And yet it’s a totally different matter when this man is standing three inches away from me.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
I’m melting internally when he gives me a savage smile. “Wait here, then.” He leaves the kitchen, at which point my common sense returns with a vengeance and kicks my ass. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” I mutter under my breath. I hang up the phone and grab myself a glass of water, downing the whole thing in one long, gulping mouthful. It’s so weird how Zeth can make one part of me so wet and then another part of me so ridiculously dry. Has there ever been such an inconsistent thing as my body right now?
I hear him come back inside the house. I brace myself against the sink, closing my eyes and savoring a deep breath—I need it. Need the oxygen.
“Sloane.” My name is a reprimand on his lips. Like he’s warning a dog not to pee on the carpet as it’s poised and ready to do just that. When I turn around he’s got something in his hand that makes me want to bolt from the room.
The black bag.
“Come here,” he demands. He sets the bag on top of the dining table that I bought from the ancient antiques store across from the hospital last summer. It had beautifully carved claw feet and intricate patterns hewn into the wood, and I just couldn’t resist. Zeth unzips the bag and pulls out a length of coiled rope.
“You gonna take the rest of your clothes off, or am I gonna do it?” he asks. With any other person, I’d probably leap at the second option—having someone slowly and seductively teasing your clothes off you would probably be incredible—but with Zeth I don’t think he quite means it like that. I think what he’s really asking me is if I’m going to behave myself, and I am yet to find out what happens if I don’t. I don’t really want to yet, either.
I pluck up every scrap of courage I have and walk over to the kitchen table. I position myself right in front of him, so close he can see the defiance, the fuck you in my eyes. I’m doing this because I am almost hopelessly addicted to what this man does to me, but that doesn’t mean I have to be grateful for it. I lock eyes with him, refusing to look away as I yank my jeans down. I kick them away and shimmy out of my underwear, tossing the bundled items away like the action of me stripping for him means nothing. Like my heart isn’t thundering like a piston.
Zeth nods his head, appraising me. His half-lowered eyelids give a heavy, sleepy look to his eyes that feels positively sinful. “You’re perfection, angry girl. No need to huff and puff. I’m gonna take care of you.”
Well, holy shit. I wasn’t expecting that. A reprimand. Some sternly worded, poorly veiled threat. Anything but a compliment, followed by a reassurance. I open my mouth, but infuriatingly I can’t think of anything to say. Zeth puts the thin length of rope down on the table and slowly shrugs out of his jacket. I catch sight of the impressive bulge pressing against his jeans, begging to be set free and I can’t help my reaction. I blush.
“Angry one minute, coy the next…you’re confusing yourself, Sloane.” He steps into me, placing his hands on my hips. His grip is strong and masterful. “You should just go with one emotion. I find turned on is usually useful ’round about now. If you’re not with me on that one, then I can go.”
He’s been pushy and demanding ever since he walked through the door half an hour ago, so I’m not used to this sudden glimmer of compromise within him. A meet-me-halfway, secret side of him that I think he’d prefer to keep hidden away.
The tension that’s been drawing me tighter than a bow slackens a little at the knowledge that it is there, somewhere, hiding within him. Buried beneath ten layers of shit-kicking concrete, but still…
I’m feeling brave, so I do something really crazy: I reach out, take hold of his hand and guide his fingers between my legs. The evidence of my lust is right there for him to judge with his fingertips.
He blinks quickly, enough for me to think I’ve caught him off guard, and then he moves his fingers, humming deeply. “Mmmm. I see. Point taken.”
My body is jittery, impatient, demanding more than the teasing friction he is applying to my clit. He’s doing it on purpose, only giving me enough to make me crave more.
“Sit on the table,” he commands.
I do it without question.
“Good girl. Now open your legs.”
I do that, too. And then Zeth drops to his knees right there in my open-plan kitchen and begins to trace his tongue lazily up the inside of my thigh.
Let me tell you this: you may think you have been horny before. You may think you have been ready to beg, to plead, to straight up murder to feel someone inside you, but until you’ve had this…until Zeth Mayfair is on his knees for you…