The command was so abrupt that Sophie balked instantly. There was no way she’d do that, and it didn’t have anything to do with modesty.
“You can’t obey a simple command?” One golden brow arched over his eye.
“It’s not that I don’t want to obey…”
“Are you plagued by modesty?” His lips tilted down, but a glimmer of amusement danced briefly across his face.
“I’m not plagued, I’m naturally modest. But that’s not why I can’t unlace the corset.”
Emery sighed and crossed his arms. “I suppose I’ll give you one easy out today. Tell me why you won’t open your corset and I will release you of the command to actually unlace it. Can you do that without issue?”
“Just tell you?” She could do that, couldn’t she?
“For now. Someday you will show me.” He raised one hand to his hair, raking his fingers through it, mussing the blond waves. It made her ache to do the same. To lie beside him in bed and know that she mussed up his hair, that she had grasped the thick shimmering strands and tugged while in the midst of passion.
“I don’t like delays, Sophie,” he warned.
Swallowing a shivery breath, she nodded, more for herself than him. “I’ve got scars.” There. It was out. No going back.
“What kind of scars?” Emery’s voice was soft, velvety, like he wanted to soothe her.
His question confused her.
“Scars. There isn’t any other kind.”
Emery’s eyes trained on her. “I mean, are they scars from abuse? From an accident?”
“No abuse. Surgery.”
“What did you have surgery for?”
“Explaining that isn’t part of the bargain,” Sophie replied. She’d agreed to submit, not tell him her every secret.
Emery stood up and left the bench to come toward her. He moved so fast she had no time to react. He snatched her wrists and dragged her over to the bench, bending her over it and spreading her knees with one thigh. He pulled her wrists back behind her body and pinned them there with one of his hands. When he pushed his leg up against the apex of her thighs beneath the skirt she whimpered. The soft, expensive fabric of his suit rubbed erotically against the sensitive skin of her thighs.
“Lesson one: Never lie to your dom, or any dom. Punishment is always the result, or worse, the dom severs the relationship and releases the sub. Now, let’s try this again. What was the surgery for?”
“All right!” Sophie hissed. She was madder than a wet cat, but she knew he had her beat. Still, she jerked and jostled against the bench, testing his hold. Tight. No way to get out of this.
“Stop.” His bark made her flinch and go slack. “Tell the truth. I have ways of making you talk if you think to keep quiet.”
Did he mean he’d spank it out of her? She wish she knew, then again, maybe she didn’t want to know. Her eyelashes fell against her cheeks and darkness captured her vision, thankfully making her feel alone enough to utter the truth. “I had an accident and got cut. The surgery was to sew the cuts back together. Is that a personal enough answer for you?” She flinched, waiting for a blow.
“I didn’t want a personal answer, only a truthful one. And I don’teverbeat answers of anyone, especially a sub who surrenders to my care.” Although his words suggested a chastisement, he didn’t seem angry, rather puzzled and hurt that she’d assumed he’d beat it out of her.
“How did you know I was afraid you would hit me?” she whispered.
“You flinched after you lashed out verbally. I’ve seen that before in other submissives. You expected me to spank you, but know this, I don’t ever react with violence, only with erotic punishment. There is a difference and I will teach you.”
Very slowly, he withdrew his leg from between her thighs and released her wrists. Sophie lay for a moment, unsure of what to do. But rather than standing, Emery sat on the floor and reached for her. He took her in his arms and laid her on the floor beside him. Sophie gasped as he settled over her. If she hadn’t been so distracted by his close proximity she might have laughed. Emery Lockwood did not strike her as the type of man to prefer the missionary position.
But Sophie was distracted; he invaded her space, gently took hold of her wrists again and secured them to the floor above her head. He slid one hand down her ribs, over her belly and then between her knees, parting them so his hips could sink into the cradle of her legs. He rocked his pelvis forward, rubbing against her, showing her she couldn’t shift, couldn’t move unless he wished her to.
It had been ages since she’d been this close to a man, with every inch of their bodies touching except their lips, and his were so temptingly close. The last time hadn’t affected her like this. Her universe was shrinking around this one single moment, to just the two of them. Their gazes locked.
“This is personal. My past is personal, Sophie. Everything you want from me and what I want from you is personal.” His free hand slid up from her hip to rest on her lower ribcage. He toyed with the loose ribbon of her corset. She could feel him tug, tease, but not undo the laces any further. Still, he could if he wished; he could pry the corset open and see her scars, her ugliness.
Sophie’s breath hitched, her breasts rising rapidly as she struggled to breathe.
