They land on the console with a slight thud. With the same unhurried grace, he begins rolling back his shirt sleeves.
Finally, forearms bared, he returns his attention to me.
I swallow hard.
“I want you bent over the coffee table.” His voice is silken, stretched tight.
“The…” A shiver dances across my skin.
“You heard me.”
I hesitate, but only for half a second. Long enough for him to know I’m doing this on my terms. Long enough for him to enjoy how badly I want it.
Unhurried, a little excited to have his hands on me, I walk into the living room, my hips swaying beneath that tiny scrap of skirt. Knowing he’s watching, I take my time bending over and placing both my palms flat on the glass.
The tension in the room hums like an exposed wire.
Behind me, the air shifts.
A hand slides up the back of my thigh—slow and steady, making me quiver. Then, with a sharp tug, he lifts the hem of my skirt high.
A low curse escapes him. “What the fuck are you even thinking? No panties?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I was doing you a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Saving you the effort of having to remove them later this evening.”
“Never do anything like this again unless I give you explicit instructions. Are we clear, Ms. Hollis?”
“Absolutely.” Will an apology save me? “I’m so very?—”
The first smack lands before I finish the sentence.
A sharp sting blooms across one cheek.
I gasp, and my breath fogs the glass.
“You wanted my attention?” Another smack, harder. “You’ve got it.”
He smooths his hand over the heat he left behind, then trails between my thighs. His fingers part me, stroke me, then barely dip inside.
“You’re already drenched. Filthy girl.”
For him. Only for him.
He slides one thick finger along my slit, circling my clit with infuriating precision. My hips rock without my permission.
And then…nothing.
He pulls away. The sudden absence aches.
“Stand up.” Command drips from his words.
Shaking, I somehow manage to do what he says.
“Now strip for me. You wanted to be half naked, so why not be totally exposed?”
