She dragged it from the precariously balanced pile with a light hiss of slick fabric and let it dangle from her fingertips.
“Think I can’t spruce up?”
“I have a hard time picturing it.” Uma tilted her head and shut one eye. Nope, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of him in a suit. She didn’t mind, though. Joey had been a clotheshorse, made for designer duds. Ivan was made for something more elemental. Uma liked that about him.
“Let me take you to dinner, and I might show you.” There was a challenge there.
“You asking me out again?”
“Maybe. You gonna change your mind if I do?”
She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Just might.”
“I’ll think about it. One rejection’s about all I can take in a week.”
Uma set the camera on the bed and pulled the tie taut between her hands, enjoying its satiny feel. Somehow, she ended up behind Ivan, who knelt, stoking the steadily growing fire. She could see the top of his newly shorn hair, the blunt tips of his shoulders, the rounded, work-hewn muscles lining his arms.
Physically, this man could do whatever he wanted with her. The thought turned Uma on and scared her—the two sensations not mutually exclusive. She stepped closer, daring her fear into submission.
Ivan sat on his heels and let his back flatten against her legs. It was hot in front of the fire, but she stood her ground. God, she liked him there, kneeling at her feet.
The hair under her fingers was silkier than it looked: finer, sweeter, like him. She gave it a slight tug, tilting his head back and bringing his eyes in line with hers. She could almost hear the click as they connected, could feel it somewhere in her abdomen, the echoes skimming along her spine to her fingertips, where the tie in her hand immediately took on new meaning, a second life.
Purposefully, Uma stretched it out, showed it to him before pulling it over his eyes and smoothing it over his battered nose. He didn’t complain when she yanked hard, tying a fat knot at the back of his head.
In the silence, his breathing sped up to match hers.
What on earth am I doing?she thought. “Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Nothing.” Almost anxiously, he added, “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”
Uma nudged him so he turned toward her, but when he made to get up, she set a hand on his shoulder, kept him down—as much as she, or anyone, had the power to keep this man down. He hesitated, and Uma sensed the tight strength of him, restrained. The tension eased, and his lips parted.
He sat, head level, back straight.
He’s waiting for me to tell him what to do, she realized.
It was warm beside the fire, but the air was still cool enough to make Uma’s nipples pebble into hard little nubs. She reached forward and tweaked them, enjoying the feel of her own body for the first time in months.
“What are you doing?” His voice sounded pained, impatient, and so fucking turned-on. “Are you touching yourself?”
She nodded before realizing that she had to speak. “Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
“My nipples.”
“What are you doing to them?”
“I’m kind of…pulling on them.”
“Why’re you doin’ that?” Ivan sounded tormented.
Uma spoke, hardly recognizing the words as her own. “They’re so hard they kind of hurt.”
