Page 79 of Ward Willing
“You didn’t answer my question,” I growl, pulling my phone out and unlocking it to show her the credit card balance. Stepping forward, I set it down on the island in front of her. “Is this some kind of joke?”
When she’s done looking down, her eyes lift and bore into mine with a defiant gleam. “Of course not. I needed new underwear.”
A low, deep rumble escapes my chest. “You mean to tell me that you spent fifty-fivethousanddollars on… underwear?”
“Not just underwear. I got bras, corsets, toys, bodysuits, harnesses?—”
“Harnesses…” I rasp, my fists curling.
“Yeah. For my future Dom.” When I don’t respond, she tilts her head and gives me a look of what I can only describe as smug delight, as if she knows she’s pushing every button I have and will ever have. “To tie me up,” she adds, a sly smile spreading across her face.
My eyes flick over to the bags and then back to her, where she’s still watching me.
Waitingfor my reaction.
Because as much as she’s pushed me, she’s never gone this far before.
And she knows it.
That’s the entire point, though, isn’t it? She’s trying to push me—trying to prove some kind of point after our conversation at UCLA earlier.
Build the wall, and she’ll find a way to climb over it indeed.
Zoe taps one of the bags. “I happen to have a thing for nice lingerie. Don’t worry, I asked for receipts,” she adds, eyes sparkling.
No, not sparkling—flashingfrom the challenge.
Fifty-five thousand fucking dollars.
The resistance I’ve been maintaining since Catalina goes completely taut, and then it splinters when I think of her wearing those things. The tattered shards of my self-control go flying all around me, and I snap.
“Go ahead,” I growl, gesturing to the bags. “Show me.”
Her smile drops, and she looks down at the bags. “What? The lingerie?”
I cross my arms, and I see her eyes roam over my dirty white T-shirt, grease-stained hands and arms, and disheveled hair. And if I’m not mistaken, her lips part slightly from arousal, not disgust.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice laced with dark venom. “Show me what my money bought, little rebel.”
Her eyes flutter slightly, and her chest rises and falls. “But I’m not wearing it now,” she says slowly.
I take another intimidating step closer, and she inhales so subtly that if I weren’t so in tune with her reactions, I might’ve missed it.
“Show. Me.”
My words sink in, and her nostrils flare as she reaches forward, grabbing something copper colored and lacy from one of the bags and setting it down in front of her.
My cock is so hard against the placket of my pants, and when Zoe glares at me while unbuttoningmyflannel…
Fuck.
Slowly, she removes it, leaving her thin tank top underneath. Her hands come to the waistband of her leggings, and she slides them down to her feet, bending forward and stepping out of them.
I can’t think—can’t fucking concentrate—on anything other than her bare legs and tiny thong. Without breaking eye contact, she removes her tank top and bra, discarding them on the floor.
Then she steps out of her thong, and it takes every ounce of resistance to keep my feet planted on the kitchen floor.
She’s completely naked in front of me, and I let my eyes rake over her body slowly. She’s petite yet curvy and has an hourglass shape with round hips and muscular thighs. Her breasts are small and firm, and her taut nipples are light brown. My gaze wanders over her flat stomach to her soft, dark curls, and I swear I can smell her arousal from here.
