket, slipping the expensive fabric off of his broad shoulders and turning his full attention to me. His scent, masculine and woodsy greets me as I stare back at him.
“I don’t know that.”
“I’m telling you that. You should not worry. Not about anything. I have it handled.” He’s firm in his resolve. The control in his tone grants me a sense of security but still, I hesitate.
As he clears his throat, the cords in his neck tighten, and his presence seems to command the air to bend to his will. The strength and authority I know this man to be capable of come back full force. Like a switch flipping. A deadly one that demands obedience.
“You will not ask any more questions. Is that understood?” he tells me and I want to agree. I know I need to; I desperately need to let it go.
My bottom lip wobbles and my gaze flicks from Z to the candlelight.
“You are better than this,” he murmurs and it cuts me, deep and unforgivingly. “You need to listen to me.” It’s not meant to. His tone is gentle and coaxing, yet the weight of it is too heavy for me to carry.
“I listen,” I object.
“I need you to trust me.” He grips my chin, giving me the physical contact I long for, more so than I realized until he’s staring deep in my eyes. “Trust me.”
“I trust you,” I confess and his hold on me drops.
“Do you?” he asks and his voice is testing. His tone is low and his dark eyes narrowed at me. There’s a shift between us and it steals my breath along with every bit of my strength.
“I don’t mean to—”
“Stop,” he orders. He signals for silence and I’m quick to obey. He is my Dom. My everything. Swallowing thickly, I nod. It feels as though I’m a child in trouble. Worse than that, I feel like I’m on the verge of losing anything and everything that matters to me. All because of his disappointment. How does he have such a hold on me?
Insecurity runs rampant through me as I twist the napkin in my lap. The chill across my skin is quickly heated when Z reaches out, his thumb resting on my bottom lip and a heat sparking in his eyes. “You are my good girl, Ella. You’re going to listen to me now, aren’t you?”
Nodding eagerly, I’m desperate to just go back to a few moments ago. I don’t want to push him. I don’t want to lose him.
As if reading my mind, he leans forward, kissing the crook of my neck and then whispers at the shell of my ear, “I am here for you, Ella. My very existence is for you. You have me, you will lean on me tonight and in every way I tell you to.” His words send a warmth through me, a comforting security I desperately need. “Won’t you, my little bird? You’ll let me take care of you in every way, even if it pushes your boundary … you haven’t said your safe word. Have you even thought of it?”
No. His statement resonates deep within me. The safe word never entered my mind.
My heart races at the sound of the private door opening and Z pulls back, appearing completely unaffected. As if he didn’t just have my entire world in his hand to do with as he pleased.
“And for you, miss,” the waiter says, setting down the plate of perfectly seared scallops. “To start,” he adds and asks if I’d like fresh ground pepper. He holds the pepper mill in offering and I answer “No, thank you” as politely as I can, attempting to contain myself and hold back the intensity that’s been building since I took my seat in the burgundy leather dining chair.
Before the waiter leaves, I notice Zander pass him something that appears to be cash.
“What was that?” I question as soon as we’re alone.
“A note to stay the fuck out for the next twenty minutes,” Z answers as he pushes back the chair, towering over me as he unbuttons his shirt.