Page 79 of Westin

His shirt sticks to his chest. The top few buttons are open, and my toes curl as I sneak a quick peek at the hair between his pecs.

I take a step closer.

He stays still, and I feel like I’m approaching a big animal in the wild, like any sudden movement will make him throw me down on the bed.

My eyes go lower. Down to the belt he used to tie me up. Down to where his shirt isn’t properly tucked in. I pull the fabric free, and my fingertips graze the warm skin of his lower stomach. His chest tightens in a quick inhale. His eyes burn like fire.

I know he feels that touch in his groin.

I lift my eyes. “I want it the way you like it to be.”

The words come out wrong, all jumbled. His brow creases.

“What do you mean?”

I worry my lip. “By the swimming hole, you mentioned being into…things.”

“You mean BDSM,” he says flatly, like it’s nothing.

I nod. “I’d like…to know what that means.”

He takes me by the chin. He turns my face up so I have to crane my neck. I forgot how tall he is. He’s serious, his eyes having quieted down to glimmering coals.

“Do you really?”

“I do,” I whisper.

His other hand slides behind me, and I feel it in my hair, gathering the tangled curls into his grip, wrapping it twice aroundhis fist. My pulse stumbles, speeding up. He wraps it around one more time until his grip is at the nape of my neck.

Our bodies are close. I feel the heat of his groin against my belly.

“Is that what you really want?” he breathes.

“Yes,” I gasp.

His eyelids flicker. “You will call me sir tonight.”

Arousal pours through my veins. “Yes, sir.”

Something clicks in my brain. All the fear and pain I carry around like a burden on my back falls away. There’s nothing but his big, broad body, his hand in my hair, and the bed where I know he’s going to ruin me.

I glance sideways. It’s so neat, the sheets tucked flat.

He drags my head back. His head dips, his mouth brushing my forehead. I’ve never felt more grounded than right now. Somehow, he knows how to pull me back in, to make me feel like home is a real place, not just something I wish for at night.

He lets my hair go and pushes the sweater off my shoulders. It falls with a soft thump. He sinks to his knees and starts unbuttoning my dress.

This feels new, different.

“Pick a word for me, darling,” he says, eyes down as he undresses me. “Any word you feel comfortable using as a safeword.”

I think it over, suddenly self-conscious. My mind drifts to the safest thing I know—the willow tree at Carter Farms.

“Willow,” I whisper.

He slides my dress down around my ankles. His head dips, and his hot mouth brushes my panties right over my sex, warmth seeping through to my clit.

“Perfect,” he says. “If you need me to stop, say that. Understood?”

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