Page 94 of Dr. Attending

He winces when I squeeze a little too hard, meeting my gaze. “You’re not going to like it.”

Maybe it’s because I’m dressed for the part, or because Morgan put the idea in my head, but now I want nothing more than to prove him wrong.To show him that I can be an even better top than I am as a bottom.

I let go of his cock and start walking toward the master bedroom.“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

The sound of my stiletto heels on the hardwood floors is barely loud enough to conceal the rapid pounding of my pulse as I confidently strut down the halls. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before, and I have no idea what happens next.

Do I boss him around? Do I make him lick my boot? What’s the procedure here?

A storm of unease is swirling in my mind as I reach his bedroom, but before I can go inside, Weston stops me. He spins me around and pushes me up against the door, bracketing my face with his hands.

“No toys,” he growls in warning as he stares at me like I’m his next meal.“And nothing goes in my ass. Got it?”

If I wasn’t playing a part here, I would say that I’d rather retake my board exam than go anywhere near his ass—it’s just not my thing—but I rein myself in and stay in character.

My lips twist into a smirk. “Can’t promise that.”

“Caroline,” Weston warns, his tone dropping to that commanding level that makes my core ache with desire. “Either you respect my limits, or we don’t do this.”

“Madame,” I correct.

There’s the brat in me coming out to play.

Weston cocks his head. “Try again.”

I can tell that he’s about a second away from losing control and turning the tables on our dynamic. And while I’d love nothing more than to experience my favorite version of him, I’m also stubborn as hell and determined to see this through.

“Fine,” I sigh and reach up to grab his forearm.“I promise to respect your limits.”

An all-American grin spreads across his face like he’s just won. “Was that—”

I press my finger to his lips, silencing him. “I wasn’t finished. I’ll respect your limits, but you’ll respect my rules. And the first rule is that you’re going to call me Madame, tonight.Got it?”

I copy his tone with the last two words, mocking him.

Weston gawks at me for a moment like he can’t figure out how to respond.

So what do I decide to do? Taunt him a little more . . . obviously.

“Got it?” I repeat, holding his gaze.

His eyes flare with a furious blaze, but he grits his teeth. “Yes, Madame.”

I pat his chiseled jaw twice before opening the door to his bedroom. “I knew you could be a good boy for me.”

A thrill races up my spine as I walk into the dark room, not because I enjoy this dynamic but because I know that he’s struggling to maintain his composure right now. And I’d much rather push him to break first than admit he was right—I can already tell that I don’t enjoy being in a dominant role.

Yeah, I feel sexy as hell in this outfit. My tits are so pushed up that they look two sizes bigger, my ass is half-covered by a piece of shiny fabric, and my legs feel a mile long thanks to the thigh-high boots. But just because I feel good, and I’m capable of taking charge of situations outside of the bedroom, doesn’t mean that’s what I’m looking for when it comes to sex.

I want to turn my brain off—to be told what to do and when to do it. I want to not be able to anticipate what’s going to happen next and to rely on someone else to give me what I need.

I want to let go.

But tonight, I want to win.

“Leave your shoes at the door,” I command, focusing on my freshly painted black fingernails as I lean against the wall. “Then I want you to pull the bench out and put it in front of the fireplace.”

Weston mutters something under his breath as he walks toward his king bed.

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