Page 79 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"You give me the power to do whatever I want to do. It’s as simple as you letting me tell you what to do, and you doing it."
"Whatever you want?"
"That’s where surrender and trust come in. Do you trust me?"
"I trust you," I say, surprised by how deeply I mean it.
"Good." His smile grows. "But we need a word. Something to stop everything immediately if you need it."
"Forecast," I say after a beat. The word feels absurdly clinical and somehow perfect.
He chuckles. "Perfect. Say it if you need to. That’s part of the trust."
My throat tightens with anticipation. He steps closer.
"Take off the shirt," he murmurs. "Slowly."
It's strange—we just had sex on his office floor, yet this feels more exposed. I unbutton his shirt, hyperaware of his gaze. There's no fumbling, no rush. Each movement becomes a performance under his watchful eyes.
When I stand naked before him, the firelight casting golden patterns across my skin, he circles me, not touching, just looking. I resist the urge to cover myself.
"Kneel," he commands. "Hands behind your back."
The command does something to me, something strange. Exciting.
I comply, the soft wool against my knees, the heat of the fire warming my front while myback remains cool. He stands over me, still partially clothed, an imbalance of power made physical that sends an unexpected thrill through me.
The rug is soft beneath my knees. The heat from the fire kisses my skin, but my back chills in the air. I obey, my breath shallow and unsure.
"Sex is the one place adults can truly play," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate in my chest. "Where we can explore parts of ourselves society tells us to keep hidden."
He kneels behind me, his chest against my back, his lips at my ear. "Do you know why people surrender control, Elena?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"You spend your life in control," he murmurs, lips at my ear. "In work. In expectations. Holding onto control all the time is exhausting." His fingers trace my spine, feather-light. "In the boardroom, in your career, you're always the one making decisions, bearing responsibility." His hand slides around to cup my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. "I'm offering you a gift—the freedom to feel without thinking. I’m going to bind your wrists." Silk brushes my wrists. "Still with me?"
"Yes."
He binds my wrists with reverent care, snug but not painful.
"Try to get free."
I twist my wrists, testing the bonds. They hold firm.
"Good," he murmurs, and the approval in his voice sends warmth flooding through me. "Now for your eyes."
The blindfold comes next, soft satin blocking out the firelight, intensifying every other sensation—the heat on my skin, the wool beneath my knees, the sound of his breathing, the scent of sandalwood and smoke.
"When we remove one sense," Dominic explains, his voice now coming from somewhere in front of me, "the othersheighten. When we remove control..." His fingers brush my cheek unexpectedly, making me gasp. "Pleasure intensifies."
He moves around me, never touching for long enough for me to anticipate his next move. A touch brushes my thigh. Then another at my collarbone. The leather paddle skims my flank. A brush of his fingers on my shoulder. The warmth of his breath at my nape. The lightest trace of what must be the leather paddle along my thigh.
"I'm going to touch you," he says. "And sometimes, I'm going to strike you lightly, just enough to wake up your nerve endings. If you don't like something, say 'yellow' and I'll adjust. If you want to stop completely?—"
"Forecast," I whisper.
"Good Girl."
