“My… um breasts. Nipples?”
Another brief look, down and back up to my face. “Good.” He shifts, the movement tilting my face into his neck, where the spice of his cologne is layered with skin, musk, and the tiniest hint of sweat. It’s a pure shot of aphrodisiac, whooshing straight to my core.
“Now touch them.”
I stop moving, my breath caught in my throat like a trapped bird.
People are seated at tables a few feet on either side of us, but they might as well be miles away for all the attention I pay them. They’re the hum of voices in the background, the occasional scrape of a chair. Can they tell just by looking at us how seismic this feels?
“Go on. Take those hot little hands and put them on those tight, aching nipples.”
“Uh… uh…” My hands, which I suddenly realize have been squeezing the velour edges of my seat cushion, hover in the air for a moment, above my body, seesawing between the mortification of following this stranger’s order with an audience versus the chance of pleasure glimmering just over that horizon.
Do Idothe bananas thing? Do I?
“Now, Sunny. You touch them now. It’s an order. You wanted this, right?” Oh, there’s something different in his voice. A challenge that’s both playful and risqué. He’s the devil, armed with nothing more than the ammunition I gave him myself.
Coerce me. Make me do the bad thing.
This, this, this.It’s here in full force now, this feeling of right from wrongness, the hot, vivid spotlight shining deep into my inner workings, lighting up all the shadows I’ve spent a lifetime working to hide.
“You better do it, Sunny.”
Oh my goodness. My insides go liquid.
“You listen, you obey, you’ll get exactly what you came for. If you defy me…”
What? What happens then? Please, please, please, please tell me!
I guess I won’t be finding out, what with how my fingers have a mind of their own and set to tweaking my nipples through my dress, plucking at them and twisting until there’s enough pain to make me gasp.
“That’s it. Good girl.”Good girl?My stomach does a little dance. Level unlocked and mastered in one fell swoop. I am a good girl. I really, really am.
Seriously, what is it about his voice? So matter-of-fact as he watches me play with myself through my clothes. He’s the serious professor, the concerned doctor. He’s all the dirty, dirty, dirtythings I’ve only ever let myself dwell on in the farthest reaches of my imagination.
With masterful precision, he kneads that knot in my back again. My mouth drops open on an embarrassingly loud moan.
“There it is. That’s the spot, huh? Goddamn, that looks good.” I go half-limp at what sounded like praise, though I’ve got no earthly idea what for. For groaning while he rubs me? Most people don’t find my groaning all that sexy. I groan at the gym. Nobody calls me a good girl for that.
“Did I say you could stop?”
I startle when I realize he’s waiting for my reply. “Uh. No. No, sir. I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Nothing.” I straighten in my seat, concentrating hard on the here and now.
“No. Truly. Communication is essential.” His heat backs off a bit. “Communicate. Please. What were you just doing?”
“Well.” I swallow, knowing this is probably not what he means by communicate, but then again… who am I to guess, right? “I was thinking about working out. And then the gym. And then gym class and, from there, I started wondering if they still let kids play dodgeball.”
His hands drop from my back. “Dodgeball?”
“You know. In school?” I crane toward him as I explain. “Such a violent game for kids to play, right?” His face has morphed from its original stern expression to something teetering between annoyed and utterly baffled. “Sorry,” I say, snapping my mouth shut and slapping my hands back up to my chest like I’ve been caught shirking my responsibilities instead of doing the important work of feeling myself up.
After a brief pause, he picks up again where he left off. I go as limp as a rag doll the moment his magic fingers hit my back.
“You’re easily distracted.”
