Page 83 of Sadistic

I pause, waiting.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," I say against her mouth.

She pushes into my hand, eyes dark with need. "Don't you dare stop."

The slight pressure makes her gasp, pupils dilating.

I watch her face carefully, reading every micro-expression as my other hand finds the hem of her dress.

"Look at me," I command softly.

She does, maintaining eye contact as I hike up her dress.

The trust in her eyes nearly undoes me—this woman who should fear me, who has every reason to hate me, giving me this power over her.

"You're shaking," I observe.

"Not from fear."

"No?"

"No." She arches into me. "Please, Doran."

I've never heard her beg before.

The sound goes straight through me.

What follows is a claiming—there's no other word for it.

Her reflection in the window, the city lights witnessing as I take her apart piece by piece.

My hand on her throat, not squeezing but present, a reminder of power freely given.

She comes undone with my name on her lips, and I follow her over, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.

After, I carry her to the bedroom, her legs unsteady.

The second time is slower, tender, learning each other without the desperate edge.

She discovers the scar on my hip from a deal gone wrong, traces it with her tongue.

I map every sensitive spot on her body, filing away what makes her gasp, what makes her moan.

"I didn't know I'd like that," she admits later, curled against my chest. "The... hand thing."

"I hoped you would."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted you to see that giving up control doesn't make you weak." I stroke her hair. "It takes strength to trust someone with that power."

"Do you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

She's quiet for a moment. "That's either beautiful or deeply concerning, considering your trust issues."

"Both."