Page 85 of For the Sub

Then again, once he’d agreed to come to her gathering, they’d crossed a line.

What was happening between them was dangerous, to him.

To her.

If he were smart, he’d relent, withdraw the invite to his aunt’s silent auction, and accept Brandy’s offer to cook eggs for him.

After that, they could fuck hard, then he’d be free to return to his cabin and his normal, empty life.

But when it came to her, he was no longer behaving like a rational man. Instead, he was an obsessed asshole.

And damned if he could change his actions.

Damned if he wanted to change them.

“Do you have fishnet stockings?” he asked, desperate to ease the gnawing tension in his gut, and whatever was simmering inside her.

“I do. But if I wear them, my legs will get cold.”

“Did I ask if you’d be comfortable?”

“Oh, God.” She shifted then lowered her eyes.

This, D/s, they both understood.

Familiar ground. Where their relationship was less complicated and a shitpile less messy.

Even though he was out of line by using this tone on her, he told himself that she had a safe word and a slow word.

But still…

His damn conscience nagged at him.

Rightfully so.

“No, Sir,” she finally replied, as if she’d gone through a similar thought process to his own.

After all, she liked being a submissive, and the role was familiar and easy.

“You didn’t ask if I’d be comfortable wearing them.”

“You’ve got five minutes to get ready to go.” When she didn’t immediately move, he said, “That’s it. Get your clothes off and lie across my lap.”

“What?”

He leveled his gaze on her. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Here?” Slowly she stood. “Now?”

“Both.”

Slowly, she stripped off her top and dropped it on the chair behind her.

Breath constricted in his throat.

This woman.

What the hell is wrong with me?

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