More everything.
But as she stroked her fingers over the leather collars, she was intensely aware of the huge gap between wanting something and getting it.
So she did exactly what he'd taught her to do-she balled up all the anxiety thrumming through her body and drove it into choosing a thick black leather collar. Hardly more than a crazy necklace, right?
He took it from her hand. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, and her whole body strained with tension as he fastened it around her neck. The mirror's reflection hit her hard and made her mind slide sideways. She watched as he ratcheted the leather tightly. Her body looked sleek and so intensely sexual in her sweet little thong and spiked heels, with the blood-red mask covering most of her small face. She had the strange sensation of watching it all happen to someone else. Could almost have made herself believe it if her body wasn't exploding with sexual need.
The lusty music mixing with the sounds of sex beyond the curtain made her body ache, made her sex full and wet, made her shift on her feet. And as he fastened the buckles on the collar, her vision faded at the edges, her neck muscles strained, and her breaths came quicker.
This was definitely not some crazy necklace.
She lifted her hand, sliding her fingers between the leather and her skin.
“Claustrophobic?” he asked.
Shallow wisps of air made the tension in her body ratchet higher. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, his voice rough and knowing. He let the heavy mass of her hair tumble down again and stroked all ten fingers through the strands, his gaze following the motion. “It will get worse before it gets better.”
A sharp strike of panic cut through her, lightening her head and making her sway. He slipped one arm around her waist from behind, steadying her. He had the strangest way of reading her. Of knowing what she needed when she needed it. Of knowing when to push her and when to ease off.
And when she'd steadied, his hands slid slowly up her body, feeling all the curves in her waist, all the ridges in her abdomen before cupping her breasts. He didn't rush into sex, as she'd expected. He lingered, touching her as if they had all night. The way he so expertly squeezed and pinched and brushed her breasts and nipples until she had to rub her thighs together to ease the desire building between her legs made her wonder if there were some men in the world who were so experienced they knew every hot button on a woman.
Giselle had never imagined being attracted to a man like that, a man to whom she was nothing but another lay, but tonight, that wasn't even on her problem radar. She had all kinds of time for regret later.
Once the panic eased, she grew used to the pressure around her throat-as used to such a thing as she could-and her breaths came easier. But the angst burning in her belly persisted, and the heat from that fire sank deep between her legs, making her desperate for counterpressure.
He turned her toward him, hooked a finger through the ring at the front of the collar, and slowly drew her to him until her lips pressed his. He stroked his tongue over her lips, then pulled back, leaving her hungry.
Her whimper of disappointment made heat spark in his eyes. “This”-he tugged on the collar-“means I own you. For the time we're in this room, you're mine to do with as I choose, with the exception of 'no' or 'stop.'”
A fury of emotions whipped up in her belly. She was shaky, her anxiety like a cliff edge where she balanced on one foot in high wind. For the tenth time since she'd solicited him, she wondered if she'd made a big mistake.
Huge mistake.
Monumental.
Life changing.
Yet her body quaked with the need for sexual release. Wild sexual release. The kind that would relieve the anxiety and build her confidence. And she was certain he could give that to her.
He used the ring to pull her toward the lounge. There, he stepped behind her again and gently turned her head to the left, showing her a different mirror reflecting their image now, one that displayed their full bodies in profile.
“This is the best kind of voyeurism,” he murmured in her ear, his gaze on hers in the mirror. “The kind where you get to watch and experience at the same time.”
His big, warm hand stroked down her spine. The other joined in as he cupped and squeezed her ass. Want curled between her legs, hot and wet. Then he lifted one hand, fisted her hair, and pulled her head back. Giselle drew a sharp breath and met his gaze in the mirror directly ahead as he licked her shoulder, then rasped, “You are so beautiful.”
A fine tremble had built in her body, one she couldn't control.
“I love the way you shiver,” he said against her neck. The dark thrill in his rough voice made her sex clench. “I want to make you shiver hard. Do you want that?”
“Yes.” She focused, pushed all her fear and anxiety into the thought of feeling him, of that intense, luscious release that was so very different with a man than by her own means. “I want that.”
“Good girl.” The satisfaction in his voice washed dark desire through her body. He pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the lounge until her lower body was pressed against the cool leatherlike material. “Bend over.” He pressed the front of his body to the back of hers and circled her waist with one strong arm. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he patted the chair's highest curve. “Belly here.” He pointed to the lowest curve. “Head there.”
When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he kissed her in that all-consuming way that made her forget everything but him. He added pressure to her back, bending her forward. Crowding her. Easing her into a position where her ass was high, her head low.