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She blinks. “What?”
“You want punishment. That’s too easy. You want the guilt. The burn. The righteous pain.” I stop in front of her. Tilt her face up and yep, blue lightning, gorgeous and deadly. “But what youdon’tknow yet is how devastating mercy can be.”
Her breath shudders and for a moment, she looks utterly panic-stricken. Confused. My gut clenches. I release it with a breath.
Release her, pace back to sit in the armchair across from her. Unfasten my belt and whip it free. Leave it draped on my thigh—just a threat. “Do you crave some relief, Little Dahlia?”
On cue, her eyes blaze. She thinks I haven’t noticed how that adjective riles her. How not-so-silently she plots retribution for the slight.
Anticipation simmers, alien and delicious. When was the last time I craved like this? Felt this transcendental calling?
Never.
But she’s good—if not great—at compartmentalizing. Or her hunger is greater. Either way, my question concentrates her. Her eyes return to the belt. A tremor seizes me. How I wish I could test the edges of her pain but not tonight. Not this soon. I haven’t even tested a single limit yet.
“Answer me, Dahlia. It’s not a trick question.”
Her nostrils quiver. “So what if I do? Your baiting is getting old.”
“The words you want, are ‘yes please, sir’ or ‘no, thank you, sir.’”
Mutiny reigns, bright and beautiful. Then her thighs tremble again. Her chin drops a fraction and she exhales. “Yes. Sir.”
“Good girl. For that, I’m going to let you touch yourself tonight,” I say softly. “But only under one condition.”
She narrows her eyes. “Which is?”
“You don’t come unless I say. If you do, I’ll lock you in this room. Deny you fordays.”
Her cheeks flush. Her thighs squeeze. She’s so wet I can see the shimmer of her slick pussy from here. Smell her beautiful musk.
My cock fills, throbs, as hunger rips a wider chasm within me.
“I won’t beg,” she whispers.
“You already have,” I murmur. “But not with words.” I motion with my hand. “Lie back. Open wide. Show me.”
She hesitates. Then obeys.
“Wider. I know how flexible you are, my pretty little cat burglar. I’ve watched you get in and out of some impressively tight spaces.”
“How?”
He smiles. “Do what I ask and I’ll tell you.”
She eases back completely on the soft leather mat on the floor. Legs spread. Face flushing with self-consciousness, yes. But also with arousal. She’s been on edge since last night. I’m mildly stunned she didn’t attempt to alleviate it in between attempting to hack into every electronic device she could find in the apartment.
Slowly, one arm rises to rest above her head, unpractised and natural, the other already sliding down to her slit.
“Stop.”
A mingled whine and angry protest. But she waits.
“Say it,” I order. “Say who owns your pussy. Your pleasure. And look at me when you do.”
She swallows. Squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. Then. “You do.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Say itright.”