His eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
I sit back on my knees. In my zealous frenzy, I forgot the rules of the game. “Um…”
“That’s what I thought.” His mouth firms into a hard line, and he runs a finger down my cheek. “While there’s no doubting your enthusiasm this go-round, what did you do wrong?”
I puff out my bottom lip.Why does he have to be unreasonable?“I was trying to please you.”
“I could see that.” His words are ragged.
At least I have the satisfaction of causing him to have to catch his breath. I make my expression innocent, my eyes wide. “Aren’t you pleased?”
He shakes his head, exasperated. “What did I tell you to do, Anna?”
“You told me only to lick you.” I huff, just a little. “But I was trying to please you. To make you happy.”
Ungrateful bastard.
He nods. “I know, but you’re forgetting that what pleases me is your obedience.”
My shoulders straighten. “Are you trying to say you didn’t like it?”
“Not the point.” He cocks his head to the side and studies me for several long moments. “I’d turn you over my knee and paddle that ass, but that wouldn’t be much of a punishment, now would it?”
Unable to lie, I shift my attention to the floor.
He sighs, rises, and walks over to the now-terrifying armoire.
Scary. Exciting. My core contracts.
Dear Lord, what is happening to me?
Desire pulses low in my belly. God, I feel almost desperate. If he’d just give me some relief, I’d be able to concentrate on what he wants.
Muscles ripple along his shoulder blades as he digs around in his cabinet of torture, seemingly unaware of my existence.
One little stroke of my clit, is that too much to ask?
My finger twitches. An idea pops unbidden into my mind: I could do it myself.
What could it hurt? He’ll never know. The hard bundle of nerves swells in hearty agreement. All I need is a tiny bit of pressure, just to take the edge off. I slide my fingers between my legs, shocked at the dampness I find there. Just as I’m about to brush over my clit, he turns around.
I snatch my hand back like a child caught in the cookie jar.
A fierce scowl darkens the chiseled lines of his face, and he crosses his arms. “Were you going to touch yourself, Anna?”
As though I’ve morphed into a petulant child, I shrug. I don’t understand why, but for some reason I enjoy the feeling. It feels good to be free, to shrug off propriety, to give in to my roller coaster of emotions as the whim strikes me.
“I see,” he says, his voice flat. “Stand up.”
I stare back at him. Uncomprehending.
“Now.”
One word sends me scurrying from the floor.
He walks over and studies me critically. He should look ridiculous with his jeans riding low and his erection jutting out, but he doesn’t. He looks gorgeous, and I find I want to fall to my knees and take him in my mouth again.
I drift off, thinking of the way that satin-smooth skin over hard steel felt on my lips. He tasted good.