Part 7 (1/2)
He didn't disagree with her statement.
”What do you want me to do?”
He pointed to a spot in front of the couch. ”Go stand over there. Take off your suit jacket.”
Eventually she stood.
”Lock the door first.”
She gave a small nod before pivoting and heading toward the door. As she walked, he stared.
Her hips were rounded, and he noticed the way her b.u.t.tocks were emphasized by the tight fit of her skirt. Connor considered that maybe his earlier thought had been wrong. Maybe she hadn't chosen the red suit for power. Or Christ, maybe she had, her power over him. Those heels, those stockings... ”Seams up the back?” d.a.m.n.
”Problem?” She turned the big lock. The bolt made a purposeful sound as it slammed home. Then she faced him again, resting her shoulders against one of the floor-to-ceiling double doors. She brushed back her hair and boldly met his gaze.
Any earlier doubt was erased. This woman had chosen her outfit intentionally. She'd known the effect that skirt would have on any male with a pulse. And h.e.l.l, if he didn't have one, it would restart it. ”You're lovely.” And smart. He made a mental note never to underestimate her as an adversary, as a lover.
Without being asked a second time, she moved to the center of the room. The sight of her calves, accentuated by those heels, gave him palpitations.
But it wasn't just the heels. It was the entire package. She had flawless posture, and she walked with a little strut that spoke of confidence.
Was there anything hotter?
She stopped where he'd indicated then shrugged out of her suit coat. She took her time-her sweet, sweet time-draping the red material over the arm of the couch.
Then she rolled back her shoulders, making her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrust toward him a bit, causing the b.u.t.ton across her chest to strain. G.o.d help him.
Connor stood and walked toward her.
As he drew closer, her scent slipped past his defenses. Pheromones, he reminded himself. They made rational people insane.
He couldn't take his gaze from her. Often, he preferred his submissives to look downward, but he loved seeing her eyes, all the emotions and reactions that she didn't hide quickly enough. Uncertainty, sure. But mixed with a bit of curiosity. It created a heady elixir that he suddenly hungered for.
Only a few inches from her, he stopped. ”Put your hands behind you.”
Nothing existed but the sound of her breathing and the heat of his sudden desire.
She did as instructed.
He placed his index finger on the hollow of her throat. Her lips parted slightly. ”If you're scared about anything, just say the word yellow.”
She nodded.
”As we get to know one another better, as you gain experience and build your trust, things that might have made you nervous will no longer bother you. Yellow will slow me down, give us chance to regroup, discuss. Tell me you understand.”
”I understand.”
”When we're in a scene, in private, you'll address me as Sir.”
She gently pursed her lips but didn't object. ”I understand, Sir.”
Over the years, at clubs, at parties, with subs he'd played with, he'd been called Sir. But the term hadn't had any impact on him. It had held no power. Coming from her now, it was like a slam to the solar plexus. That she'd called no one else Sir did crazy things to his brain circuitry.
He opened her top two b.u.t.tons. Though he could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat, she said nothing.
Then he parted the material.
Her demi-bra lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, leaving most of her flesh bare, but her nipples were hidden. She was lace, innocence, seduction. He knew this image of her would be seared into his mind.
Unable to resist the temptation of the woman who might be his future bride, he brushed the pads of his thumbs across her honey-kissed skin.
Her eyes drifted shut.
Emboldened by her sensual reaction, he stroked inside her bra and gently rolled her nipples.
She swayed toward him.
”Lovely,” he said, exerting more pressure.
”Yum,” she said.
”Yum?” He wasn't sure he'd ever had that reaction from a woman before. He liked it. ”More?”
”Maybe.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. ”I might be too chicken.”
Looking at her to gauge her reactions, he squeezed her nipples a tiny bit harder. Before she could process what he'd done, he backed off.
”That...”
”You liked it?”
”Yes.”
He teased, waited.
”Yes, Sir,” she amended.
”Good girl.” He gave her what she'd asked for, this time holding on a little longer. ”Too much?” he asked when he'd released her.
”No,” she admitted. ”Not at all.”
She had at least a small taste for pain. Intoxicating.
This time, he rolled her nipples, pinched them, pulled on them, drew her onto her toes. In reaction, she bent her knees. ”Oh, yes,” he said. He pushed her bra down, out of the way, then bent to lave each nipple with his tongue, sucking on each tip to soothe it.
She reached for him, hands on his shoulders. ”Nice,” he told her. He waited until her breathing had steadied a bit before saying, ”But I'd told you to keep your arms behind your back.”
Her eyes widened but she didn't immediately pull away.
”You know what that means?”