“Yes,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”
His laughter rumbled through both of them. Then he let her slide down his body. Molded to him, but with her feet on the floor, his hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her. It wasn’t tentative or teasing; it was decisive. A promise and a claim.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, a desperate anchor as he moved, guiding her backward. The floorboards creaked beneath them with each deliberate step until she was pressed against the wall. Rhys braced his free hand against the wall, inches from her head. The space between them crackled; his presence was like a tangible force as he caged her with his body.
“We’ve been together at the club,” he murmured, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath. “You know what I am.”
She nodded. “You’re a dominant. I’m not afraid of that.”
“I don’t want you merely accepting it, Gaby. I want you to choose it. And come to crave it. You weren’t a sub, but I recognized the signs. I’ll teach you.”
“More training?” she cut in, a spark in her voice. “Yes, please.”
“You enjoyed that, did you?”
“Not the interruption. Or the voyeurs at the window. Or the paddle—that part stung.”
“But not my hand?” he challenged.
Heat filled her cheeks, which was answer enough.
“What else did you like?” he asked, amused.
“Being close to you, exploring with you, letting go with you.”
Passion sparked in his eyes. “I can make that happen.”
And she trusted he would. She trusted him. “Then I’m all yours,” she breathed.
“Yes, you are.” His thumb lifted her chin until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Say it properly.”
Her pulse kicked up, and she said without reservation, “I’m all yours,sir.”
“You don’t know what that does to me,” he growled, his lips trailing down her throat, his hands settling on her hips as she melted into him.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and pushed them down. He lifted her chest to chest and guided both legs around his waist. His hand slid between them, and she gasped as one finger sank into her heat, slow and deliberate.
Gaby thought the bedroom was next, but he lowered her to the couch.
“I changed my mind,” he said, voice rough as he settled between her thighs. “The bedroom is too far. I’m not waiting to have you. We’ll make it to the bed next time.”
At the promise of him not once but twice, she shivered. It turned into a shudder when he thrust deep. Then he moved, his mouth reclaiming hers, not rushed. Not frantic. Intentional.
Everything else faded away, leaving only the sensation of skin against skin, mingled breath, and their bodies joined. Slow, deliberate strokes built into a delicious tension, a shared rhythm that pulled them in deeper.
Gaby’s fingers dug into his shoulders, heels against his backside as she teetered on the edge.
“Rhys,” she gasped. “I can’t wait—”
“Fuck training. It starts tomorrow. Because I can’t either!”
The rest unfolded in a blur of closeness and breathless need, of whispered words and bliss that left her trembling in his arms. When his release came, with a muffled roar, she held on as ifshe’d never let go. And she smiled into his neck, feeling his racing pulse against her cheek because this time she knew it wasn’t the end of their story.
It was the beginning.
***
When the storm of emotion finally eased, they lay curled in bed together, her head tucked beneath his chin, Rhys’s hand drifting over her shoulder and down her spine in soothing sweeps.
