Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I reach for her hands and pull them from my shirt, holding them between us, walking her backward as I do. “Let’s talk about the subject of the day. Control.”
“You want it. Sometimes I’ll let you have it.”
My lips curve, and I press her hands behind her back, shackling them with one of my hands. “Is that right?” I ask, unclasping the front of her black, lacy bra, my hand settling between her breasts.
“Yes,” she says. “That is right.”
My gaze lowers, raking over her high, full breasts, her pebbled nipples, my finger lightly teasing one stiff peak, her back arching into my touch. “Can I have it now, Faith?” I ask, my eyes rocketing to her face. “Or am I being too controlling?”
“Not even close,” she whispers, her voice low, raspy. Affected.
I respond to that bold sexual challenge in her that has been in the air between us from the moment we met and turned me on right out of the gate. I’m hot. I’m hard. My blood is pumping, but I am not blind to the fact that she ran from me minutes ago, vulnerability in that action, but now… There is none. Because being sexually daring is her emotional shield, something I suspect she learned at the club she and Macom frequented. Maybe that is even why the club worked for her. She didn’t have to be present with him there. She didn’t have to be present in life there. And that might have worked for her and him, but it no longer does for me or us.
I brush my lips over hers and release her hands, turning her to face the opposite direction while I skim her bra away, my hand flattening on her belly, my teeth on her shoulder. “I’m going to keep asking for more. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
I settle on one knee, my hands on her hips, my lips on her naked back, my tongue licking the delicate spot. And when she draws in a shaky breath, I stand up, my hands falling away from her. “Undress, but don’t turn around.”
I want her to turn and look for where my head is right now. To look into my eyes and see the test I’m giving her. To be present with me, right now, in this moment, in all possible ways. But she does it. She walks forward and starts undressing, so emotionally removed that she takes my commands that I’m giving her almost coldly.
And it both challenges me and pisses me off, and not at her. At me. I want her to be present, but I haven’t given her a reason. I haven’t let her know that I see her, really see her. Hell. Maybe I didn’t until now. Until she almost walked out the door over a control issue we haven’t even come close to solving.
Now I see that she is guarded in all the ways that matter, the ways that make her think we will end and I will leave. And now I refuse to let her hide. I walk around her and sit on the stool beside her workstation, directly in front of her. Our eyes meet, and still I see no trepidation. No vulnerability. She verbally said she was in, not out, but she has shut down on me.
She watches me watch her, stripping away her socks and jeans, gauging her control over me. Making sure her facade of submission still gives her control, and on that Faith understands sexual play, while I suspect Macom did not. The reality here is that submission, when done right, is all about the sub’s control. But Faith is no submissive, and I want more than her body.
Her gaze finds mine as she twists her fingers into the thin black lace of her panties at her hips and drags them down the silky expanse of her legs. The way I plan to drag my tongue down them in the very near future. The tiny triangle of blonde hair in the V of her body is sexy as hell, but then, everything about this woman is sexy as hell to me.
I stand up and move behind the stool. “Come to me, Faith.”
Her lips curve ever so slightly, oh so sexily, and she walks toward me, her hips and breasts swaying seductively, stopping in front of the stool. I could tell her to bend over the stool and stick that pretty ass in the air for me, and I suspect that is what she wants. For me to spank her. I give myself just a moment to think of her creamy, curvy, perfect ass waiting on my palm. The way her back would arch in anticipation when I warmed her cheeks. How wet her sex would be when I slide my fingers between her legs. How hot she would be when my cock followed my palm. But now is not the time for a spanking that would give her that ultimate rush and force her to forget everything. I don’t want her to forget. I want her to be right here, with me, willingly, emotionally exposed.