She groans. “Please.”
“What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“Cassius. Please open the fucking door.”
Finally, the lock clicks, the door swings open, and Cassius ushers her inside with a devilish grin.
She slams his door behind her. “You are a bastard.”
He dangles her robe. “And you are a tease.”
She storms toward him and grabs for it, but he snatches it out of her reach.
“Give it back,” she snaps.
“But you were so eager to drop it.”
Her cheeks burn. “Cassius,” she growls, “if you don’t—”
“I happen to like the way you look without it.”
She blinks. “Do you?”
“Very much.” Without breaking eye contact, he tosses her robe across the room onto his bed. She turns, watching it land among his sheets. Instead of retrieving it immediately, she stands her ground before him. Then she steps closer.
“I told you we need to talk.”
His jaw tenses. “Tell me what we need to talk about.”
She takes a breath, centering herself. “We need to talk about what we did last night.”
“Did you like it?”
She nods. “Did you?”
“Very much.”
Relief floods her body, making her fingers tingle. “Good.” They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, until Claudia says, “You said we could do more after the debate.”
“If you win,” he adds.
She comes even closer, chest to chest. “If I win, which I will, then I want us to proceed properly. We need to have some ground rules in place.”
“I agree.”
That’s the first time he’s ever said that to her.
He turns, grabbing his leather desk chair and placing it in the center of the room. He then places a parlor chair directly across from it. He takes a seat in his leather chair and points to the other. “Sit.”
She obeys. “I’ve been doing some reading on deviance, and in order to keep our dynamic safe, we need to discuss our interests and boundaries.”
“All right.” He leans in, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You first.”
Tearing her gaze away, she looks at the floor and clears her throat. “I like begging. I like when you call me a good girl. I like…” Gods, she can barely say it. It’s not easy to push past the discomfort of talking so clinically about something so vulnerable.
“Look at me,” he commands.
Her brows pinch when she raises her gaze. “I like when you pull my hair. I like being choked. I like things that hurt.”
