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“I can’t help you with that. The very nature of what you’re doing should prepare you for what you think is the worst case scenario.”
My breath shudders out and I nod.
I carry my plate to the sink and reach for the tap.
“I have people to take care of that, Lucky.”
“Yeah, but they’re not here, are they?” I yank at the tap and a torrent of water hits the center of the plate, sending it out in a drenching fountain. My front is soaked and heat rushes into my face. “Dammit,” I mutter.
“I need you to stop being agitated.”
“And I need to do one little thing for myself.” I grab a rinse cloth and mop the counter top.
“You’re not in control here.”
Plate abandoned, I turn and glare at the camera. “You think I don’t know that?”
“You need to accept it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to spend valuable time breaking you in.”
My mouth drops open for a fistful of heartbeats before I clench my teeth. “I’m not a fucking dog.”
“No. You’re not. What you are, is wet.”
A soft, deadly purr of sexual anticipation, his voice acts as an electrical conduit, charging straight through the camera to my body.
I knew my T-shirt was wet, but while I was arguing with him, it was a distant awareness. Now, I look down and nearly groan at the clear outline of my breasts, nipples and stomach in the transparent cloth. My arms rush to cover myself.
“Stay.” The command is low-voiced. Irrefutable. Exactly like a man to his pet dog.
I should call him out on it.
Instead my arms drop like leaden weights to my side. My nipples furl harder, the knowledge that they are under zoomed-in scrutiny charging them to painful, engorged points.
“Put your hands behind your back, Lucky.”
My fingers find and interlink behind my back without more than a fleeting thought from me. His commands minutes ago were offensive, even though a part of me thrilled a little in anticipation of seeing him try to break me.
But right now, caught in the tense, explosive silence, I’m his to do with as he pleases. Because the sheer headiness of what is happening here is indescribable.
My breaths emerge in shallow pants. I can barely hear him over the racing of my heart.
“Are you turned on?”
“Yes.”
“You see how satisfying it can be for you to let me have my way?”
My fingers twitch, but not with the need to cover myself. On the contrary I want to cup my breasts, relish the pleasure surging through me.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “You have beautiful tits, Lucky.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“I look forward to fucking them.”