My place?
Before I can make sense of that comment, his hands roam around my front, skimming my ribs. The words ring like an alarm bell at the edge of my mind, but the heat building between my legs won’t let me search for answers. I grip his wrists, try to guide him to my aching breasts. But he pulls back.
“Good girls wait their turn for pleasure. Are you the good girl who gets her reward or the bad one who gets nothing?”
Heat fills my cheeks—shame mixed with arousal in a way that makes my head spin. I’ve never had to ask for what I want. Men usually just rush to the good parts.
“Talk to me, pretty pet.” He pulls me close, his chest brushing my back, and slides a hand down the curve of my hip. “I can make your thighs quiver. Keep you on edge for eternity. Make you moan your deepest, dirtiest secrets, just for a taste of my pleasure.”
I shiver, wanting to cling onto a shred of pride, but his lips graze my ear. “Hold your silence, and I’ll have you sobbing for sweet release. Continue being tight-lipped and I’ll strip you of everything you hold dear. Or you can promise to be good and let me lavish you with ecstasy.”
“I’ll be good,” I murmur.
He chuckles, low and deep. “Excellent choice. Now, tell me what you need.”
“Please,” I rasp.
“Please what? Use your words, my beautiful little plaything.”
Is this man really going to climb into my shower andmake me beg? The silence stretches between us, filled only by my ragged breath and the spatter of water. The hands skimming my ribs make maddeningly teasing circles, making every nerve ending tingle with need. He’s waiting, and I know he won’t give me anything until I say the words.
“Please touch me,” I manage.
“Where?” His voice is patient, laced with steel. He won’t make this easy.
“My breasts. Please touch my breasts.”
“Good girl knows what she wants. I like that.” The approval in his voice makes my nipples tighten. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
His fingers slide up my ribcage until he reaches my breasts and cups them with both hands. Tingles skitter across my flesh, and I gasp at the contact. Then he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
I try to turn around, to touch him back, but his arms tighten around my shoulders, holding me in place.
“No moving without permission or the pleasure will stop.”
The command sends a jolt straight to my core. No one this sexy ever talked to me like I’m something to be directed, controlled, or owned. It should piss me off. Instead, it floods my pussy with heat. I can’t remember ever being so wet.
“These tits,” he growls, cupping them tighter. “These beauties have been testing that poor dress since day one. Straining like they’re desperate to break free.”
A moan escapes my lips. It feels like I’ve been waiting for him to touch me like this my entire life.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve been aching for this body, every curve. To claim what’s been teasing me for solong. Look at you, writhing beneath my fingers, trying to take charge.”
“Oh god.”
“Call. Me. Rochester,” he growls, his cock nestling between my ass cheeks.
“R-Rochester!”
“Naughty little nymph. Don’t you know it’s me who controls what you feel?”
“Please,” I cry out.
His hands slide down my belly, fingers trailing through the water over my skin. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, I spread my legs wider, wanting more.
“Eager little slut,” he says, his voice lilting with a smile. “You moan for me so prettily. Do it again.”
I lean against his broad chest, panting hard, not quite believing this refined gentleman wants me to talk dirty. When he slides his fingers away from my sex, threatening to withdraw the pleasure, I blurt, “Touch my pussy.”
