“I… I’m at green.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Yes, sir. One hundred percent.” Kelly green. Forest green. The greenest of greens.
He takes a handful of my hair, tilts my head back, and bends for a deep, wet kiss that feels so good I want to climb him like a tree and devour him.
“You’re dangerous,” he mutters against my lips before dragging our mouths apart and turning to line the supplies up on the edge of his uncluttered desk. “The things I could do to that mouth.” His gaze lands on my lips, and I swear something changes in its depths.
“I plan to pull this hair,” he says, giving my curls the barest tug.
“Oh god.”
“Is that a yes, Sunny? Or a no? Either is fine.”
“Yes.Yes.” Flashback to every single time I’ve wanted a partner to yank on my ponytail but felt too shy to ask. “Please do that.”
“I want to play with those sweet little nipples.” He watches me.
“Okay.”
His dark eyebrows lift.
“Yes, sir.”
“You ready?”
My nod is embarrassingly eager.
“Say it.”
“I’m ready, sir.”
“Good.” He plants himself in front of me. “Take me out.”
All the blood rushes to my bottom half. “Wh-what?”
“Take my cock out, Sunny. Now.” He yanks his shirt out and undoes a few buttons, obviously seeking an unobstructed view of what’s about to happen. If I agree to it, that is.
His hands fall loose at his sides as he waits for me to come to a decision.
This is the precise moment when I understand just what a master this man is. Every order is a request for consent. He’s not grabbing my hands and making me. He’s looking at me with that steady, dark gaze, and he’s daring me to unzip his pants.
“Do I have to?”
His eyes narrow. “Do you want to?”
Right now, there’s nothing in this world I’d rather do.
I inhale, letting the moment stretch so I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. Finally, feeling oddly bolstered by the realization that I’m in charge here as much as Grant, I shuffle a couple of inches forward, reach up, and unzip him. I’m shaking, eager, and so careful as I work my way slowly over the bulge in his pants.
“Now pull it out. Get it good and hard for what’s next.”
Every word out of Grant’s mouth makes me lightheaded.
“Or what?” I ask him, unsure if it’s a challenge—a brat moment, as he’d call it—or a real question.
Bless Grant Bowman for reading that hesitation exactly right because, rather than plowing ahead the way I’d expect some men would do, he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and says, “So we’re perfectly clear. It’s no fun for me if you don’t want what we’re doing. I need to be the boss—of you, of your pleasure—but I need you with me.” His gaze devours my face. “Right now, what I want is to watch those pretty lips on my cock. Taking it deep, maybe a little hard. I want to hold your head in my hands and control the angle, the depth, see how hungry that sweet mouth is.” His breathing’s as shaky as mine, I notice in a far-off part of my brain. I need to remember that, after. “But all of it is up to you.”
