you going to do to me?”
His sexy, sometimes brutally wicked lips, curve. “If I told you, I’d ruin the surprise. Say yes, Crystal.” The command is firmer this time.
That intense arousal and fear have returned, drenched in adrenaline. This is how it feels facing fears that I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge. And I want to face them. I shut my eyes. “Yes.”
“Look at me when you say it, so I know you mean it.”
I’m comforted that a simple “yes” isn’t enough to satisfy his need for my agreement. My eyes meet his and I repeat, “Yes.”
He searches my face for a moment, and then wraps the tie around my eyes, covering them. Then his lips find my ear. “Stay and don’t move. Just listen. It’s a remarkable way to awaken your senses. And don’t speak unless I tell you to speak. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
I wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. It’s almost as if he waits to see if I truly do understand. My fingers curl into the blanket and I can feel his hot stare on my body as intimately as I would his mouth. There is something intriguing about knowing and not seeing. Something arousing about craving and not being satisfied. There is movement; sounds of what I think is the rustle of clothing. Of this wickedly hot man undressing, and I squeeze my thighs shut against the growing ache I feel. Silence falls then, and time ticks by eternally and I open my mouth and shut it. It’s a test, I think, but the question it raises is confusing. By passing it, am I proving I’m in control of me or that he’s in control of me?
“Stand up,” he says.
Suddenly, the answer to my question doesn’t matter as much as relief to my body. I do as he says.
“Take three steps forward.”
I do it and stop, and I can feel his body heat. Then there’s a shift in the air, and I think . . . I think he’s circling me. No. He’s behind me. Suddenly his hands are on my waist, as if he feels like I might dart away.
“Say my name.”
“Mark.”
“Again.”
“Mark,” I repeat.
“Mr. Compton,” he commands.
“No.”
“Say it.”
The command is sharp, and so is my reply. “No,” I hiss.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, Mark, I do.”
He pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his hands covering my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples. “Say my name.”
“Mark.”
“Stubborn woman,” he growls, and tugs on my nipples.
“Ahhh.” I moan at the force of the tugs. “Ahhh. It . . . hurts.” He rolls them, tugging again, and the pain begins to turn to pleasure. My lashes lower and I feel my body melting into his. At the same moment, his fingers slip between my thighs, into the slick heat there, and I almost come from the touch.
“You’re wet, Ms. Smith,” he murmurs. “So very wet. I think you really do want to fuck. Or maybe you just want to come.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Say my name.” His fingers slip away from my sex, while the other hand glides from my breast to settle on my waist.
Frustration rolls inside me and I whirl on him, ripping away the tie from my eyes as I all but yell, “Mr. Compton.”
He laughs and pulls me to him, the thick ridge of his erection against my hip. “Very good, Ms. Smith. That’s how you answer every command I give you while we’re fucking tonight. That way, every time you say ‘Mr. Compton’ to me tomorrow at work, you’re going to think about my fingers between your legs and on your nipples—and so am I.”
Nine
Mark . . .
I watch the understanding fill Crystal’s light blue eyes, feel the softening of her body against mine a moment before she whispers, “Oh. Yes . . . we will.”
“And I plan to give you even more to remember, before this night is over.”
Her gaze drops to the thickness of my erection. She wets her lips and my shaft jerks with the impact of the seductive lick, and the many places she is taking my imagination. I guide her fingers and wrap
His sexy, sometimes brutally wicked lips, curve. “If I told you, I’d ruin the surprise. Say yes, Crystal.” The command is firmer this time.
That intense arousal and fear have returned, drenched in adrenaline. This is how it feels facing fears that I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge. And I want to face them. I shut my eyes. “Yes.”
“Look at me when you say it, so I know you mean it.”
I’m comforted that a simple “yes” isn’t enough to satisfy his need for my agreement. My eyes meet his and I repeat, “Yes.”
He searches my face for a moment, and then wraps the tie around my eyes, covering them. Then his lips find my ear. “Stay and don’t move. Just listen. It’s a remarkable way to awaken your senses. And don’t speak unless I tell you to speak. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
I wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. It’s almost as if he waits to see if I truly do understand. My fingers curl into the blanket and I can feel his hot stare on my body as intimately as I would his mouth. There is something intriguing about knowing and not seeing. Something arousing about craving and not being satisfied. There is movement; sounds of what I think is the rustle of clothing. Of this wickedly hot man undressing, and I squeeze my thighs shut against the growing ache I feel. Silence falls then, and time ticks by eternally and I open my mouth and shut it. It’s a test, I think, but the question it raises is confusing. By passing it, am I proving I’m in control of me or that he’s in control of me?
“Stand up,” he says.
Suddenly, the answer to my question doesn’t matter as much as relief to my body. I do as he says.
“Take three steps forward.”
I do it and stop, and I can feel his body heat. Then there’s a shift in the air, and I think . . . I think he’s circling me. No. He’s behind me. Suddenly his hands are on my waist, as if he feels like I might dart away.
“Say my name.”
“Mark.”
“Again.”
“Mark,” I repeat.
“Mr. Compton,” he commands.
“No.”
“Say it.”
The command is sharp, and so is my reply. “No,” I hiss.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, Mark, I do.”
He pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his hands covering my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples. “Say my name.”
“Mark.”
“Stubborn woman,” he growls, and tugs on my nipples.
“Ahhh.” I moan at the force of the tugs. “Ahhh. It . . . hurts.” He rolls them, tugging again, and the pain begins to turn to pleasure. My lashes lower and I feel my body melting into his. At the same moment, his fingers slip between my thighs, into the slick heat there, and I almost come from the touch.
“You’re wet, Ms. Smith,” he murmurs. “So very wet. I think you really do want to fuck. Or maybe you just want to come.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Say my name.” His fingers slip away from my sex, while the other hand glides from my breast to settle on my waist.
Frustration rolls inside me and I whirl on him, ripping away the tie from my eyes as I all but yell, “Mr. Compton.”
He laughs and pulls me to him, the thick ridge of his erection against my hip. “Very good, Ms. Smith. That’s how you answer every command I give you while we’re fucking tonight. That way, every time you say ‘Mr. Compton’ to me tomorrow at work, you’re going to think about my fingers between your legs and on your nipples—and so am I.”
Nine
Mark . . .
I watch the understanding fill Crystal’s light blue eyes, feel the softening of her body against mine a moment before she whispers, “Oh. Yes . . . we will.”
“And I plan to give you even more to remember, before this night is over.”
Her gaze drops to the thickness of my erection. She wets her lips and my shaft jerks with the impact of the seductive lick, and the many places she is taking my imagination. I guide her fingers and wrap
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