He made a ragged sound as if she’d punched him in the gut. Or lower.
She had, in a way. No man liked to be reminded of a weakness, especially when it came to his performance and virility. But he needed to be reminded of exactly why he was here. What he needed from her. It wasn’t sex, exactly. No, what he needed from her was control.
Letting the silk slide down her hips, she stepped out of the dress, making sure to bend over enough to give him a good long look at her assets. Golden lace, barely there, and certainly light enough that the dampness of her desire would be clearly visible. He made another sound, a quick gulp of air.
Her skin tingled with the force of his gaze and her instincts told her he was going to reach out and touch her. She could almost feel the trailing of his fingers across her buttock. Or the firm grip on his hands on either hip. Exactly how he’d touch a woman. Any woman not her, nottheMistress.HisMistress.Oh, God, please, someday.
She took a quick step into the closet and she felt the barest graze of his fingers, the breeze from his fingers sliding by. “If I have to remind you of the rules again, you’ll pay the consequences.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
Despite the amusement in his voice, she could hear the underlying tightness of his need. And yes, a slight tremble of anxiety. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
She allowed herself a quick glance at him, drinking in his tall, lean frame propped against her closet door. Trying so hard to be casual and cool, while his eyes smoldered and his cock strained at the sash she’d tied around him. She made sure to look long and hard at his crotch, so he’d be aware of the way his body responded to her.
“That depends,” she drawled out, slowly raising her gaze back to his. “Are youwantingme to punish you?”