Page 24 of Tell Me Something True

Her jaw dropped, just… hung there as she gaped down at him. Who was this man and what had he done with the sweet, reverent boy he’d once been?

And why did she like this version so much?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For not listening.”

Her words were quiet. Sincere. It was easy enough to do. Not because it was the truth necessarily, but because it was what he wanted.

“And?”

She cleared her throat, but when she spoke, her voice was low and husky. “And I’m going to spend the rest of the night being good for you.”

His eyes heated, his jaw clenching at the twist she’d put on his words. The additional two words that changed the meaning. That told her truth.

I’m going to be good for you.

“You’re not going to move. And the only time you can speak is when I ask you a question, you want to stop me, or you want to beg me. Do you understand?”

He was toying with her. Like a lion playing with a baby gazelle, swatting it around a few times, taking a nibble here or there, letting it think it had a chance at escape before finally pouncing and taking what it’d wanted all along.

Her complete and utter surrender.

Even knowing that, she couldn’t imagine stopping him.

“Yes,” she said, knowing he needed to hear her say it. “I understand.”

Her reward? An upward twitch of his lips.

And his fingertip once again on her skin.

Not her nipple. Seemed she’d lost the right of his touch on one of the places she so desperately wanted it. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her pussy.

No, this time he started low, his fingertip skimming across the top of her foot as he traced the straps of her shoes from the base of her toes up to where they circled her ankles.

“When I first saw you at the bar, I imagined these shoes resting on my shoulders while I fucked the hell out of you.” He trailed his finger up her calf. “But now that I know you don’t like to feel trapped, I’ll have to see if I can come up with another scenario.”

Her heart lodged in her throat.

He must suspect why she didn’t like being restrained. Why she felt uncomfortable being beneath a man.

But before she could dwell on it, before the memories could seep in, he circled that lone fingertip behind her knee, the sensation light, so very, very light, the end of her belt still wrapped around his hand brushing her calf.

She was with Miles.

She was safe.

“You’re so beautiful.” He dragged that fingertip down her calf and around to the top of her foot. Then he went up again, this time on the inside of her shin, past her knee and up her inner thigh.

She forced herself to stay still, unbelievably still, knees locked, breath held as his fingertip floated over her skin, feather-light and barely there.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he continued, that finger going up, up, up.

Suddenly he stopped. Shook his head. “It pisses me off,” he admitted quietly. “And I hate that. I hate that I don’t want to pleasure you.”

He slid the hand wrapped in her thong between her legs, keeping the touch so delicate she barely felt it as he brushed his fingertip against her pussy lips. Her inner core clenched, but her pussy remained empty as he lightly swiped his finger back and forth. Back and forth.

“I hate that I don’t even want to just fuck you.” He withdrew his hand, held it up between them, his forefinger wet with her arousal. Holding her gaze, his voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate that when I see you standing there, being so good for me, I don’t want to worship you. I want to wreck you.”

She couldn’t stop the tremble that went through her. But it wasn’t fear. Fear would have been rational. Reasonable. Fear would have been a sign that she had some self-preservation when it came to him.

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