My eyes flash on my most nondescript pair of white cotton briefs. I wonder what he’ll say if I wear those?
A streak of defiance flares within me and an impish grin curls my mouth. Wanting to force a reaction from him, I grab the panties and step into them, then add a plain white bra, a pair of jeans, and a comfy long-sleeved pink tee. We’re staying in, after all. What’s the point in dressing up?
Once I’m ready, I munch on a handful of pretzels as I tidy up my apartment. I know Hale told me to eat, but the idea of sitting down to a full, heavy meal is not appealing. A glass of wine sounds fantastic right about now, but I won’t indulge. Hale wants me completely sober, and there’s something ironically intoxicating about that.
The buzz of the intercom catches me off guard.
He’s here.
I press the button and tell him to come on up. Moments later, feeling breathless and excited, I answer the door and find the tall, striking man I’m coming to know as my Dom standing in the hall. He’s dressed down tonight in dark-washed jeans and a slim-cut Henley in navy blue.
“No suit and tie tonight,” I murmur.
“No. I left the office early and went home, so I had time to change.”
“Oh.” Never having seen him in anything other than a suit, I stand mutely in my doorway, struck by how his straight-fit jeans hug him in all the right places, and how the shirt brings out how intensely blue his eyes are.
“May I come in, peach?” he asks with an amused expression as if he knows I’ve been standing here awestruck by him.
“Of course.” I pull the door wider and usher him inside.
It’s his second time here, but I didn’t give him much of a tour the first time. He pretty much attacked me at the front door and carried me to my room after our sexually-charged encounter in the bar. Tonight’s mood feels mellow in contrast. Something tells me we’re going to take our time, explore things more fully this time around. I’m both nervous and excited.
I lead him from the entryway, stopping at the kitchen to ask, “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Heading to the living room, I watch his gaze bounce around the room as if he’s not only taking in my space, but deciphering my personality too. He wanders over to the bookshelves lining the far wall. They are crammed with paperbacks of every variety and genre.
“Bookworm, huh?” He lifts my signed copy of the mega-bestselling erotic romance from its revered resting place.
“I read on my iPad, but I buy my favorites in paperback too,” I explain.
“Romance, mystery, paranormal.” He skims his fingers along their spines. “You like it all, don’t you?” I can’t help but catch the flirty tone to his comment.
“Yes, but love stories are my favorite.”
“Why’s that?” He turns to face me, his expression turning serious.
“Because. It’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? A partner. Someone to comfort you at the end of a hard day. Someone to love.”
He frowns at me. “Not everyone wants that.”
I want to challenge him, to prove him wrong. I don’t even know why, other than that my belief in love is everything to me, and I will fight to defend it.
“What do you want then?” I lift my chin, trying to force a response from him.
His narrowed eyes latch onto mine. “I’m in charge. Don’t forget that. If I were looking for love, don’t you think I’d have a girlfriend? A wife?”
“Of course,” I stammer, getting the distinct feeling I’ve somehow offended him. “You’re attractive, intelligent. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“What I want is you on all fours, tits down, ass up.” His eyes darken, and I can feel the challenge radiating off of him.
I’m unnerved and thrown off-balance. His reaction to my declaration that surely everyone must be looking for love was met with harsh rejection that only someone who’s been hurt would have. The unmistakable feeling that he’s been heartbroken washes over me. Is that why he does all this? This control? This no-strings mentoring?
Before I can ponder it further, his hands on my shoulders bring me back to the moment. With steady pressure, he guides me down to my knees, all but signaling our discussion is over.
Gazing up at him, I sink to the carpeting. I hate that he’s shut down our conversation, but recalling our previous lesson, I remember the intense look in his eyes, the almost primal need that seemed to take over. Afterward, he was tender and sweet, and seemed much more willing to engage in pillow talk. So I decide to be a good little submissive during my lesson, and then once he’s satisfied and feeling content, try to get some information out of him. I’m beyond curious about this man I’ve agreed to work with.