Page 95 of Deep In Love
“I think you want someone else to take control.” His grip tightens, and his words strike true. The corner of his lips tips up. “Am I right?”
My core clenches in response, but words are lost on my tongue. I manage a nod, and Mateo’s pupils burst.
Fuck.
He drops his head to whisper in my ear. “Safe word?”
My mind blanks, and I scramble for a word—one I won’t accidentally say. The first thing that pops into my mind is “Agarose.”
Mateo’s face blanks for a split second before he lets out a roaring laugh, his grip loosening on my wrists. “Agarose?”
I nod as he pulls air into his lungs.
“All right, then. If you want to stop, that’s the word.”
He releases me and rises. Anticipation tingles my skin as I crawl to the edge of the bed and wait for him to do something. I’ve given him the control I’ve held on to for years with a white-knuckle grip. Instead, he stands and watches me, scorching a path along my skin.
He’s possessive—consuming—as he assesses me.
“Strip for me.” Mateo falls into the desk chair, leans back, and spreads his thighs. It’s a cocky, confident move, and it’s hard not to focus on how his dick begs for freedom, straining against his zipper. He drags his palm against himself, and I watch him beneath my lashes.
He wears that infuriatingly smug smile, the one that sets my blood on fire.
My chest heaves, battling to draw in a full breath, as I strip off my socks. I dangle them in my grip and toss them at Mateo.
“Actions have consequences,” he purrs.
That’s the idea.
My shirt is next, and I allow it to flutter to the floor before shimmying out of my pants. All that’s left is the painfully boring underwear I packed for the trip.
I didn’t anticipate having to strip for Mateo, so all I’ve got are worn-down bras and granny panties that have seen better days. I’m frowning at the small hole in my crotch—super attractive—when Mateo clears his throat.
“Everything.”
All thoughts of ancient undergarments fly away with the lookon his face.
With zero grace, I pull the sports bra over my head and immediately sigh in relief. Mateo chuffs as I fling it away.
Goodbye, boob prison.
I slip off my underwear, and then I’m standing bare before him.
It was not a graceful seduction or a striptease, which I realize now as I’m standing naked as the day I was born.
Whoops.
“All done,” I say awkwardly, filling the silence.
I’m not sure what to do with my limbs, and I’m not used to standing naked in front of someone, so I begin to squirm. He lounges in the chair, stroking himself over his zipper. He lifts a finger and beckons me forward.
I shuffle in front of him, bouncing from one foot to the other. Not because I’m naked, which is the typical cause, but because I have no idea what’s about to happen, and it sets me on edge.
An anticipatory type of edge, but the silence hangs heavily.
He draws me into his lap, exploring the curve of my waist, and the rough texture of his calluses scrapes against my skin.
“I want you to say your affirmations,” he whispers, and my heart drops. “The ones you tell yourself in the mirror. I want to hear them.”
