He glances up, then does a double take. His phone nearly slips from his hand as his jaw drops and his eyes go down, up, then back down my naked body. I watch as he takes in the decorative ink that I love so much, then locks in on the swells of my breasts. My nipples pebble under the attention, and excitement thrums in my veins as I recognize the same look he wore when I dropped my dress last night.
“I want to play first,” I explain, sensing he’s going to be speechless for a little while longer.
That snaps him out of it. “First?”
“Before dinner. I’m not that hungry,” I say lightly. But it’s like the thought of food activates my stomach, because in that instant it betrays my lie and lets out a loud growl. My eyes widen, hand going to my middle.
He shoots me a knowing look. “No?” he teases, lifting a brow.
“Okay, so Iamhungry. But I’m hungrier for something else.” I let my gaze drop meaningfully to the front of his pants, where the fabric has tented around a very impressive, very mouthwatering hard-on.
He reaches down and adjusts his cock, making me smirk in anticipation. Fuck yeah. He’s excited. I bet he’s spent the day in just as much painful anticipation as I have. He’ll give me what I want. Score one for the brat.
Setting Some Bills gently aside, he stands, brushes some hair off his pants, and starts rolling up his sleeves in a move that would light my panties on fire if I were wearing any. I track the motion, mouth going dry at the slow reveal of ink, pale skin, and veins.
I didn’tneedto be more turned on, but here we are, I guess…
“No. Sit. I’ll get you a plate. Once you’ve eaten and had plenty of water, then we’ll play. You’re going to need the calories, and I don’t intend to stop for a snack break.”
So caught up in the forearm burlesque show, it takes a second for his message to sink in. I heave a playful sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine.” I turn.
“Madison,” he says sharply, halting me in my tracks. “I told you to sit.”
“I know, I was going to—”
He pulls out one of the stools and gestures to it. “Before you showered, I explained how the night would go. You remember?”
Tentatively, I nod.
“But you decided you wanted something different, so you came out here naked to tempt me to get what you wanted?”
I nod again, slower this time. It’s not dread mounting in me, per se, because he’s so calm. But there’s an odd, fluttering, nervous feeling in my chest.
“Then sitting here naked while you eat the lovely meal I made for you is the appropriate consequence, don’t you agree?”
That taut thread of tension snaps, and I nearly laugh in relief. I didn’t realize until now that I was a little nervous about how he’d react. My lips twitch as I take a half step towards the stool. “If I say no, will it get me punished?”
He chuckles. “I will never punish you for honesty or telling me what you really think, only for trying to manipulate me or bend the rules that have been clearly stated and agreed upon.”
Oh okay. So it’s gonna be like that. I think I’m starting to understand what kind of dynamic this is—and it fills me with excitement because he’s deliciously dominant AF and seems to really like the bratty flavor of my submission. We’re a match made in heaven, slowly descending into hell.
“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down. I had to try, though, you know?” I say with a rueful smile and a shrug. ”I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“We have that in common.”
I wriggle as I settle bare, throbbing skin against the cold, unyielding, rough wood of the chair’s seat. Knowing I have to sit here like this because he told me to… fuck, it gets me going.
I’m often naked in my own apartment, but I still feel exposed and sort of on display for him like this. I hope he’s got some butter for all these rolls—he can lick it off. He looks like he wants to; his eyes are practically burning holes into my skin, they’re so hot with desire.
Dios,he makes me feel so damn sexy. I fully believe that the hottest thing a person can be is self-confident, but it’s just so much fucking easier when the person you’re with is so open about their appreciation.
Hopefully, it’s a quick meal.
He pours me a glass of wine first, grinning in what must be self-satisfaction as I shift around, trying to find a comfortable position. I eye the glass. He went out of his way to buy it, and it’s probably perfectly matched to the dish or something… Maybe I can be a classy bitch for one night.
“Thank you,” I say demurely, reaching for and taking a large sip of the wine. I nearly cough instead of swallowing. “Yup. Confirmed. Don’t like wine. It tastes like sour grapes and feet.”
He laughs as he places my plate down. “What should I get instead next time?”
