Page 20 of Tell Me Something True

“I want you to take me.”

Chapter 4

Miles wasn’t one to make mistakes. He was cautious. He mulled over his choices, thought through possible outcomes, weighing them carefully before picking his course of action.

But he’d made several mistakes tonight, starting with engaging in a conversation with Tabitha at the bar and ending with him sitting on his couch and ordering her to slowly, painstakingly strip herself bare for him.

He couldn’t regret any of them.

He would.

He didn’t let things go. Was never easy on himself. Especially when it was something he should have gotten right.

Something he should have known better than to do.

The time for self-recrimination and self-flagellation would come. Later.

But not now.

Not with Tabitha standing in front of him in just those red heels.

She was a fucking goddess with her lush hips, full breasts and a softly-rounded belly, her pale skin dotted with bursts of color. Golden where the moonlight touched her cheek and shoulder. Gray where the lamplight cast shadows on the slope of her waist, the outer curve of her thigh. The honey of her hair, the messy waves falling to her shoulders. The ruby red of her mouth

The dusky pink of her nipples and the soft brown strip of tight curls covering her pussy.

The pearly pink stain of arousal coloring her cheeks.

Christ, help him, but he liked this new version of her. She was stronger. More stubborn.

It made it that much more satisfying when she gave him what he wanted.

But what he liked even more was how much her submission—and his demands—turned her on.

He saw it in the way her nipples jutted out, two puckered berries desperate for his mouth, her chest rising and falling rapidly. In how her thighs were clenched together, as if trying to assuage the ache between them. In the darkening of her eyes, the blue matching the midnight sky.

He inhaled it with every breath, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. Clinging to his whiskers after he’d wiped the hand holding her thong across his mouth. He felt it beneath his fingertips as he rubbed them across the silky, damp material of those panties.

She was turned on and nervous.

But she wasn’t scared of him.

The proof of that was her standing naked before him, waiting for him to tell her what to do next.

The proof of that was everything she’d told him.

I don’t like being restrained.

I don’t like the missionary position.

I want you to take me.

She trusted him.

He liked that most of all.

“More,” he demanded, soft and gruff.

“I want you to take control.”

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