Page 17 of Tell Me Something True

I want to dismantle you.

She trembled, her entire body vibrating with the need to do exactly as he said. To tear herself apart for him, to please him in any and every way she could.

It was one way in which he hadn’t changed.

He’d always wanted more from her.

On a long exhale, she lifted her hand.

His mouth twisted into a cocky smirk. But it was the slight trembling of his fingers as he reached for the belt that was her reward for her decision. Head bent, he grasped the end of her belt and painstakingly unwound it from around her palm, wrapping it around his own as he did so.

This, she knew, was just the beginning. A precursor of how he was going to slowly, methodically unravel her.

When he was done, he lifted his head, his breathing just a little bit quicker. His body tense. Alert.

Holding her gaze, he stepped back, then retook his seat on the sofa, lounging once again with his arms spread against the back, legs slightly bent, feet firmly planted. Still confident, but no longer a king intent on imposing his will over an unruly subject, but a dark prince—spoiled and cocky—waiting for his wishes to be granted. Confident his every desire would be fulfilled simply because he willed it.

It was such a good look on him. One that made her think that by the end of the night, she might just be glad for all the ways he’d changed.

But just because she might be glad a few hours from now, didn’t mean she had to give into him completely.

Just because she could trust him didn’t mean she did.

“Take off your skirt.”

The breath whooshed out of her. Not at the words—she was well aware he wanted her to strip for him. To submit to his wants. His whims.

She just hadn’t been prepared for how much she would want to do that, too.

Reaching behind her for the zipper on the back of her skirt, she tugged the tab down. His gaze narrowed, darkened, as she shimmied slowly, side to side, wiggling the skirt past her hips then down her legs so that it pooled at her feet.

He held out the hand not wrapped up in her belt.

She carefully stepped out of her skirt, bent at the knees and picked it up. Folding it neatly, she closed the distance between them then set it in his palm.

He jerked his head, a silent, arrogant demand for her to go back to her place in the middle of the room.

But when she turned, he stopped her with another, “No,” this one sharp and quick.

Heart hammering, she kept her back to him. Wondered at this new ability he had to pull her strings with such ease, like he was a freaking puppet master and she was his current plaything.

Wondered why she liked it so much.

“Eyes on me.”

And because she liked the way the command pulsed through her, thrilling and arousing, because she found she loved pushing him, she did as he asked.

But not as he wanted.

Because she didn’t turn.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

His brows drew together, her belt still wrapped around his hand.

Clutched like a trophy.

“Face me.”

---