Forcing herself to display a measure of calm authority despite the riot of sensation claiming her insides, Charlotte tilted her head and took a deep breath.
His chest expanded as he matched his breath to hers, drawing air into his lungs.
Did he even realize he did it?
Charlotte exhaled slowly and his breath followed. She couldn’t prevent the low sound of pleasure from escaping her. Hearing it, he tensed again. The muscles of his throat straining, his hands fisting, his belly tightening.
Charlotte’s core tightened too. She wanted to see other ways his body responded.
“Lift your hands and link them behind your neck.”
He filled his chest with air and did as she said. The new position tugged at the muscles crossing his chest and stretched his skin across his rippled abdomen.
Charlotte’s throat threatened to close as heated lust flooded her body. Her next words were rough and quiet. “Step your feet apart.”
He did.
And she nearly melted into a pool on the floor.
A deep instinct for self-preservation had her turning sharply away from him. Requiring distance, she strode across the room. Fear rippled through her. But, again, it wasn’t fear of him, but fear of her own power. A part of her urged her to leave. Abruptly and without explanation, as she had the prior night.
But a more insistent part demanded that she stay.
For the first time, she noticed a sideboard set up with an array of refreshments. A selection of wine, a large carafe of water, fresh fruit, and a variety of nuts and sweetmeats.
As a distraction and because she felt suddenly parched, Charlotte poured a small glass of red wine and tipped it downher throat. Then she poured another glass before turning to look at the man still standing silently in the middle of the room.
Feet braced wide, causing the muscles of his thighs to grip tight to his bones. Arms bent and fingers linked at his nape, forcing a slight bend to his head as he stared rather fiercely at the floor in front of him.
Il est magnifique.
She could see the fight in him. The quiet, internal confusion. Just as she could see the desire and the approach of acceptance.
At any moment, the marquess could lower his arms and raise his eyes. He could walk right out of that room if he chose to. Or he could overpower her—strip away her mask and reveal her true face.
That he chose instead to honor her command filled her with a profound sense of responsibility. Responsibility and gratitude.
The power she held over him here was a total illusion. No—not an illusion, a gift. He wasgivingher the power she felt so strongly. And a gift like that should not be squandered.
With her wineglass in hand, she returned to the center of the room.
Pride filled her when his body tensed in awareness of her approach but he did not shift position or lift his gaze.
“Très bien, mon grand,” she murmured in approval. Her words seemed to ripple across his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She smiled. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to push him farther.
“On your knees,” she commanded.
When he started to move with a subtle flex of his torso, she stopped him with a quick “Arrête” before advising firmly, “When I give you a command, you will say,Oui, Madame, before you comply.”
An inhale expanded his chest, drawing his muscles into taut bands. Then his voice emerged, thick and slightly hoarse. “Oui, Madame.”
Charlotte was inexorably changed by those two words. His submission was expressed so deeply, so richly and deliciously, she feared she could become a glutton for it. It was all she could do to hold herself still as he lowered to the floor, resting back on his heels, his knees wide, his hands still clasped behind his head. His movements were so beautiful. So strong and graceful, she felt compelled to offer him a boon.
“You may lower your hands to your thighs.”
“Oui, Madame,” he murmured as he followed her instruction with a low, barely perceptible grunt. No doubt the position had caused some discomfort for being held so long.
He deserved a reward for following her command so well.
