Page 13 of Reveal Me
‘Show me.’ He beckons me closer with one finger. My gaze remains firmly locked on him, on his liquid molten eyes, on full, plump lips that I can’t stop imagining between my legs. I have never felt so alive.
‘You want me to take off my lingerie?’ My nipples tighten further at the prospect, and a dull ache throbs between my legs. ‘Sir,’ I add as an afterthought.
Fire dances in his irises as his eyes snap back to mine. ‘No. Pull them down at the front, show me your pretty pussy. If I’m going to commit to a three-month contract, I want to see what I’m getting.’
Three months?
I could have three months of kinky sex games with the billionaire next door?
Sign. Me. Up.
I don’t even hesitate. I slip my fingers inside the front of my waistband and show him my bare pussy. Going full Hollywood was yet another act of rebellion against my royal role, and tonight, I’m beyond grateful for it.
His eyes blaze. ‘Open your legs.’
I widen my stance; the weight of his attention has me practically writhing.
‘Touch yourself. Show me you’re dripping for this.’
I have never touched myself in front of a man–ever. There are about a hundred other people in this room. My cheeks flame, but I want this. I want him, so I swipe a finger lower, and fuck, the friction feels so good. This is already the best sexual experience of my life, and he hasn’t even touched me. I swear if he were to spank me there even once with that paddle thing I’d come on the spot.
He tuts playfully, as a slight frown creases his forehead. ‘You haven’t earned it.’
Clearly, I’m going to have to work on my poker face.
‘Show me how wet your finger is.’
I sigh, yank my glistening finger away and hold it in front of his face. He eyes it with a satisfied smirk. ‘You’re different,’ he muses. ‘Is it inexperience?’ He strokes his chin thoughtfully. ‘Or defiance? Do youwantto be punished?’
I don’t know what I want. I haven’t got a clue about this life. About pain and punishment and whips and chains, but one thing’s for sure—I will die if I don’t find out.
‘No, sir.’ I suck on my lip and lower my eyes to the ground, hoping it’ll buy me some brownie points.
He reaches forward and tugs the lace back up to cover me. Disappointment drills into my chest. Wherever thatthree-month contract is, I’ll sign it this second—in my own blood if I can’t find a pen.
‘Kneel,’ he commands, and I obey. Even I’m impressed with my ability to do as I’m told for once. ‘Take the mask off. I want to see your face.’
Shit.
Shit.
And a royal fucking shit.
If I take my mask off, it’ll all be over.
Then again, if I don’t, it’ll probably be over too.
Fuck.
‘Remove it,’ he commands, stronger this time. ‘If you have any hope of being my submissive for the next three months, I’m going to need to see your face.’
‘Promise you won’t let it put you off, sir?’ I whisper, acutely aware that our two-minute reprieve is almost up.
Something like sympathy flashes across his face. He probably thinks I’m scarred or something. I am, but not on the outside, on the inside. Scarred from a lifetime of duties and royal obligations. From shit sex and men who are frightened to touch me in case they break me. From men who view me like a trophy instead of a woman.
He stares at me thoughtfully for a long beat. ‘I promise I won’t judge you on your face.’
‘Do I have to show everyone? Or just you?’
