Intentionally ignoring the woman, he surveyed the items. Canes? Really, Will? His brother was a fucking ass. There was no way he’d use them on a brand new submissive, no matter what the implied threat was.
Garrett shook his head and finally gave in to the urge to drink in the sight of the woman kneeling beside the bed, her head bowed, her dark hair trailing down her back.
The image hit him like a punch in the gut. Ass or not, he was going to have to give Will a bottle of whiskey or something, because this subbie was exactly his type. He’d stopped lying to himself years ago about why he was attracted to petite brunettes—it all sourced back to one particular petite brunette.
And now here was this woman, a first-timer who was a dead ringer for Ridley.
His cock went rock hard, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. How many times had he fantasized about being the one to fully initiate her into the darker shades of sex and dominance? More than he could possibly count. They’d barely dipped their toes into the possibilities back in high school, just enough to whet his appetite for dominance, and to show him exactly how hot she found submitting. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another. He wasn’t some fumbling almost-virgin, and this woman deserved better than to have him fall on her like a ravaging beast.
He almost felt bad that he was projecting the fantasy onto this stranger, but she was here to be initiated, and he was only too happy to be the one to do it. If he pretended she was that ghost from his past? Well, he wasn’t a fucking saint.
He circled her, taking in every detail. She tensed, but she didn’t move or twist around. He liked that—her willingness to trust him even though he was a stranger. Holy fuck. Her body was killer, arms toned, breasts exactly how he preferred them—more than a handful—and those lips. They were pretty and pink and it was all too easy to imagine them wrapped around his cock. He caught himself reaching out to touch her, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked, and snatched his hand back. Damn it, he was better than this.
To remind himself of his role here, he cleared his throat, and said, “From this point on, you will call me, ‘Sir.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” She licked her lips, and it was everything he could do not to groan aloud. The sub hadn’t done a damn thing and she was already killing him. At the rate he was going, he’d be shoving his cock inside her the second his pants came off. Another deep breath that did nothing to calm his raging desire. Next step, Reaver. Focus on getting the foundation down so she’s right there with you.
“Tell me your safe word.”
“Frankenstein.”
Frankenstein had been Ridley’s favorite old-school monster movie in high school—barely edging out Dracula and Creature From the Black Lagoon. He was a damn fool for remembering that so many years later, but his head was full of all sorts of useless trivia when it came to that woman. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep himself in the present. “You will use it if you need to, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” She tensed, and he waited for each muscle to relax before he reached down and gave into the desire to run his fingers through her hair. It was just as soft as he’d imagined. Softer.
“Good girl.”
Chapter Two
Ridley flinched when he touched her hair, but he didn’t do anything but run his hands through it, over and over again, from root to ends. By the third time through, she had relaxed completely and was fighting not to lean into his touch. Had she ever been with someone who played with her hair? She never would have considered it an erotic thing, but with his hands on her she was halfway ready for him right now.
It was more than just his touch, though. It was the whole thing. She was kneeling, naked and blind, and completely at his mercy. And there were those sex toys to consider. Was he going to use them on her? She strained her ears, but there was nothing except the soft sounds of his breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.
Being so blind and helpless made her tremble, but it wasn’t in fear. She wanted him to keep touching her, to command her, to take her in whatever way he wanted. She blinked behind the blindfold, trying to focus, but it was no use. Her world narrowed down to his hands in her hair.
He cupped the back of her neck, the heat of his big hand marking her as effectively as if he’d tattooed her. It was enough to bring the rest of the room into focus, the faint chill that had her skin breaking out in goose bumps, her nipples pebbling…though she couldn’t even pretend to blame the temperature of the room on the latter.
“Up.”
She started to obey, but her body wasn’t quite working right, and he had to loop an arm around her waist and lift her to her feet. The move pressed the back of her body against the front of his. He was wearing jeans and what felt like a T-shirt. She shook her head. No, that was wrong. She hadn’t seen Will wear jeans since high school. He was always in slacks.