Or am I?
No, I’m still too nervous, still too sure of how this will end to truly enjoy it, right? I know he can’t give me an orgasm. No one can. Right?
Or is this why I’m here? Because he’s the one man who can?
Pausing in his torture, Alec re-lathers his hands and turns his attention to my arms. He works the scented soap into the skin from my armpit to my fingers, even soaping in between them. The way he moves in and out of the webs of my fingers makes me struggle not to enjoy his ministrations.
Lathering up again, Alec leans toward me, circling my waist with his hands, moving them up and down my sides, his fingertips meeting at the center of my spine. Each long stroke brings his face closer, my back arching further and further. His eyes are trained steadily on mine, neither of us speaking as he strokes me, up and down, up and down.
On his last downward stroke, Alec lets his hands trail down to my hips. His fingers dig into my flesh, pulling me up off the bottom of the tub as he slips under me to massage each butt cheek. His fingertips fan inward, moving along the crease between them. They glide teasingly inward then playfully away.
When Alec stops to soap his hands again, I’m breathless and I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he’s watching me. Maybe it’s because I know where he’s going next. Either way, anticipation is curled in my stomach like a snake ready to strike.
Alec’s foamy hands disappear under the bubbles. My body is vibrating with tension as I await his touch. But it never comes. He just watches me, his hands floating somewhere beneath the bubbles.
I suck in a breath when I feel his palms settle on my lower abdomen. My muscles twitch reflexively.
Alec splays his fingers out wide, covering me from hip to hip, and moves them slowly downward. I’m completely focused on where they’re headed and, against everything he told me to do, I’m anxious for it. I want it. But then, at the last minute, he parts his hands and drags them down the outside of my thighs.
My frustration mounts until Alec stops just above my knees and pulls his hands inward, toward the inside of my legs, and begins to climb back to my center, his thumbs pressing in as he ascends.
Mere inches from my core, Alec stops, his expression knowing, as if he can see my fingers curling against the warm ceramic of the tub. And then he moves again, all the way up to my heated center.
His thumbs part my swollen lips, allowing warm water to rush over my sensitive flesh. I clench my teeth, trying to hold still and keep quiet. But when his thumb grazes my clitoris, a single pant of air escapes before I hold my breath in, repeating the mantra over and over again.
I won’t enjoy this. I won’t enjoy this.
Up and down, Alec’s thumb moves gently over me. My instinct is to writhe against him, to grind against his hand, but I remain perfectly still, not stirring or speaking or uttering a single sound.
One hand leaves my leg, turning over in the water to cup me. “I’ll be tasting this soon,” he whispers, teasing my entrance with one fingertip. “Bend your knees,” he commands.
I do as he asks, placing my feet flat against the bottom of the tub, opening myself to him. He slides one long finger deep inside me. “God, you’re tight,” he groans. His heavy-lidded green eyes are turned nearly black by his dilated pupils. “You’ll grip my c**k like a glove.”
He slowly withdraws his one finger only to plunge it back inside with a second. My heart is racing as tension builds inside my stomach. I fight the urge to let my head fall back and my eyes drift shut, my body overcome with sensations that are totally foreign to me.
“I’ll be watching you when you come on me for the first time. And you will be coming on me. And after you do, I’ll roll you onto your stomach and I’ll come all over that perfect, round ass of yours. And there won’t be anything you can do about it. Because this weekend, you’re mine,” he declares, his fingers sliding in and out of me, winding me up like a pocket watch. “To do whatever I want with. Whatever. I. Want. Do you understand?”
Faster, his fingers move inside me as he awaits my answer. My brain is scrambled, nearly every thought and nerve centered on what he’s doing to me.
And then he stops, his fingers at rest deep within me.
“Say it,” he orders.
“Yes,” I say automatically, not really caring what I’m agreeing to.
“Yes what?”
I struggle to think. My breath is trapped behind my ribs. “Yes, I’m yours.”
“You will not tell me no.”
I pant as my body sucks at his fingers, a silent plea for him to continue. “I will not tell you no.”
Slowly, he eases his fingers out, leaving me with an empty feeling of frustration. “Good,” he says, bringing his hands out of the water to lather up again.
With expert attention, he treats my legs and feet to the same tender attentions he did to my arms and hands, never once acting as though he’s bothered by what just happened. Or nearly happened.
When he pulls the plug to let the water out, I’m forced to admit to myself that I failed miserably. Not only did I enjoy the bath, but I’m disappointed that it’s over, that he didn’t continue. And that’s a first for me.
Hope rises again, mingling with that frustrated feeling, leaving me achy and distracted as Alec pulls me to my feet. Reaching behind him to grab a towel, he begins to pat me dry as his eyes rove my body. He seems thoughtful when his gaze moves back to my face. “Leave your hair up for tonight,” he says of the sexy, messy pile of red tangles atop my head.
I nod absently as Alec helps me from the tub. He bends to brush his lips over mine before he walks toward the door and grabs my bag from the corner. He carries it back and sets it near the vanity that graces part of one wall in the bathroom. “I’ll see if your clothes are here while you get ready.”
He stares into my eyes for a few seconds before he turns casually around and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Alec
I glance over at Samantha, sitting primly in the passenger seat of the car. I brought the Mercedes tonight. I drive it so seldom, people are less likely to recognize it. Not that I’m well-known anyway, but still, I’m cautious. This kind of thing could ruin a man.
I wonder what Samantha is thinking. She hasn’t said a word since she came down the stairs wearing the dress I took up to her.
She’s quite the vision in the sheath. Every curve is perfectly delineated in nearly-sheer black silk. She didn’t mention the discreet zipper in the back of the dress that begins at her ankles and travels all the way to the base of her spine, just like I didn’t mention that I could see her hard ni**les when she stepped into the light.