Page 29 of Going Deep
He nodded. “Let’s talk about sex.”
Hadn’t they been? “Okay.”
“Do you want to include sex in our scene tonight?”
“Uh…I thought that was the whole point.”
“Pleasure is the point,” he corrected. “It doesn’t necessarily have to include intercourse.”
Speak for yourself, she thought. “I’d like my pleasure to include intercourse, please.”
“That’s handy,” he said and gave her that slow, sexy smile. “So would I. I do have to insist that we use condoms.”
This was officially the weirdest pre-sex conversation she’d ever had. “So do I.”
“Good. Anything else I should know?”
She shook her head. “No. Um. No, Sir, I don’t think so.”
“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to speak up.” Setting her pages on the table next to him, he waved a hand. “Stand, please.”
Praying her legs would hold her, she pushed to her feet. He bent to pick up the pillow, set it aside, then sat back in his chair.
She shouldn’t have felt more submissive standing in front of him than she had kneeling, but somehow she did.
“I can see you didn’t wear a bra,” he said, once again sounding like he was discussing the weather. “Did you follow my other instructions?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Show me.”
Oh, boy. “Here? Now?”
“Here.” His expression was calm, his gaze expectant. “Now.”
She glanced around. People crowded the bar area, though they were still giving their little corner of the room a wide berth, and more than one pair of eyes was aimed her way. She inventoried her reaction: a little zing of nerves, a tremor of trepidation, but there was no panic, no fear. And she could feel her pulse in her pussy.
Okay, then.
She looked down at the skirt. With the zipper undone, her leg was bare nearly to the waist, the narrow opening at the top of the skirt showing the jut of her hipbone. She grasped the zippered edge and, like a curtain being pulled back from a window, lifted it.
His eyes gleamed, holding hers as she lifted the skirt high enough to expose the tops of her thighs, then the bare flesh he sought. He held her gaze a heartbeat longer before dropping down. Her thighs quivered with tension, with excitement as he looked at her.
“Excellent,” he murmured, and before she could release the skirt and let it fall back into place he moved, pressing his hand over her naked pussy. She gasped, shocked at the sudden intimacy. He rested his palm over her mound, his fingers sliding between her legs over her labia, slick with her arousal.
And getting slicker by the second.
“You,” he said in a low murmur she had to strain to hear, “are a very good girl.”
While she was grappling with the flood of sensation caused by his hand on her pussy—and the flood of emotions caused by his words—he stood. And he kissed her.
It was gentle, almost sweet, and somehow all the more devastating for it.
“You can let go of your skirt now,” he whispered against her lips.
“Right.” She uncurled her fingers to let the leather fall, disappointed when his hand left her pussy. Then blushed when he grabbed her hand and she felt how wet his fingers were.
His smile was knowing. “Come with me.”
