Page 4 of Take Me, Sir

“Dean.” I opened the passenger side door and didn't bother trying to hide my appreciative look at her legs as her dress rode up her thighs.

She didn't say anything as I turned toward my hotel. There were plenty of bars and clubs I could've taken her to, but if things went as well as I hoped, it'd be a lot easier to ask her to come upstairs rather than going from a club to a hotel. Besides, the club I usually went to wasn't exactly the sort a man took a woman to unless he knew she was into the same things.

I fully intended for us to drink and chat a bit first, even if not about certain sexual preferences. I wasn't looking for some random quickie. I was the sort of man who liked to seduce women before sex, even if it'd only ever be a one night stand. While I'd never met a woman who I could see having a relationship with, I never treated the ones I was with poorly. After all, I'd been raised to be a gentleman.

The thought almost made me laugh. I was a gentleman. I could be as romantic as the next man, probably more so if I put my mind to it, and I enjoyed giving pleasure to the women I took to bed. I didn't mind sex that was mostly vanilla, and I always made sure that my partners came.

But what very few people saw was that I had another part of me that wasn't very gentlemanly at all. A part that liked to use restraints and hear a woman beg for release. A part that got hard at the sight of a red handprint on a woman's ass, or hearing the crack of a crop against soft flesh. I liked handcuffs and blindfolds and toys and clamps and all of the things that had recently become a little less taboo to fantasize about. Except I didn't fantasize. I could get off without the domination, but I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a huge part of how I was wired.

I glanced over at Kyndall and wondered if I was going to have to set down some ground rules about how this was only going to be one night. However, when I pulled up in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel, something that looked a lot like relief crossed her face. My gut told me we were looking for the same things from tonight. Good alcohol, and then no-strings-attached sex at a fancy hotel. After that, we'd go our separate ways. If our paths happened to cross again due to mutual friends, then so be it, but it wouldn't be anything either of us would go looking for.

As we walked into the bar, I broke the silence to ask what she wanted, then ordered her Espresso Martini and my glass of Highland Park. I may have been born in London to American parents, but they claimed I drank like a Scot.

We made small talk while we drank, keeping things casual. Nothing about families or our pasts, nothing about a future we wouldn't share. All of it was music and entertainment and hobbies. The sort of things that made us both a bit more relaxed, but didn't get personal enough to leave either of us with the wrong impression of what would happen if we moved things to my room.

When. Not if. Because she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I could see it in the way she leaned toward me, how her eyes would drop to my mouth for just a moment. How she didn't mind when I indulged in a long look at her lovely body. When I asked her, I was certain she'd say yes.

She finished the last of her drink and set down the glass, giving me an expectant look that warmed me straight through. She wasn't the sort of brassy, bold woman who often hit on me, but she was no shy, demure innocent either. She clearly knew who she was and what she wanted. The sort of woman who the Dom in me wanted to make submit.

This wasn't the time or the place for it though. If I wanted a Sub, I'd head into the club and find someone who already knew about the lifestyle. I doubted, however, that no matter what elements I might have inclinations toward, sex with her would be far from boring, so I felt no need to stop things between us.

I drained the last of my second glass and then reached across to take her hand. It was the first time we'd touched aside from our first run-in, and the shock that ran up my arm made me catch my breath. Why hadn't I been touching her this whole time?

“Come up to my room.” My voice was rough, and the strength of the desire I felt surprised me.

One corner of her mouth curved up. “I thought you'd never ask.”

She laced her fingers between mine as I pulled her to her feet. We walked together to the elevator, the air between us thickening with every step. The moment the elevator doors shut, I released her hand and caught her around the waist. I'd been patient long enough.

“You're absolutely gorgeous, love, you know that?” I put her back against the wall, leaning toward her until our bodies were only an inch apart. “Enough to drive a sane man mad.”

“You're a fine lad yourself.”

Her attempt at an accent made me laugh. “That's horrible.”

She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair, then grazed them down my cheek. The moment her fingertip touched the corner of my mouth, my self-control snapped, and I closed the short distance between us, finally taking her mouth.

I plunged my tongue between her lips, the flavor of her drink exploding across my taste buds, mingling with something I knew was just her. She tilted her head, arms going around my neck. Her body pressed against me, all those lush curves mine for the taking. I ran my hands down her back to cup her delightful ass.

The doors dinged, and I reluctantly pulled away, pleased to see a slightly dazed expression on her face. I wrapped my arm around her waist, keeping her tight to my side as we walked out. I didn't know what perfume she was wearing, but I liked it.

“The penthouse?”

I gave her a smile as I opened the door. “Impressed?”

“A little.” She slipped out of my grasp and grinned before she turned her back on me. She reached behind her, sliding down the zipper of her dress to reveal a dark blue thong that just made her ass even more exquisite.

“Bugger me,” I muttered.

“How very British of you.” She was halfway to the bedroom when she turned again and let me see how her matching bra hugged her breasts.

“Would you have preferred if I'd said 'fuck me?'” I made the last two words come out in a typical, flat mid-western American accent as I walked toward her with even, deliberate steps. “My parents were American, so I can use either one.”

She reached behind her back again, and a moment later, her bra dropped to the floor. Not for the first time, I saw that strange combination of boldness and refreshing innocence. There was none of the arrogance that I'd seen in other beautiful women, none of the guile, but there was no embarrassment or timidity either. She was someone who was comfortable with her body and seemed to know what she wanted.

And right now, I was fortunate enough for that to be me.

“Right,” I practically growled. “Enough talking.”

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