Colors swirl on his arm and pec. A tattoo unlike any I’ve ever seen—yellow and red and golden, in the shape of flames.
I watch as he reaches for his zipper, his abs contracting. Gah. Talk about a six-pack. Then he pops the button, pulls down the zipper, and my mouth goes dry.
His briefs are black and soft, hugging his package, and as his jeans slide down his muscular thighs, I can see he’s semi-hard. And big. Yeah, this is one big, bad boy.
God.
He steps out of his pants and takes off his shoes and socks. I feel...jeez, I feel hot all over, inside and out, just by looking at him. He straightens, dressed in his black briefs that look almost too small to contain him, and gives me a slow smirk.
Damn. He knows he looks good. How can he not? He’s all hard muscle and sinuous lines—broad chest, narrow hips, long, strong legs, and that smirk…
“Take your time,” he says, and even his voice has dropped to a sexy growl. “Unless you want me to take things in my own hands?”
I don’t know what to say, nervousness returning ten-fold, followed closely by fear.
“Do you want me to undress you before I tie you up? Do you…” He gestures at me. “Do you feel attached to that dress?”
“What?”
“Is it okay if I rip it?”
Rip it. I draw a breath and almost choke on it. “Don’t.” I turn my face away. “Don’t rip anything.”
“Okay. No ripping. Good to know.” He steps closer, his bare feet making no sound on the carpet, and reaches for me. “Come.”
“Wait.” I take a step back. Distance is definitely needed if I’m going to be able to use my brain. “One more thing.”
“I have condoms,” he says easily. “They’re covered in the price.”
“Oh.” Crap, I hadn’t even thought about condoms. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Okay.” He folds his arms again over his chest—his bare, muscular, tattooed chest, and really, I should stop staring—and waits.
The bulge in his briefs has gotten bigger. Much, much bigger. I can see the outline of his hard cock, caught sideways in the elastic cloth, and his balls...Oh God.
Need to think. Remember what I was going to say.
“A safe word,” I blurt, before I forget, before my brain does that blackout thing again. “We need a safe word.”
His eyes narrow, his dark brows draw together. “What for? I told you, I don’t do hardcore BDSM. There’s no—”
“I need one. I need…” I fist my hands at my sides, struggle to breathe. “Need to know you will stop.”
His frown deepens. “What do you mean? Of course I’ll stop if you want me to.”
“At any moment. No questions asked, no delay.” My fists are shaking badly now. Is it a solution? Will it work? Will I need it?
“Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he says slowly, still frowning. “I swear I will. No delays. No questions asked. Paxtyn…” He closes the distance between us, lifts a hand to my cheek. “I won’t do anything to hurt you.”
I jerk away before he touches my face. “The agency would fire you if you did, right?” I need that reassurance that he can’t do anything he likes to me, that there’s a leash on him, ready to jerk him back.
His hand drops, and his jaw clenches. “You really think that’s why I wouldn’t hurt you? Because I fear for my job? Do you think I wouldn’t stop otherwise?”
“Will they fire you?”
He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, they will. Happy now?”
I don’t know if happiness has anything to do with what I’m feeling. “Good. Then if I say stop, you stop. If you don’t stop immediately, I will call the agency and complain.”