Page 27

“How many piercings do you have?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He laughs, seeming to appreciate that my mind is very much in the gutter right now. He keeps moving his hand up and down over his cock and answers, “Seven.”

I’m shocked by how high the number is, especially given what a sensitive area it must be to pierce. But maybe he likes a little pain, too.

“You?” he asks, throwing my question back at me.

“I don’t know, actually.” I reach my wet fingers up to my ears, counting each hole that I stabbed into my skin when I was feeling bored or destructive. “Thirteen.” Most of them sport small gold studs along with a few hoops and one double bar. “Fourteen,” I tap the hole on the side of my nose, “but I don’t wear my ring at work.” My fingers trail down my stomach. “And my belly button is fifteen.”

“You did them yourself?” he guesses, and I don’t know how he always seems to read me so well.

“Yeah, I don’t really trust anyone else to put a needle through me. That’s why I don’t have any tattoos.”

He nods his head thoughtfully. “Ever want to add anymore?”

My cheeks blush. “I’ve always wanted my nipples pierced, but I’m too much of a pussy to try that on my own.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” he answers with a laugh, but there’s a hint of sadism in his eyes.

“What about you?” I ask, turning it back on him. “Pierce your cock yourself?”

“No, I am more than happy to let someone else do the needlework.”

From what I can tell, that needlework is extensive. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“Too many to count. It would be easier to find how much bare skin is left.”

I shiver at the thought of him hovering above me, sexy strokes of ink covering every inch of his naked skin. “T-that musthave hurt,” I mumble, my thighs starting to quiver with need. Maybe the no touching rule was a bad idea.

“I didn’t mind it, actually.” His eyes flick to the clock. “Time’s up, angel.”

“Thank God,” I sigh. I pull my hands out of the milk, relieved to find my fingers are back to normal. “That actually worked.”

“Of course it did.” He hands me a towel to dry my hands, his body so close I can scarcely think. “We have enough time for one more lesson.”

“Squeezing in every last bit of torture you can, Grey?” I tease, even though I feel my panties grow damp with anticipation. “What’s it going to be now?”

He leans back and studies me, his blue eyes heated and ravenous. “Peel the ginger.”

“Alright,” I agree with an eye roll. I’ve given up trying to figure out his ulterior motives. I quickly start to peel the sharp-smelling root, anxious to finish before people start spilling into the kitchen.

“Narrower on the shaft of it,” he instructs, “and remove all the ridges, but keep one thick on the end.” His use of the wordshafthas me nervous, but I do as he asks, whittling the ginger into something that looks disturbingly phallic in shape. “Cut a few notches into the middle.” Again, I obey, eager to get this over with.

When I’ve stripped it as much as I can, I hold it up for him to inspect. “Now what?”

He smiles, his lips twisting with sinister glee. “Now you pick a hole.”

“What do you mean?” I gulp, fairly certain I know exactly what he means. But I want explicit orders before I jump the gun like I did with the gloves.

“Pick whether that ginger is going in your pretty cunt or your pretty ass.”

Que carajo.“You agreed you wouldn’t touch me,” I remind him, subconsciously backing away to escape what he might do next.

“I’m not going to touch you. You’ll put the ginger in yourself.”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you want to be my good little slut,” he growls. “And because you’re curious to see what it would feel like inside your tight hole.”