He could take what he wanted. It wouldn’t mean anything to her. It shouldn’t. But his words were even more erotic than his touch. Her legs trembled from them, threatening to give out.
Lola tried to push him off, but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pinned it above her head. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked. “For me to take your choice away? Then no one will have to know that you want this just as badly as I do. That you wanted it the night we met.”
She shook her head rapidly. His nearness smothered whatever sense she had left. She was becoming the puddle of desire she’d been at the strip club.
“Let me help you out,” he said when she didn’t speak. “You say, ‘Yes, Beau.’ Then I open the hotel room door. And every time I tell you what to do, you say…”
She fixated on his bowtie, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you speak up?” he asked.
She looked up at the sharpness of his tone. “Yes. Yes, Beau.”
“Good.” He released her and backed away. He opened the door again. The ghost of his grip pulsed around her wrist. “Ask yourself this,” he said. “Do you have to want this to do it? Or are you going to do it anyway?”
She looked between him and the door. She was going to do it anyway. The decision shed a layer of resistance she’d been hiding behind. She entered the suite, where the only light came from the distant cityscape.
“Wait here until I call for you,” Beau said.
She didn’t move. Her nerves melted away. She was in Beau’s hands now and if the past few hours were any indication, it would be an experience she’d never forget.
Glass clinked. The faucet ran. After minutes had passed, Beau spoke from somewhere in the suite. “Come to the bedroom.”
“I don’t know which way,” she said. Directly in front of her was a piano and windowed door that led out to the balcony.
“You’ll find me,” he said. “And you’ll do it on your hands and knees.”
Her dry throat protested when she swallowed.
That a tyrant in everything else would also be a tyrant in the bedroom didn’t surprise her—that there would be a show of strength, a struggle of wills, an expected submission—she might have guessed. But knowing and doing were two different things. She’d never lived it. She knew girls from the club who had. Some liked it, some didn’t. For most, it wasn’t that simple.
Lola sank to her hands and knees faster than she would’ve thought. The tile was hard underneath her, but she was on the carpet soon. The dress caught between her legs while she crawled, slowing her down. Beau didn’t rush her. She went the opposite direction of a flat screen TV, past a round dining table with several chairs. As she got closer, warmer, her breath came faster and her legs seemed heavier—the tender place between them, specifically.
She found Beau on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed except for his jacket.
“Don’t stop now,” he said. “You’re almost here.”
She didn’t remember ever crawling one day of her adult life. Inside she screamed at herself to get off the floor, but she closed her eyes, inhaled and quieted it. This wasn’t about her.
Or was it? Beau had unusual power over her. She’d never been put in this position while someone else watched, nor did she think she’d allow it from anyone else, even with the money. She was still dressed, but she felt stripped and exposed. Crawling for him was a form of intimacy. She opened her eyes.
“Your struggle is a thing to watch,” Beau said just loud enough for her to hear. “If I thought you’d respond honestly, I’d ask you how it feels to submit.”
“It hurts my knees.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe you can give me something less tactile.”
“I feel…helpless.” Vulnerability was rare for her. She’d learned young that it didn’t pay to be vulnerable. But with her helplessness came a relief that left her confused. She had no responsibility other than giving Beau what he asked for. No other choice. And it wasn’t a bad thing. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asked. “Me, helpless?”
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. You can tell me if you hate being on your hands and knees. Maybe I’ll let you stand.”
She stared at him, unmoving. He was going to make her say that she liked this out loud or he would take it away. She should’ve been thankful, but letting her stand felt like a punishment.
“Lola,” he said. “Everything between us lives and dies in this room. It’s safe.”
Her fingers curled into the carpet, but not with frustration. The slow throb between her legs was stronger. Could Beau see it? Smell it? He looked as if he knew. “I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Hate it.” She couldn’t say much more without giving herself away. However gone she was, there was still a shred of Johnny in her she couldn’t bring herself to betray. “You make it not repulsive.”
“Well, not repulsive is something.” There was such approval in his smile that she flushed. “But it’ll be hard to do anything to you when you’re so far away.”
She finished crossing the room until she was at his feet.
He removed one cufflink, set it on the nightstand, then the other. Lola’s heart beat between her breasts. Beau rolled up one sleeve, stood and leaned over her. He gathered up her dress and pulled it over her hips. He hiked up the panties he’d bought her, wedging them between her ass cheeks. His firm hand ran soothingly over her backside as if she were a treasured plaything. She bit her lip to keep any sounds inside.
“I’m going to take you apart,” he said. “Find out what makes you feel so good it almost kills you.”
“Don’t.”
He stroked her skin until he brushed a spot that made her jolt. He made a deep, rumbling noise from his chest. “Then I’ll bring you back to life. Put you back together.”
“Don’t do it like this,” she said. “Just use me and throw me out. I’m begging you.”
“Let’s see how deep your protest goes.” He slid a fingertip under the elastic of her panties. “Mmm. Just as I suspected.”
“What?” she breathed.
“You waxed. She has a chink in her armor.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“Of course not.” His hand grazed down one thigh to the top of her stocking and up again. “And your legs are shaved. I suppose that’s not for me either.”