Because when it comes to him, I have no control, either.
His jaw works. “Not yet. Not for a long time. I’m not nearly finished with you.”
He lifts me up and carries me the short distance to the bed. When he tosses me down on it, his shirt rides up my thighs.
His eyes flare as he stares down at me, like I’m an offering on an altar to him.
Boldly, I spread my legs in wanton invitation.
A harsh curse drops from his lips, and he grabs the hem of the shirt.
I lift my arms, helping him strip it off me in my eagerness to be naked before him.
I want him naked too. I want to see all those powerful muscles ripple beneath my tender touch.
When I’m bare before him, I reach for his shirt too.
His hands shackle my wrists, pinning them above my head.
I tug against his iron hold.
“I want to touch you,” I say breathily.
His jaw ticks. I don’t understand his strange tension. He’s looking at me like I’m the center of his universe, but he’s holding back.
“I’m in charge here,” he reminds me. “Let me make you feel good.”
I relax in his hold, surrendering. He knows what I like, and as much as I’m aching to have him inside me, I know our joining will be heightened by my submission.
I’ll give it to him willingly. No games or playful resistance this time.
There’s no need for pretense. What’s happening between us is raw and real, and I no longer want to push him away.
“You’re in charge,” I agree.
He brushes a kiss over my lips. “Good girl.”
The low praise reaches me on some deep, primal level. The tenderness in those two words conveys the gentle care that I’ve been denied since I isolated myself completely.
“Stay.” He squeezes my wrists once to emphasize his command.
I don’t even think about denying him.
Until he reaches into his nightstand and withdraws a pair of handcuffs.
I tense, but his weight atop me keeps me from scooting away.
“Why do you have those?” I demand, my lust souring.
He caresses my cheek with his free hand. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I refute. “I don’t want to use a bondage toy that you keep stashed away for other women.”
He chuckles, and I scowl at him.
“This isn’t funny.” I wriggle, but there’s no evading him.
“You’re jealous,” he remarks, utterly delighted.
