But the list is just limits. Boundaries. Yes. No. Maybes.
I could Dom a scene based on this list. I have before. But this feels different. More than just creating a scene that meets both our needs. I want to understand all the little details of Grace’s fantasies. I want to bring her deepest desires to life.
By the time I get home, I’m buzzing with energy, but I tamp it down. Taking a deep breath, I’m back in control once the elevator reaches the penthouse.
As discussed, Grace is waiting in the foyer for me when the door slides open. She’s wearing a loose black t-shirt and a pair of leggings that cling to her skin. The attire is standard for her when she’s home. I’ve realized over the past few months that she prefers comfort over aesthetics. She shifts on her heels like she’s not sure what she should be doing.
I resisted the urge to tell her to be waiting on her knees, wearing nothing. My sweet Sugar isn’t ready to be plunged into the deep end yet. She needs to be eased in, even if this is exactly what she’s asking for.
Slowly, while maintaining eye contact, I pull my jacket from my arms and extend it, waiting for her to understand. Realization dawns, and she moves forward, taking the article from me and hanging it on the hook. I loosen my tie and hand that over next before taking the time to slowly and carefully rollup my shirt sleeves. After Grace hangs the tie, she watches, eyes glued to my skin as her tongue darts across her lips.
“Come.” When I gesture for her to follow me, she does. I take a seat on the couch in the sitting area, and before she joins me, I stop her. “Make me a drink, Sugar.”
She pauses, her lips parting slightly. “A drink…” She elongates the words. “Where–”
I point to the bar cart. “Whiskey,” I tell her. “And pour yourself a glass of water.”
Making her way to the cart, she fumbles with the bottles until she finds the whiskey and a glass. It’s not the Glencairn, what I would normally pour my whiskey in, but it will do. She pours herself water from the pitcher next, and then brings both over, handing the whiskey to me.
“I’m proud of you for not spilling it.”
Immediately, a blush heats her cheeks, and she dips her head.
“Sit down.” I nod to the chair across from me and, wordlessly, she sits. Her eager eyes are trained on me, waiting for the next order. I knew she enjoyed this, following orders, even before she asked me to command her back in Bali. But hearing her ask did something to me, more than just making my dick strain beneath my boxers. “Drink.”
Tilting back the glass, she takes a small sip. My eyes tell her it’s not enough, and I don’t have to speak for her to drink more before showing me the empty glass.
“Good girl.”
I can practically see the way she relaxes from the praise, like her body becomes looser.
"I read through your checklist."
She nods, eyes still on me, waiting for the next part.
“I want to hear you say it, though, Sugar. What do you want?”
Her fingers twist in her lap as her head tilts down. I can’t place if it’s embarrassment or anxiety that triggers this nervous reaction.
"I don't know how to say it," she finally says softly.
"Try." It comes out as a command, and Grace’s eyes snap up.
"I like when you use that voice," she whispers.
"What voice?" I ask, knowing exactly what she means, but I want her to keep talking.
"The one you just used. When you told me to try." She swallows. "It makes me want to... obey."
"Tell me more."
"When you took charge in Bali…" She avoids looking at me. "I wanted you to keep going. I wanted to... do whatever you told me to."
"Look at me."
The demand has her lifting her gaze, locking onto mine.
"Is that what you want? For me to take control?" I want to hear her say it. No, I need to hear her say it.
