The Bride (The Boss 3)

His hand snapped up and caught my jaw, and he leaned forward to kiss me, an act of tenderness incongruent with his rough hold. Then he released me and promised, “Never.”

I carefully wiped at my lower lip line, in case my lip gloss was smudged, then remembered how futile an effort it was. It was going to get plenty smudged up tonight, anyway.

“Do you want to go over everything point by point?” he asked. “I wouldn’t do anything that conflicts with your established hard limits.”

“No. I can always use my words and signals, and you’re good about checking in. I trust you.”

He gazed at me, speechless, an indecipherable mix of emotions crossing his face. When he spoke, he was hoarse, as though he didn’t trust his own voice. “That’s a gift in itself..”

“There are toys and things upstairs.” I gestured with my head to the loft. “Shall we go up, or…”

The song had ended, and a new one had begun, “Cola” by Lana Del Rey. The sexy, insistent beat echoed the pulsing tension between us. When he spoke, it was with my Sir’s voice, the dark tone that always took over when he slipped into the role. Dominance and submission was quite a bit like acting out a character, except the character was a secret version of oneself.

I sometimes wondered if, in my case, the secret version wasn’t closest to my true identity.

“Are you ready?” He leaned back on the couch, one elbow resting on a throw pillow, the other arm stretched along the top of the back cushions.

“Oh, yes, Sir.”

He looked so fucking sexy sitting there in his jacket and tie, the dim light picking up the silver threads in his hair, one long leg out in front of him. His total ease was a facade; he was calculating. My nipples hardened, and my suddenly very interested clit throbbed.

“Stand up.”

I did.

“Take your dress off. Top down, slowly, one strap at a time.”

I slipped one strap off, then the other, holding his gaze as I did.

“Eyes down.”

I looked instead at his legs, at the crease in his trousers.

I pulled my other arm free and rolled the top down, over my strapless black bra.

“Come here.”

I was only a step from him. He could have reached for me, if he’d wanted to. He waited until I came to him, until he didn’t have to do more than raise his hand to grip the front of my bra and jerk it down, hard. He sat up straight and closed his mouth over one nipple, and without thinking, I raised my hands to his hair. He released me and gave me a little shove backward.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me,” he scolded.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“That will be your very last warning, Sophie.” He motioned for me to step back. “Get the rest of your fucking clothes off.”

I unfastened my bra and tossed it aside, remembering how we’d scattered our clothes everywhere the first night I’d been here. He’d been so overwhelming to me then, even without being my Dom. It was the aura of power around him, a feeling that had been a bit intimidating when we’d first gotten together. Now, after all we’d been through together, he was just Neil. Except when he took control of me completely, until I no longer felt desire or fear, merely pleasure and peace at his command. Then, he was my Sir.

I rolled my dress down the rest of the way, and he stopped me when I pushed my thumbs into the waistband of my silky black thong.

“Leave that,” he said on a ragged whisper of breath. “Go get your collar.”

I retrieved the platinum band from my purse and brought it to him, presented reverently on my upraised palms.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of the sofa. He sat there, legs spread so that I was forced to kneel between his feet.

I kept my eyes cast downward. If we were going for full submission, this is what he would expect of me.

“Pick up your hair.” His voice was a deceptive caress, so gentle and loving that all I wanted was to please him, though I knew how deliciously cruel he would be later. I gathered the hair at my nape with both hands and held it up as he positioned the collar around my neck. The cold touch of the platinum against my skin, the familiar weight pulled answering pulses from my groin. I was instantly excited, instantly ready for him. It was shamelessly Pavlovian; I was conditioned.