I keep an eye on her through the foggy glass of the shower door. She looks beautiful with her head tipped back, her wide mouth curved in pleasure.
I want to give her far more.
Too bad that’s not going to jive well with the demands I’m about to put on her. Which is the only reason I’m putting it off.
I can lay down the law tomorrow. Tonight it’s late and she’s gotta be falling asleep in that tub after what I put her through.
I shut off the water and grab a towel. She doesn’t open her eyes when I step out and dry off. Not until I pull the drain plug on the tub and the water starts emptying. Then she only lifts her lids halfway and watches me.
It’s damn sexy.
“It’s not going to be so easy lifting me out of this tub,” she observes and again, I’m tempted to smile.
“You gonna make it hard?”
“No.” She sounds surprised, like she hadn’t thought of resisting. “I just don’t see how you’re going to do it.”
“Easy.” I grip her forearms and lift her up enough to sit her on the side of the tub.
“Oh,” she says, like she’s embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess it was easy.”
I wrap a towel around her body and dry her off, then scoop her into my arms to carry to the bed. I want to keep her naked, but I have to remind myself she’s not mine. She may have initiated all the crazy shit we did tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can spread those toned legs in the morning and pound out my morning wood.
And I definitely will if she sleeps naked. Probably wouldn’t even wait until morning.
I put on a pair of boxer briefs and grab one of my t-shirts for her. I have to unclip the zip tie to put it on her. The skin of her wrists is getting raw and bruised, which I don’t love, but I can’t trust her enough to leave her unbound, either. I grab my tie and wrap it around her wrists a few times first, then use the zip tie over it, so she at least has some padding.
“Will you do that for my ankles too?” she asks innocently. Like she’s asking for a glass of Coke from a waiter.
I shove her onto her back and lift her ankles in the air, taking the opportunity to slap her ass a few times.
She shrieks.
“These ankles?”
“Yes, please.”
I can’t help myself. Putting a little hurt on her is so fucking satisfying. I had no idea what a sadistic stronzo I was with a woman until now. I paddle her ass all over with my hand, the crack of flesh on flesh and her resulting gasps loud in the bedroom.
I give her extra spanks over her pussy, which protrudes enticingly through her legs. I don’t stop until her ass is red and warm under my hand. Only then do I snip off the zip tie and use one of my socks under a fresh one to keep it from rubbing.
Her cornflower blue gaze is on my face the whole time. The blankness she displayed in the bathroom is gone. I see the keen intelligence now. “What are you going to do with me?” she asks.
“You’re going to make reparations. And after you do, I might let you go. We’ll see.”
I know I didn’t straight out tell her I’d set her free, but I meant the words to put her a little more at ease. Because I know she’s been wondering if I’m going to off her. But she goes pale at my pronouncement, her face shuttering up, shoulders hunching as she curls in on herself on the bed.
I slide the covers out from under her and climb in, then wrap an arm around her waist and pull her ass back against my lap. So much for not tempting myself.
I keep my arm firmly around her waist, my body molded around the outside of hers. If she moves, I’ll feel it. No way she’s going to escape during the night. I’m not a deep sleeper.
“You so much as move a muscle without permission and there will be hell to pay. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir,” she murmurs.
“Huh.” It must be a sexplay thing, calling me sir. She’s way too young and casual in the rest of her speech for me to believe she regularly calls men sir.
“Yes, Mr. Tacone,” she amends, remembering my correction earlier.
I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “Good girl.” It comes out as a satisfied rumble. And I genuinely feel it.
She’d make a great pet. And I’d fucking love to be her master.
Chapter 4
Caitlin
I wake to the smell of pancakes and my tummy rumbles. I never got to eat what I consider the dinner of champions last night—the bowl of Golden Grahams I poured myself before I found the Tacone brother in my apartment.