"Better." I unhooked the bra, pulled it away slowly. "Look at you."
I mapped every inch of skin. The curve of her ribs. The dip of her waist. Her breathing getting faster, more desperate.
Hooked my fingers in her panties and pulled them down, exposing her.
"Rhodes." Her voice was strained.
"What do you need?"
"Touch me. Please."
"Where?"
Pink flooded her face. "You know where."
"Say it."
"I can't—"
I pulled my hands away. "Then I guess we're done here."
"Wait." Her eyes flew open. "Between my legs. Touch me between my legs. Please."
"Better." I skimmed one finger up her inner thigh, close but not where she wanted. "Here?"
"Higher."
"Ask nicely."
"Please touch me higher. Please, sir."
There it was. That surrender I'd been waiting for.
I gave her what she wanted. Slid my fingers through her wetness, found her clit, circled it slowly. Watched her fight every instinct to move.
"You're already so wet for me," I murmured. "Been thinking about this?"
"Yes."
"What have you been thinking?"
"Your hands on me. Your mouth. You inside me."
"Good girl. Now hold still."
I moved down the bed, settled between her thighs. Used my thumbs to spread her open and put my mouth on her.
She gasped, tried to arch up. I pressed my forearm across her hips, holding her pinned.
"Stay still."
I went slow. Used my tongue, my lips, the edge of my teeth. Found what made her gasp, what made her whimper, what made her pull against the silk binding her wrists. Built her up slowly toward the edge, then pulled back before she could fall over. Started again.
She tasted like salt and heat and desire. I worked her with my tongue, learned every response, every sound when I found the right spot or pressure.
"Rhodes, please." Her voice broke. "Please let me—"
"Not yet."
