Page 4 of Mr. Sandman
God, his lips were perfect. I watch Vaughn roll the liquid through his mouth, letting the aged whiskey casually coat his tongue before he swallowed.
He lifted his hand, skating it along the side of my neck—following the thrumming track of my pulse until he reached my jaw and captured my chin between his fingers.
“They’re here,” he rasped. “Watching.”
Watching?That wasn’t what I asked for.Disappointment began to slice through the warm knot in my stomach.
“I don’t want them to watch. That wasn’t what I wanted?—”
“Enough,” he snapped with a growl, and for some reason I obeyed, letting all my protests collide at the top of my throat as his head drifted toward mine.
My eyes fluttered shut. At the last second, I felt the rush of air as he veered to the side and rested his lips against my ear.
“I know what you need, Tara.”Tah-ra.“I read your request. I know you’re afraid to not be in control because you think it means you aren’t powerful. I know you’re afraid to let loose because you think you won’t be able to be put back together. I’m here for you.We’rehere to worship you—to fulfill your fantasy.”
I hadn’t written all that in my request, but somehow,it was what he’d read.And he wasn’t wrong.I shivered, his low rasp like warm honey drizzled along my spine, comforting and sweet and sultry.
“And I won’t let you get in your own way,” he murmured and then drew back, towering over me once more with a sharp glint in his mahogany eyes. His fingers stayed firm under my chin, holding my head up as a prisoner to his regard. “Now then, you will listen and obey like a good girl, do you understand?”
My breath hitched, a bolt of heat striking my core.
“Yes.”
He hummed low with approval. “Perfect.” He dragged his thumb over my bottom lip. “Because only good girls get three cocks.”
I inhaled sharply, feeling my core clench with want.
“Now, finish your drink while I wait on you.”
I was tempted to throw back the whiskey in the glass. One big, burning gulp to get this started. But I didn’t. I savored it like I was savoring him. I noted every nuance of Vaughn’s expression, absorbed the symphony of his muscle movements, and relished the sound of his voice.
“Sit.” He nodded to the tufted bench at the end of the bed.
I lifted my chin but listened—obeyed.Sinking onto the plush velvet, I took another slow drink.
“Do you always dress so buttoned up?” he asked casually even though his stare felt like he was stripping me bare.
“These are my work clothes.”I owned enough power suits to make Hillary Clinton jealous.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” he reprimanded, setting his glass of whiskey on the small table next to the mirror and unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt.
My eyes widened a fraction with each inch he rolled it up, revealing strong forearms laced with veins.Oh my.
“Yes. I always dress like this.” My voice sounded like it was run through an aerator, a breathy quality infusing each syllable.
Buttoned-up suits. Button-up pajamas. I went from one suit of armor to another.
My mouth went dry as he approached me, instantly sinking down onto his knees before I could even tremble at the power dynamic of him looming over me.
He reached for one ankle, peeling my stiletto from my heel and setting it on the floor. But he didn’t return my foot to its original spot, instead, he firmly massaged the arch and then ball of my foot, working out the tension that always collected after a day in heels.
“That feels incredible.” I sighed softly, and the color of his eyes darkened with lust.
“Good.” He took his time, massaging me for another couple of seconds before lowering my foot to his thigh, the muscle hard underneath me.
“Do I get to ask you something?” I wondered if that was allowed.
Vaughn picked up my other foot with a smile. “Anything.”
