Page 66 of Hidden Fears
“I don’t know.” I shrug one shoulder as I start walking backward. My hands intertwine behind my back. “You seem so proper and prim.” I plaster a ‘good girl’ smile on my face. “And I am neither.”
“Are you sure of that?” He drops the damn belt on the floor once more, and I can breathe again. “You seem like you can be a particularly good one.”
Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I look up at him from under my lashes. “I can try if you ask me. Nicely.”
His face turns positively feral. “Or I can just order you.”
My breath hitches. “Or you can do that.”
I walk backward until I hit something with my ass. Not caring what it is, I watch him slowly moving toward me with the grace of a predator. His steps are confident and sure. It’s not like he has swagger. It’s like he invented it.
His nostrils are flared. His arms are corded and tense, like he’s ready to spar with someone, and I’m having a hard time trying to move my gaze from them to his face, which is a piece of art on its own. He always has his five o’clock shadow. His seen-it-all eyes can look right into me. His strong, full lips make me want to sink my teeth into them.
When he reaches me, he stops half a foot away. So close I can smell his skin and sweat, yet so far, my skin isn’t touching his.
“Tell me,” I ask.
“Be a good girl for me,” he rasps, melting my brain into a puddle. “A very good one. Can you do that, Josie?”
I nod, placing my palm on his chest. His hand lands on my thigh. Slowly—ever so slowly—he starts moving his hand up my leg to my stomach. It lands on my waist and pauses there, exploring the curve. His other hand comes to the other side, and he presses, just a bit.
“I like that,” he confesses. “I like the parts of you that make you a woman.” He brings his hand to my belly. “I like the softness of your body.” His left hand moves up and caresses my tits. “And the fullness of it.”
Please, like that part between my legs too,I think to myself, and the heat slips down my thigh. Because it’s getting painful, and I’m starting to get the meaning of the phrase ‘blue lady-balls.’
“Also,” his hand keeps exploring and moves up, “I like how you like to play with fire.”
When his hand lands on the base of my neck, he spreads it wide, covering the top of my chest.
My breath hitches.
He moves his hand up a bit, and now the base of my neck is pretty much between his thumb and index finger.
I take a deep breath and lick my lips.
His eyes turn brighter. “I knew you’d like that too. Good girls usually do.”
Fuck me.
Then he squeezes.
Not hard, but hard enough to make it known. While most of his palm is pressing on the top of my chest, he keeps squeezing.
The fire starts between my legs, spreading to my spine. My hands land on his forearm. He must have noticed a flicker of fear in my eyes because he loosens his grip but doesn’t let go. “Tell me to stop, Josie, and I will. One word.” He leans in closer. “Tell me to stop.”
I can tell him to stop, and I’m sure he will. I trust him. I trust in his goodness and his morals. I trust him. He’s a little different from what I expected, but he is the same.
I look him in the eye, deeper than I’ve ever looked, and whisper, “No.”
His nostrils flare, and the muscle under his right eye ticks.
“Tell me to stop.”
I try moving my face toward his, as close as he lets me. “No,” I breathe out, making the tick in his muscle intensify.
He growls.
Legit growls like something out of my wildest fantasies or Alicia’s books.
