"Which bedroom?" I ask.
"Ours."
"Ours?"
"You know which bedroom I mean, Indigo." His voice drops an octave. "Go. Now. Or I'm not going to fuck you."
Our bedroom.
It steals every ounce of my attention.
He thinks of it as ours.
God, I want something that's ours.
Even if it's our place to fuck. Especially because it's our place to fuck.
This is where we make sense.
Perfect sense.
I turn. Move down the hall.
His bedroom door is open.
Floor clear, walls bare, sheets tucked.
The exact same, except for the leather handcuffs on the bed.
My breath leaves my body. I try to hold on to some amount of conscious thought.
This is—
I'm daring him to punish me. I don't know what it will look like.
I don't even care.
He knows what I want.
He'll give me what I want.
I try to take deep breaths. I try to keep my feet glued to the ground.
His footsteps move closer.
Closer.
He steps into the room. Takes off his suit jacket. Lays it on the dresser.
Then the tie.
He lays it on top of his jacket.
His gaze flits to the mirror. The closet wall. Like so many closet walls.
Like mine.
Not just a place to check an outfit.
A way to watch.
He turns to me. Takes another step toward me, so there are five feet between us.
It's five feet too many, but I know better than to test him.
"Did you follow my instructions?" He stares into my eyes. Waiting. Offering me the next move.
This is it.
It's already in motion, but this is really it.
The match that sets this whole place ablaze.
"No." I push the words from my lips.
"No?" He moves closer. Until there's a foot between us.
"No," I say it again. Firmer. Surer.
"Would you like to elaborate?" He steps toward me.
I back up.
Again, he moves closer.
Again, I back up.
Again.
Until I hit the bed. Until I have to look at him. "No."
His pupils dilate. His posture shifts. The last bits of softness fade.
He pushes me onto the bed.
Hard.
Like he means it.
The mattress is soft enough to take the impact. Still, I bounce, land on it again.
He pins me, his knee against my thigh. "Don't move."
"Or?"
His breath catches. He likes this game as much as I do. He wants to push back. "You have no idea how brutal I can be."
I shake my head.
"Don't move," he says it again. Firmer. Harder.
I watch as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. The left. Then the right.
Light falls over his strong arms. Casts highlights over his dark skin. His tattoos.
The geometric rose.
The ouroboros.
The Latin quote.
vincit qui se vincit
He conquers who conquers himself.
Is there anything more Ty than that?
He releases his leg. Shoots me a look that dares me to defy him. But still, I stay in place as he moves to the dresser, gathers his tie, tosses it on the bed.
"Sit up," he orders.
I do.
He sits next to me.
His hand goes to my cheek. He pulls me into a hard, fast kiss.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip.
His other hand finds my thigh.
He presses his palm against me. Over my jeans.
Fuck. The hint of pressure is enough to wind the knot inside me. I'm already so close, so on edge.
"Ty," I groan as I pull back.
He responds by rubbing me over my jeans. Harder. Harder.
Hard enough it hurts.
It winds me so quickly.
Tighter and tighter and—
He pulls his hand away.
I nearly buckle from the release. "Please."
"No."
Somehow, I wind tighter.
He stills. Looks me up and down, savoring every inch of my skin, from the tip of my head to the toes of my shoes, then back up.
He brings his hand to my hip. Over my jeans. Along the waist band. To the hem of my top.
Under it.
His fingers trace the line of my bra.
My eyes fall closed.
He cups my breasts over my bra. Runs his thumbs against my nipples, pressing the sheer fabric into my tender skin.
It's too much friction.
And not enough.
I need his bare hands.
"Please," I groan.
"No." His voice is rough. Hard. Harder than I've ever heard it.
He runs his thumbs over me again and again.
Until I need him so badly, I might scream.
Then he pulls back, does away with my top, leaves me sitting on the bed in jeans and a black bra.
He stares at the sheer fabric with equal parts admiration and anger.
Then, without warning, he pulls me into his lap.
My stomach against his thighs, my head on the sheets, my ass in the air.
Spanking position.
He presses one hand into my back, pushing my stomach against his thighs and pelvis.
Against his hard cock.
"Ty—"
He does it again. "You want me to fuck you."
I murmur an agreement.
"Here." He runs his fingers over my jeans, pressing the fabric against my cunt.
I nod into the bed.
"Here." He drags his hand along the seam, until his fingers are at my ass.
It's not a question. I say, "yes," anyway.
"Here." He slips his thumb between my lips.
I suck on his digit. It's not enough. I need more of him. All of him.