Page 75 of Dr. Bad Boy

Not that Max has ever done that. Not even once. When he inspects me, it’s always with appreciation.

I slide my feet into the heels and do up the ankle strap, then I make my way downstairs.

Max is standing at the bar, pouring himself a drink. He’s still in work clothes. Suit pants, a dress shirt. Shiny oxfords and a heavy leather belt. I hesitate for a second, then make my way to the ottoman and assume the position.

Each clink of ice in the glass is like a pinprick against my skin. He shoots me a glance. His mouth is already wet, his eyes bright.

Is he drunk?

A tremor of something…fear? Danger? Danger, yes. Fear…not yet. But there’s the promise of that. The promise of…we’ve been playing by the rules. Well inside the bounds, these last few weeks.

Maybe tonight I’ll call him Doctor. See if that makes his eyes burn.

I lower my head and focus on holding my posture. Legs wide, spine straight.

My mind clears. Thoughts fade. And Max approaches like a panther. He paces around me, ice clinking with each step. The angsty, driving music in the background fades, setting the scene still, but all I hear is his drink sloshing in his glass—which of course I can’t really hear, but I do all the same.

He stops beside me and trails his fingers up my back, his fingertips tripping over the soft netting encasing my body. “Did you have a good day, kitten?”

“I did, yes. Thank you.”

“I didn’t.” He sighs and takes a sip. “I’m wound tight tonight. Remind me of your safewords, please.”

“Red.”

“And?”

“Yellow.”

He takes another sip, audible even over the music. “You may need them tonight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Max.”

“Good.”

He moves in front of me. His erection is visible through his dress pants, heavy and thick. He sets his drink down on that antique metal tray and slowly undoes his belt, sliding the leather across his hands before coiling it and setting it next to his drink.

Then he loosens his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. First one, then the other, pausing in between to take another swig.

His glass is almost empty, and I don’t think it’s the first he’s had tonight.

“You’re trembling, kitten.”

I try to make myself stop, but I can’t. I open my mouth to explain, and nothing comes out. I think about safewording. Not red, but yellow maybe. I trust him, but no drinking and kinking is a rule, right?

But on the other hand…unleashed Max…

He reaches for his glass, but instead of swallowing the last of the drink, he presses it lightly against my lower lip. “Sip.”

I open my mouth and tip my head back enough to taste it. The sweet nip of ginger ale—and nothing else—floods my tongue. I sag.

He sets the glass down and cups my chin with his hand, firmly lifting my head so I can meet his gaze. It’s stern now, all Dom. “You thought I was drunk.”

A statement, not a question. I nod. “Or on the way there.”

“You don’t trust me to keep you safe?”

My eyes go wide at the cold tone in his voice. “I do.”

---