Page 70 of The Sadist and the Brat

He looked almost unbearably hot, standing there in his black Henley and black jeans. Silver glinted at his throat and ears, visible with his hair still up, and his feet were bare. She was grateful he’d only removed his shoes—if he’d taken off anything else, she probably wouldn’t have heard a word he was saying. What had he said?Oh, right.“What kind of punishment?”

“Whatever kind I choose,” he said and smiled.

It was his predator’s smile, and seeing it made her nipples tighten and her belly clench and her thighs grow even wetter. And from the way the gleam in his eyes brightened, she was pretty sure he knew it.

“Right.” She swallowed and forced herself to look around. He lived in a loft, a large, open space with a wall of windows and exposed ductwork that had been painted black. The wood floors were cool on her bare feet, but she was so overheated it barely registered. There was minimal furniture—a dining table at the far end, tucked between an open kitchen and the stairs to the second floor, the two couches at the other.

There was a floating wall on the far side of the sofas, behind which sat an office, and another past the dining table that hid a small guest bedroom and bath. The second floor held the main bedroom, and she was a little disappointed that she wouldn’t get to see it.

All the furniture was black, which didn’t surprise her—even the granite counter that ran the length of the open kitchen was black. But there was color in the art on the walls, in the rugs and bits of sculpture and knickknacks set out. It was, despite the stark, modern style, a surprisingly warm and inviting space.

Focus, Sadie,she admonished herself and cleared her throat. “So I have the whole first floor?”

“Minus the office,” he qualified. “And try not to crash into the bar.”

She looked around, confused, then spotted a low cabinet positioned under the windows. It was mid-century modern, wood with brass handles and narrow legs. It looked like an old console television, and a tray with glasses and a shaker rested on top. “You mean that?”

He nodded. “I don’t care about the glasses but breaking the bottles inside will earn you another punishment.”

“Got it.” She wanted to ask what kind of booze he kept in there that was so special, but that wasn’t going to get her any closer to an orgasm. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Your turn. Anything you want to declare off limits?”

She nodded. “No anal sex.”

Curiosity and humor joined the heat in his expression. “Is this the farting thing again?”

“No—well, yes, but also…” She thought for a moment, trying to decide just how to phrase it. “You know how when you’re expecting company, you clean your house?”

“Yes,” he said, confused now.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

He blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. What about plugs?”

“That’s fine,” she decided.

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No orgasm denial,” she added. “I know you’re a sadist, but there are lines.”

“Speaking of sadism,” he said, still amused, “what kind of pain do you want?”

“The kind that gets me orgasms,” she answered promptly.

“I meant, what level of pain,” he clarified with a chuckle. “If on a scale of one to ten, our last scene was a five…”

“Oh.” She thought for a minute. The pain he’d given her in James’ basement had been shocking, and in the moment overwhelming, but there also had been moments when she’d wanted more. “Maybe a seven?” she finally said.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m not, not really.” She had to fight not to fidget. She was already so aroused, so ready, that she was tempted to call off the scene and just ask him to fuck her. But she knew a simple fuck, while fun, wouldn’t be satisfying. “I think I want a little more, but I don’t know how much.”

He nodded. “All right, baby steps.”

“How about toddler steps,” she suggested, alarmed that he might soft peddle it, and he chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’m going to be plenty rough with you.”

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