Chapter 3
Miles’s whole take down your hair, and do it slowly, while I watch was another test.
He was taking the king part of his king of the one-night stands title a little too seriously.
And she refused to be relegated to the role of bowing, scraping peasant. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t go along with this power play. Just to see where it led.
She pulled a second bobby-pin free. Then a third and fourth. Glanced around for a place to set them. Miles slid his left arm off the back of the couch and held his hand out to her, palm up.
Stepping forward, she dropped the bobby-pins into his hand, making sure not to touch him as she did so. She’d already taken the initiative a few times tonight.
She wouldn’t touch him again.
Not until he put himself out there, too.
He kept his hand out, patient and silent as he waited for her to carry on with his bidding.
Her throat tickled with nerves. Reaching behind her head, she unwound the hairband, dropped it into his palm, then ran her fingers through her hair several times, fluffing it out before it settled around her shoulders.
And what was his royal highness’s response?
He gave a kingly nod, pleased by her actions and her obedience.
“Take off your belt,” he said, not even looking at her as he set her hair items on the table next to the lamp.
“When most people want something, they say please.”
“I won’t be saying please. And I won’t beg.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
But like most things in her life, that too, felt like a lie.
“What do you want?”
“I want…” She trailed off. Shook her head.
“The truth, Tabitha.”
“I want the man I knew.”
The man she’d come there for.
She wanted the Miles who asked, not demanded. Who seduced with soft touches and flowery words. That Miles was sweet. Kind. Familiar.
She didn’t know him now. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself she did.
He slid his other arm off the back of the couch. Shifted forward until he sat on the edge, linking his hands loosely between his knees. “I’m not that boy anymore. I won’t say please,” he repeated. “I won’t ask you for permission. But I will promise you that I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” His gaze stayed on hers. Steady. Honest. “I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I promise that if, at any time, you want to stop, we’ll stop. And if at any time you want to leave, you can leave.”
She rubbed her fingertip across the scar on her chin. Once. Twice. Three times. He remained silent and still, but in that silence she heard his words.
I promise.
In his stillness she saw what she needed to see.
Lowering her arms, she unhooked her belt and slid it from around her waist.
He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
She hesitated, winding the faux leather around her fists. Her breathing quickened as the first niggling of panic rooted in her stomach.
You tell me the truth about what you want. About what you like. About what you don’t like.
That was all Miles had ever wanted from her. The real her. He’d been the first man who hadn’t been satisfied with her carefully curated smiles and eagerness to please.
The only man.
But tonight, he didn’t just want her to give him her truth.
He wanted to take her control.
More than that, he wanted her to give it to him.
To trust him with it.
This test was getting harder and harder.
“I don’t want to give you my belt.”
He lowered his arm. “And why is that?”
“I have my reasons. Isn’t it enough that I don’t want to?”
He nodded once. “It’s enough.”
And then, he let the silence between them grow. Deepen to uncomfortable levels. Waiting for her to jump in and break it with another admission.
Cops. Always playing with your head.
She tightened the belt around her hands until her knuckles turned white. “I don’t like being restrained.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes went sharp at her quick, unsteady confession. “What else don’t you like?”
She blinked, trying to recall a time when what she liked, what she wanted, mattered to anyone else.
And came up blank.
“I don’t like the missionary position.”
He made a low, harsh sound, like he’d just had the breath knocked out of him. His expression stricken.
As if he was remembering all the many, many times they’d had sex with him on top of her.
She waited for him to ask if this aversion to being on her back beneath a man was new. Or one she’d had when they were together.
One she’d kept from him.
He’d told her he wouldn’t talk about the past. Had vowed he wouldn’t bring up the future and that she could stop whenever she wanted. He’d made it clear that while he may take control, she was the one really calling the shots here.
Time for him to prove it.
“I won’t restrain you,” he finally said.
She unwound the belt from her right hand, keeping it wrapped around her left. “I think I’ll hang onto it anyway.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Yes. How dare she, the liar in this little drama they were putting on, accuse him, the good and noble hero of the play, of being less than one hundred percent truthful?
“Oh, I believe you. What I’m saying is, those four little words aren’t enough for me.”
Something flashed in his dark eyes, something that looked suspiciously like respect.
That was a nice change of pace. And not something she could recall seeing from him before.
He stood, as if he wanted them to be on even ground for what happened next. That, too, was a show of respect. Him no longer a king on his throne, but a man willing to meet her halfway.
It didn’t matter that he held all the advantages—height, weight, muscle and them being in his home—a rush of power blew through her.
She was worthy of that respect and had every right to accept it.
To demand it.
“I’m not going to restrain you,” Miles said again. “I’m not going to do anything to make you feel trapped or unsafe. I don’t want to degrade you in any way. I don’t want to hurt you.” He paused, his voice dropping to a low thrum. “I want to dismantle you. I want to reveal you. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. And I want you to give those pieces to me. Freely. Willingly.”
Her breath caught, tight and hot in her chest.
I want to dismantle you.
She trembled, her entire body vibrating with the need to do exactly as he said. To tear herself apart for him, to please him in any and every way she could.
It was one way in which he hadn’t changed.
He’d always wanted more from her.
On a long exhale, she lifted her hand.
His mouth twisted into a cocky smirk. But it was the slight trembling of his fingers as he reached for the belt that was her reward for her decision. Head bent, he grasped the end of her belt and painstakingly unwound it from around her palm, wrapping it around his own as he did so.
This, she knew, was just the beginning. A precursor of how he was going to slowly, methodically unravel her.
When he was done, he lifted his head, his breathing just a little bit quicker. His body tense. Alert.
Holding her gaze, he stepped back, then retook his seat on the sofa, lounging once again with his arms spread against the back, legs slightly bent, feet firmly planted. Still confident, but no longer a king intent on imposing his will over an unruly subject, but a dark prince—spoiled and cocky—waiting for his wishes to be granted. Confident his every desire would be fulfilled simply because he willed it.
It was such a good look on him. One that made her think that by the end of the night, she might just be glad for all the ways he’d changed.
But just because she might be glad a few hours from now, didn’t mean she had to give into him completely.
Just because she could trust him didn’t mean she did.
“Take off your skirt.”
The breath whooshed out of her. Not at the words—she was well aware he wanted her to strip for him. To submit to his wants. His whims.
She just hadn’t been prepared for how much she would want to do that, too.
Reaching behind her for the zipper on the back of her skirt, she tugged the tab down. His gaze narrowed, darkened, as she shimmied slowly, side to side, wiggling the skirt past her hips then down her legs so that it pooled at her feet.
He held out the hand not wrapped up in her belt.
She carefully stepped out of her skirt, bent at the knees and picked it up. Folding it neatly, she closed the distance between them then set it in his palm.
He jerked his head, a silent, arrogant demand for her to go back to her place in the middle of the room.
But when she turned, he stopped her with another, “No,” this one sharp and quick.
Heart hammering, she kept her back to him. Wondered at this new ability he had to pull her strings with such ease, like he was a freaking puppet master and she was his current plaything.
Wondered why she liked it so much.
“Eyes on me.”
And because she liked the way the command pulsed through her, thrilling and arousing, because she found she loved pushing him, she did as he asked.
But not as he wanted.
Because she didn’t turn.
She looked over her shoulder at him.
His brows drew together, her belt still wrapped around his hand.
Clutched like a trophy.
“Face me.”
She turned and the tension in his shoulders relaxed fractionally.
“Eyes on me,” he repeated softly. “The entire time.”
Her mouth went dry. Well. Okay, then. This was an entirely different tone. Not hard. Not angry.
But pleased.
He liked it when she obeyed him. Instantly. Immediately.
And it turned out, she really, really liked pleasing him.
That was definitely going on her list of things to worry about later.
Right at the top.
She stepped back, her legs unsteady, until she stood in the spot she’d been before, giving him his preferred view where he could take her in from the top of her messy hair to the tips of her sexy shoes with one sweeping glance.
“Unbutton your shirt.”
Holding his gaze like he wanted her to, she lifted her hands to the top button, but she trembled, her fingers unable to work the button through the hole.
“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, as close to kind as he’d spoken to her tonight.
“I’m not,” she told him, giving him what he wanted the most.
The truth.
“Nervous?”
She shook her head. “I’m excited,” she admitted quietly, the button finally going through the hole. With her eyes still on his, she undid the next one.
His entire body twitched, as if he was fighting himself not to get off the couch.
She undid the rest of the buttons, one after the other, then let her arms hang at her sides. Waiting for him to tell her what to do next.
Again that flash of pleasure in his dark eyes, the slight quirk of his mouth. “Take it off.”
She did, this time not waiting before stepping toward him and holding it out.
Once he took it, she stepped back again.
His gaze was hot and potent as he skimmed it up her legs, lingering for several breathless moments on the triangle of silk between her thighs before going up, up, to her lace covered breasts.
“Unhook your bra.”
She undid the clasp between her breasts. The cups separated but caught on her nipples, keeping her mostly covered.
“Open it,” he murmured. “Slowly.”
Pulse skittering, she drew the material aside. The lace scraped against her hard nipples and her breath caught. They tightened even further, wanting more of that friction, but she put her arms down again. Stood there, breathing ragged, panties soaked, nipples tingling. Letting him take his fill.
Take what he wanted.
He shifted his arm off the back of the couch and made a gimme gesture with the hand not wrapped up in her belt.
Dragging the bra off her arms, she once again closed the distance between them. Once again handed over a piece of herself.
But this time, when she took that first step back, he shook his head.
“Your panties.”
She looked down at him. Hesitated. And it wasn’t because once she took them off she’d be completely naked in front of him. Wasn’t because he sat there, dressed and seemingly in full control while she was a trembling, horny mess, her pussy muscles clenching with need.
It was because once she handed over her thong, he’d know exactly what he did to her. He’d know the power he held, his ability to make her wet without even a touch.
Hooking her fingers under the straps at her hips, she slid the thong down her thighs, making sure she didn’t break eye contact with him as she did.
Her panties fell to her ankles.
“Give them to me.”
Again, she hesitated. This time because she wasn’t sure she could lift her foot without toppling over, not when she felt unsteady and lightheaded in the best way. He did nothing to help her, didn’t offer her a hand to keep her balance, just watched while she stepped one foot out, then the other, knelt and picked them up.
When she handed them to him, he didn’t add them to his hoarded pile in the space next to him. He slowly wrapped them around his fist like he’d done with her belt. Making them a part of his hand.
Making them his.
His fingertips rubbed the silky material in his palm. “You’re wet.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes.”
He nodded, pleased with her response and that pleasure, his pleasure, had more moisture pooling between her legs. “Who are you wet for?”
Not who made you wet.
But who are you wet for.
As if her arousal was owned by him. Claimed by him.
Was his and his alone.
“You,” she said on a ragged whisper. “I’m wet for you, Miles.”
His eyes glowed with a combination of heat and triumph, and he wiped the hand holding her panties down his mouth, the sound of the silky fabric against his whiskers like an electric current running along her nerve endings.
“And what do you want?”
“You asked me that before,” she said, feeling increasingly more vulnerable. “You told me you didn’t have what I wanted.”
His smirk was back, darker and sexier than before. “You don’t want the old Miles. He couldn’t give you what you need.”
Her stomach swooped pleasantly and she squeezed her thighs together to try and ease the sudden, vicious ache his words produced in her core.
“What do you want, Tabitha?”
The first thing she wanted was for him to say her name again like that, soft and husky. Like it was something to be drawn out. To be savored.
But she couldn’t do it. This truth was too big. Too frightening to let loose. It was too unwieldy and dangerous to hand over to him when he sat there, spread out on the sofa, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Not when she was still so unsure of his motives.
“You can have it,” he told her, a murmured promise. One she wanted desperately to believe. “You can have what you really want. All you have to do is tell me.”
The rapid beat of her pulse echoed in her ears. She wished she could refuse him, if only in this one little thing. But she didn’t want to back down.
Even if that meant exposing more of her weaknesses to him.
Even if that meant he might exploit those weaknesses. Use them against her.
“I want you to take me.”