“Turn around,” he said.
“What?”
“Turn around. Walk.”
She hesitated.
“Do what I say.”
This was a side of Mark she hadn’t seen, so bossy and self-possessed. His confidence sent a streak of sensation south, a surge of wet heat that stole her breath. She complied, turning and walking. He was right behind her, she could tell, so close her body reacted as if to a touch. And then his hand was on her back, and she didn’t know if it was the warmth of his palm or the strength and assurance with which he compelled her that made her heart pound so hard.
She realized where he was leading her. The dressing rooms. “No. You’re not serious.”
“Oh, hell, yeah, I’m serious.”
“Mark, we can’t do this again. Not here.”
“Walk.”
It wasn’t really even a decision. She hadn’t stopped to weigh the consequences of obeying versus disobeying, or the potential disaster that would follow what they were contemplating against the possibility of never knowing what would happen next. She simply walked because that was what her body told her to do. It listened to Mark with absolute attention.
She didn’t even look around to see if anyone was watching. She stepped into the dressing rooms ahead of him and felt him draw closer. Then he pushed her through the door, pulled it shut behind them, and pressed her against the wall inside. The wall was cool at her back, his erection hard against her belly.
“I’m going to kiss you.” His breath moved past her ear, his words like a touch causing her nipples to tighten.
“Then do it.”
“No. I want you to stand here for a minute.” His voice was low, dark, husky. “I want you to just stand here and feel what it’s like to not be in control of everything, not how you look or how I look or when I’m going to kiss you.”
It was hell. It was heaven. She was shaking all over, her panties soaked. Her nipples were over-sensitized, too keenly aware of the rough lace of her bra, yearning for his touch. Each breath felt like effort. The surface of her skin prickled, as if she were packed too tightly with all the sensations, all the emotion, inside her. She ached for more everywhere his body touched hers, and everywhere it didn’t. “Please.”
“When I’m ready.”
He had to want it, too. She couldn’t be on fire all over without his being affected, at least a little. The power he had over her would be unbearable otherwise.
He started messing with her in other ways, working his palm between her legs gently and slowly to create the perfect friction until she mewled with frustrated desire and tried to press closer. But as soon as she did, he drew back.
Then he lifted a hand and cupped her breast. Just cupped it and didn’t touch the sensitive drawn-up tip that yearned for him. This was the worst possible torture. She tried to move to position her nipple against his palm, but again he withdrew the contact as soon as she reached for him. She whimpered.
“I love the noises you make.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“Don’t you dare stop.”