“So teach me. Show me. Give me that experience.”
I close the final few paces between us, and stare boldly into his eyes. The old Isabelle would have turned and fled in humiliation by now, having her advance rejected. But I won’t be so easily pushed around.
For once, I’m going to fight for what I want.
Cam inhales a ragged breath. “You aren’t ready.”
“That’s my decision to make,” I counter.
“It’s unprofessional,” he tries to argue. “Your father—”
“Is dead,” I finish. “He was your mentor, but that has nothing to do with what’s happening between us.”
“And what’s that?” Cam asks, still trying to keep the upper hand.
I reach out and place both hands on his chest. I can feel the muscles beneath his crisp shirt. I slide them slowly lower.
“This,” I whisper, not breaking eye contact. “Can’t you feel it?”
Cam stares back. The electricity between us is pulsing, dangerously hot. My fingertips stroke over the ridge of his abs, coming to rest on the tip of his belt.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” I murmur, wetting my lips. He’s close to breaking point, I can feel it. I just need to push him over the edge, and make him see how good this could be. How right. “Tell me what you need, Master.”
I push too far. Cam jerks away at the word, breaking the spell.
“Stop!” he barks angrily. “If this is going to work, you will obey me.” I follow him to the elevator and get in quickly when it appears.
The ride up to the penthouse is tense. He won’t talk to me, won’t even look in my direction.
The doors open. “Go to bed, Isabelle,” he orders me roughly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“But—”
I stare at the man before me, the one I want to dedicate myself to. The doors slide shut behind me and all I can do is wonder, holding on to a small flicker of hope.
Does this mean he’s considering it?
TWO: CAM
I arrive at my penthouse floor and swiftly head to my master bedroom suite.
The minute I’m alone, I spin around and slam my fist into the mirrored wall of my walk-in closet.
Fuck!
The glass shatters beneath my knuckles, but I don’t feel the pain. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the splintered glass. I’m wild-eyed and furious.
Totally out of control.
The reality shocks me back to myself. I reel back, breathing fast. My hand is bleeding now, glass broken on the floor. I couldn’t even look at her in the elevator; I wanted her so much I didn’t trust myself to even glance in her direction.
I lock the door behind me and go to the bathroom, taking down my first aid kit. I run cold water over the wound, then bandage it tightly, focusing completely on the task to block out the memory of Isabelle back at the club.
Her gorgeous body, naked and waiting for me. Her lips parted in submission, her eyes begging me for the control I long to demand.
She would be the perfect sub.
The thing most men don’t realize is that the best subs aren’t meek, passive women. A girl who agrees with every word and leaps to your command from the start is no challenge at all. Surrender given so freely is no prize to me.
No, the best subs are fighters. Women who cling to their control even as they submit, struggling for the upper hand until the delicious moment that you break them completely: show them the true sweetness of their surrender.
And Isabelle…she would fight me every step of the way. I can see it in her bold proposition, the glint of defiance in her eyes even as she bent her head and called me ‘Master.’
My blood boils, remembering the soft moan of the word on her lips. I want to hear it screamed out loud, begged and whimpered as I school her with my whips, my chains.
My cock.
From down the hallway, I hear the front door close. She’s here. Her footsteps tap lightly on the floor, approaching my bedroom. They pause by the door.
Silence.
I can picture her there, her hand raised to knock. Her body straining at the silk of that sinful dress, her mouth wet and ready to pleasure me.
All I want is her, and I vow: if she asks again, if she knocks, then to hell with everything.
I’ll throw the door open and fuck her right there in the hall. Claim her body, thrust deep between those satiny thighs, pin her wrists to the floor, spreading her legs with my knee, tease and tantalize her until she’s screaming.
My cock stiffens at the thought. I tense, ready.
But the footsteps slowly retreat. A door closes. The apartment is still.
I exhale with a growl, reaching to give myself the release she’s just denied. I pump hard and fast, imagining her lips sliding around me, those blue eyes gazing up as I thrust deep into her mouth.