Chapter Eight #3
Settling my palm into that dip that connects neck with shoulder, I stroke the soft skin over her pulse point. The warm softness of her skin makes my breath hitch.
I slide my hand down to stroke my fingertips across the low neckline of her dress, and goose bumps break out across her flesh. Her nipples harden into taut peaks, pressing against the thin satin of her dress; the sight of them makes my mouth water.
I ache to pull her into my arms. If she’s here to hurt me, she’s chosen the perfect weapon. Dangling my deepest desires in front of my face, only to rip them away…
Nothing could harm me more.
I have to know her end game so I can stop this indulgence before I’m too far gone to recover.
If she’s come here tonight, ready for a battle, I need to know the rules of the game.
“Name your terms.”
“Wh-what?” She swallows hard against my palm and I slide my hand up to cup her chin, then tilt her head back so she’s looking up at me. “I said, name your terms.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she whispers, and the hesitant softness in her voice is nothing like what I’m used to. This isn’t the ball-busting woman who challenges me at every turn. “Am I supposed to make the rules or something…?”
Scowling beneath my mask, I drop my hand and she drops her chin.
Could I have been so wrong about her?
Leaning back against the bathroom counter to put some space between us, I cross my arms, staring down at her bowed head. Suddenly, her submissive stance isn’t beguiling, it’s offensive. It’s mocking.
With a growl of frustration, I snap, “Look at me, Sutton.”
She lifts her head immediately and when we lock eyes, I’m struck by that practically glowing honeyed-amber shade of her irises in the same way I always am. A man could get lost in those eyes.
But even with her mask obscuring much of her face, I can see how wide her eyes are. Startled and suddenly afraid.
“How do you know my name?”
Holy fucking shit, does she really not know who I am?
My pulse jumps into overdrive, rivaling only the speed of my racing thoughts.
“I know the name of everyone who steps through those doors,” I lie.
She nods slowly, keeping those eyes on me as they soften.
“What do you want?” I ask again, though this time softer.
Because I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here.
While I want to know her terms, what it will take to keep her from blowing up my whole life, I’m starting to think she thinks I’m asking for something deeper, those hidden desires she’s never told a soul.
And I fucking want them, every last one.
Whatever way this conversation goes, I’m ready to negotiate.
Those molten-amber eyes flick all over my mask, searching for my eyes, my expression. I’ve never been more compelled to rip this mask from my face than I am in this moment.
“Speak your mind. Tell me what you want, why you came here tonight.”
Her gaze dances over my arms, my chest, warming me skin like a physical caress.
Her eyes are focused now, alert…
It’s a shame I can’t watch those pupils blow out with lust as I push her over the edge.
Hold up.
I lean closer, struggling to make sense of what I see in those gorgeous eyes.
Her pupils are already blown out, eyes wide with desire.
I don’t understand.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I growl, leaning back against the counter once more. She’s fucking with my head! Through clenched teeth, I ask again, “Why are you here?”
Her lips pull down into a frown and she averts her gaze again, staring at something above my head.
“Tell me the truth this time.”
She huffs. “My friend was invited. She said she could bring a guest, but… but I can leave. If I’m not supposed to be here, I can go—”
She reaches for the door, but I raise my hand and she drops hers.
“Wait.” For the first time since watching her walk into my home tonight, I think she might be exactly where she’s supposed to be.
I should reveal myself, tell her the truth. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue…
But the universe has given me a gift, and I’d be a fool to throw this away.
If she is truly here by some freak coincidence, I owe it to us both to help her find whatever it is she seeks.
“What do you want out of this experience?” I ask, and when she doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “What have you seen tonight that made your pulse race, your blood heat up in your veins?”
I wait and I wait for what feels like an eternity, and I watch in real time—slow, painful, molasses time—as she considers her response.
Then she begins to stand taller.
She straightens those delicate shoulders.
Lifts her chin.
And I get a glimpse of the strong woman I know outside of this moment.
“I… I want…”
I hold my breath for the rest, but it never comes.
Time drags on between us, the silence in the room growing heavier as the space seems to grow smaller. This fucking mask has never felt so suffocating in all the years I’ve worn it.
The longer we stand here, the less confident she becomes, and the less convinced I become about my initial perception of the entire situation.
She’s wilting again before me, that brief glimpse of the Sutton I know disappearing to make way for this demure version of her that makes me want to do dirty, terrible things with her body.
“In my world,” I begin, testing a theory, “submissives get punished for ignoring direct questions.”
Sutton sucks in a breath and my cock swells with interest.
It’s too good to be true.
Finally, without raising her head, Sutton whispers, “Do you want to punish me, Sir?”
Christ on a fucking cracker, yes. I nearly groan from the sweet combination of fear and desire lacing her words.
But it’s confusing… I don’t know what to think, how to respond. If she’s here innocently, and has no idea what’s going on, no idea who I am, I can’t allow this to continue. I have to come clean with her.
Fuck! I reach up to tug at my hair, but it’s safely hidden behind the leather mask. I’m tempted to rip it off, tempted to let her see the man who stands before her, the man she tortures with that easy submission.
I growl and she whips her head up.
“I’m sorry,” she says, then she groans in frustration, dropping her gaze again. “I don’t know how this works. I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?”
“Goddamnit, look at me.”
She sucks in a breath, but obeys, and it’s that look in her eyes, more than her easy obedience, that nearly undoes me.
Hesitant, fearful, yes, but also… desperate.
Needy.
She wants me to punish her.
But… is it my firm hand that she wants, or that of any Dom? Does she want Max Cruz as Dominus… or just this random, masked man who trapped her in the bathroom?
My fucking head is a jumbled-up mess over this woman, but as I watch her, I begin to believe—no, hope—that my opponent isn’t here to wreck me at all. She’s here to be wrecked.
Worshipped.
And then wrecked again.
My pulse picks up speed.
I take a step closer.
Then another.
My mouth waters at the prospect of Sutton Hart in full submission.
My heart beats wildly against my ribs.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Closing the distance between us until she’s craning her neck up to look at me and I can feel the heat of her body dancing along the length of mine, I finally cup her chin in my hand, trace my thumb across her full bottom lip, then ask, “Is that what you want? Punishment?”
Her lips part on a stuttering intake of breath, and I dip my thumb in to tease the tip of her tongue. Her eyes flutter, threatening to roll back.
“Answer me now,” I command. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
Her eyes open wide and I can practically hear the gears spinning inside her head as she decides her fate, our fate, and I find myself holding my breath as I wait.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than this woman on her knees, falling apart at my feet.
Please.
Fuck.
The waiting is killing me.
Finally, she swallows and gives the most subtle of nods. Before I get a chance to remind her that we use verbal confirmation in my world, she gives me a firm and resolute, “Yes.”
And my entire fucking world flips onto its head.