Page 55

"You have no idea," he growled, one hand steadying me at the back of my thighs. The casual display of strength made me shiver. "The things I've thought about. The ways I've imagined having you."

"Tell me," I demanded, breathless from more than being upside down.

"Rather show you." He navigated through my apartment like he'd mapped it during his security assessment. Which, knowing him, he probably had. "If you're good."

"I can be good." The words came out more breathless than intended. "So good."

His hand tightened on my thigh. "We'll see about that."

He set me down at the foot of my bed with surprising gentleness, a complete contrast to the caveman display moments before. My feet touched the floor but my legs felt unsteady, like I'd forgotten how to use them. His hands lingered on my waist for a moment, making sure I was stable, before he stepped back.

The loss of contact was immediate and unwelcome. But the way he looked at me—intense, focused, like I was a puzzle he was about to solve—made the distance crackle with possibility.

I started to turn to follow his movement, but his voice stopped me. "Eyes forward."

The command was gentle but unmistakable. I snapped my gaze to the wall, pulse accelerating. He completed his first circle, and I felt his attention like a physical touch, cataloging every detail. The way my dress clung. The rapid rise and fall of my chest. The way my fingers twitched at my sides, wanting to reach for him.

"Hands behind your back."

I complied immediately, lacing my fingers together at the small of my back. The position thrust my chest forward slightly, and I heard his sharp intake of breath. The sound sent triumph spiraling through me—I affected him too, even with all his control.

He noticed everything, of course. "Look at you, following orders already." He stopped in front of me, just out of reach. "Such a good girl."

The praise hit exactly as intended. My knees actually wobbled, and a small sound escaped before I could stop it. Heat flooded my face, embarrassment at being so transparent warring with the liquid warmth spreading through my limbs.

"That's what does it for you," he observed, tilting his head. Not mocking, just noting. Filing away for future use. "Being told you're good. Being seen."

He stepped closer, finally, blessedly closer. His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip with devastating gentleness. "I see you, Lena. See how brave you're being right now. How beautiful."

"Tyson—" His name came out rough, needy.

"Did I say you could speak?" His voice was firm but warm, no real censure in it. Just establishing the rules.

I bit my lip, shaking my head. His thumb followed the movement, pressing lightly against where my teeth worried the flesh.

"Better." He rewarded me with the ghost of a smile. "Now, I'm going to undress you. Slowly. And you're going to keep your hands behind your back the whole time. Think you can do that for me?"

I nodded eagerly, then caught myself. He wanted words earlier. Did he want them now? The uncertainty must have shown on my face because his expression softened.

"Words, baby. Give me words."

Baby. The endearment sent warmth spiraling through me. "Yes," I managed, voice steadier than expected. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good girl." He sealed the praise with a soft kiss, just a brush of lips that left me chasing his mouth when he pulled back. "My perfect girl."

The possessive made me shiver. His perfect girl. His. The word echoed in my head as he stepped back again, creating just enough distance to look at me properly.

"Here's the thing," he said conversationally, like we were discussing the weather instead of standing in my bedroom with me trembling under his gaze. "I've been thinking about this for longer than I should admit. Imagining how you'd look. How you'd sound. How you'd respond to different things."

He moved behind me, and I fought the urge to turn. His fingers found the zipper of my dress, toying with the pull. "Been driving myself crazy with what-ifs and maybes. But the reality?" The zipper descended one tooth at a time. "Reality is so much better."

Cool air hit my back as the dress parted. His fingertips skimmed the revealed skin, barely there, just enough to make me arch slightly.

"Steady," he murmured, and I forced myself still. "That's it. Just like that."

He moved around to face me again, eyes tracking over my face, reading every micro-expression. Whatever he saw must have pleased him because his hands came up to my shoulders, fingertips sliding under the straps of my dress.

"Tell me about the tattoo here," he said, tracing the cherry blossoms that curved over my left shoulder. "When did you get this one?"