Page 38 of Lesson In Forgiveness

He gestured to the carpet. “Drop the robe, Tabitha.”

Her lips pursed. “Is this another one of your lessons?”

“Yes. I call it a lesson in doing what you’re told.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes and allowed the material to glide away, the blue fire in her eyes still driven by the challenge of besting him. He wondered how many men she’d lured to their death this way, seducing them with naked flesh and a figure that made his tongue want to hang out like a cartoon dog’s.

Wasn’t it funny how he didn’t care? Not how many men she’d been with, how many she’d killed. They hadn’t touched the heart of her, hadn’t made a dent in those impregnable walls of hers—he, however, was not only going to touch her, bring those walls tumbling down, but he would command her by the time they were done.

Refraining from using good girl in case she cottoned on to his plan, he just nodded once in approval. Rubbing a hand along his thigh, he smirked when her eyes landed not on the length of muscle, but a different kind of length altogether.

“If you want a look, all you have to do is ask,” he told her, tongue in cheek.

“I wasn’t admiring your cock,” she retorted without hesitation. “I was wondering where you got those sweatpants from; I need some new workout gear and they look really comfy.” Her unaffected expression slipped slightly as his dick flexed under her scrutiny. “Besides, I’ve seen bigger.”

Like hell she had, he thought with an inner scowl. Instead of defending his appendage, Grit plucked the material between his thumb and forefinger. “These old things? I buy them by the dozen.”

“Hmm,” was her reply. What was she thinking?

“Are we done pretending you have an interest in my pants?” he queried, a touch of laughter in his voice. “Because I have an empty lap which is not being straddled. Rectify that please, if you’d be so kind.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits of bright blue fire. A baby dragon ready to hiss and spit flames. “I know your game.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Casually, he lifted his arms, linking his fingers behind his neck. “There, I’ve evened the odds for you, little tiger. You like being in control; I’m giving it to you. No touching—unless you ask for it.”

Cockiness was slowly fading into anxiety. Now he knew her better, she was surprisingly easy to read. A shift of her hips told him she was considering taking a step back, only for her mouth to tighten as she warred against her own instincts.

If he ever got her beneath him, he’d need to study every nuance of emotion as he touched her. Her eyes weren’t a completely reliable source of information—she was too adept at concealing herself that way—but her body told him everything she didn’t want him to know.

“On my lap, Tabitha. Now.”

Whether she responded to the dominance in his tone because she harbored some seed of submissiveness or because she’d been conditioned into obeying a darker timbre, he wasn’t sure, but respond she did, quite beautifully.

Grit held his breath as she stepped closer, her hands pressing against his bare chest and sliding up to cup the muscles bunching along the tops of his shoulders. He daredn’t say a word as she lifted her leg over his, balancing herself on him as she repeated the movement with her other.

Not once did he glance down at her exposed pussy.

How, he didn’t know, but he refrained.

Her nails bit into his skin, her palms dampening with sweat. The perfect curves of her breasts taunted him, just inches from his face. Any other woman, he’d have leaned forward and sucked on one of those sweet nipples to his heart’s content.

Instead, he remained still, radiating calmness. She had every chance to bolt if she needed to; he wouldn’t try to stop her with anything but his voice.

Slowly, Tabitha lowered herself down until her bottom rested ever so lightly on his thighs. Her thighs quivered with the effort of hovering over him, bearing her weight in an awkward position.

“Relax, Tabitha. I’m not going to strap you down on my dick if you sit properly.” Christ, he was gaining a deeper respect for the subs now he couldn’t use his hands. It dawned on him how much he relied on them for communicating; a gentle, reassuring stroke wouldn’t go amiss right about now. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Stubborn little cat that she was, Tabitha continued to hold herself aloft. Her teeth ground together before she asked in a strained voice, “Now what?”

“Sit.”

The corner of her lip twitched into a curl. He counted off the seconds as she pointedly refused to give in, before he felt the pleasant weight of her bare ass ease onto his thighs. “Happy now?”

Immensely. Grit just smiled and acted as though having her in this exact position wasn’t one of the best moments of his life. Possibly one of the most thrilling too—after all, killing him would take her mere seconds if she chose murder as an escape route.

“I’m at your mercy, little tiger. My hands are out of commission, I’m vulnerable and there’s no one here to rescue me.” He laughed when she huffed a breath down her nose. “Sex and intimacy are your trigger points. Kissing is a pleasure, or at least it should be.”

“Sticking your tongue down someone’s throat is supposed to be pleasurable?”

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