Her pupils are already blown out, eyes wide with desire.
I don’t understand.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I growl, leaning back against the counter once more. She’s fucking with my head! Through clenched teeth, I ask again, “Why are you here?”
Her lips pull down into a frown and she averts her gaze again, staring at something above my head.
“Tell me the truth this time.”
She huffs. “My friend was invited. She said she could bring a guest, but… but I can leave. If I’m not supposed to be here, I can go—”
She reaches for the door, but I raise my hand and she drops hers.
“Wait.” For the first time since watching her walk into my home tonight, I think she might be exactly where she’s supposed to be.
I should reveal myself, tell her the truth. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue…
But the universe has given me a gift, and I’d be a fool to throw this away.
If she is truly here by some freak coincidence, I owe it to us both to help her find whatever it is she seeks.
“What do you want out of this experience?” I ask, and when she doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “What have you seen tonight that made your pulse race, your blood heat up in your veins?”
I wait and I wait for what feels like an eternity, and I watch in real time—slow, painful,molassestime—as she considers her response.
Then she begins to stand taller.
She straightens those delicate shoulders.
Lifts her chin.
And I get a glimpse of the strong woman I know outside of this moment.
“I… I want…”
I hold my breath for the rest, but it never comes.
Time drags on between us, the silence in the room growing heavier as the space seems to grow smaller. This fucking mask has never felt so suffocating in all the years I’ve worn it.
The longer we stand here, the less confident she becomes, and the less convinced I become about my initial perception of the entire situation.
She’s wilting again before me, that brief glimpse of the Sutton I know disappearing to make way for this demure version of her that makes me want to do dirty, terrible things with her body.
“In my world,” I begin, testing a theory, “submissives get punished for ignoring direct questions.”
Sutton sucks in a breath and my cock swells with interest.
It’s too good to be true.
Finally, without raising her head, Sutton whispers, “Do you want to punish me, Sir?”
Christ on a fucking cracker, yes.I nearly groan from the sweet combination of fear and desire lacing her words.
But it’s confusing… I don’t know what to think, how to respond. If she’s here innocently, and has no idea what’s going on, no ideawho I am, I can’t allow this to continue. I have to come clean with her.
Fuck!I reach up to tug at my hair, but it’s safely hidden behind the leather mask. I’m tempted to rip it off, tempted to let her see the man who stands before her, the man she tortures with that easy submission.
