"Erica," I say, my tone a clear warning.
"I'll be a good girl... sir," she says, her eyes dropping. In shame, in humiliation? I don't mind either.
My fingers hook into the waistband of her panties. I wait a beat, giving her a final chance.
She doesn't move.
I pull them down slowly, letting the fabric drag over her skin. Her breath shudders. She trembles, a fine, continuous shiver that runs through her entire body.
I note the wetness on the panties as they drop to join the other fabric at her feet. Her body is betraying her, telling me the truth her lips won't.
She's completely naked now.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Mine.
My gaze sweeps over her again, taking my time. Her breasts, with their tight, rosy nipples.
My thumb traces her lower lip, pulling it down slightly.
“Are you wet for me, Erica?”
A choked sound escapes her.
“Answer the question,” I command.
Her eyes flutter closed.
“No, sir,” she whispers, but it's a lie. We both know it's a lie.
“Open your eyes,” I order.
She does.
Her gaze is hazy, unfocused.
“Don't lie to me,” I warn. "Never lie to me."
My thumb moves from her lip, down her chin, over the frantic pulse in her throat. Down, over her collarbone, between her breasts.
Her breath catches.
Down, over the soft plane of her stomach, circling her navel. Her muscles jump and flutter under my touch, an involuntary reaction.
Down, to the soft skin at the apex of her thighs.
Her breath is ragged.
My fingers pause, hovering just above, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her.
“Tell me the truth,” I say, my voice low and rough. “Are you wet for me?”
She swallows hard, her eyes locked on mine.
“Yes, sir,” she whispers.
