Shade stares at me, his gaze intense and sexy and mind-blowing.
He takes a step forward.
I take a step back.
Lion and prey.
Lion and prey.
I’m like a little wounded gazelle.
In stilettos.
And that means that I can’t run.
Fuck.
I pant again.
“You’re fine,” Shade assures me softly, watching me and appraising me while probably plotting how to capture me. “Why don’t you sit on the bed—I’ll be back in a second.”
He turns around and steps into a room that I didn’t notice before. It has to be the bathroom. He pokes his head back around the corner.
“And you might want to make yourself comfortable.”
He’s gone again.
Make myself comfortable?
What does he mean by that?
Take my clothes off??
Good Lord. I glance down at my outfit which feels like it has shrunk two sizes in the last two minutes- probably due to the fact that I can’t seem to breathe. I probably shouldn’t have worn shapewear that is thick enough to hold in a middle-aged guy’s beer gut.
Holy shit.
The shapewear.
Why did I wear freaking shapewear??
I scramble to get it off. I can’t have beautiful and perfect Shade undress me and find this hideous beige undergarment. I’d be too humiliated to ever look at him again, much less orgasm under his very skilled fingers.
And I’m just guessing about that last part- but I’m certain that he’s skilled.
He’s a professional, after all.
Did I mention HOLY SHIT?
I fly into motion and kick off my stilettos so that I can unpeel the fricking shapewear from my mildly damp torso. I can’t believe I’m sweating. I’m sure that the perfect and gorgeous Shade never sweats. And all the thinking about sweating makes me wonder if I smell.
Hell.
I’m just lifting an arm to do a quick whiff test, when Shade comes walking out of the bathroom.
Oh, freaking perfect.
He grins and acts as though he doesn’t notice that one of my arms is in the air, my nose is buried in it and the other arm is caught half-way through the tight armhole of my industrial-strength-glorified-girdle.
Sweet Jesus.
And Shade’s tuxedo is gone now. He’s wearing only the black slacks. His chest is bare and sculpted and perfect. And rippled. And it sort of glistens in the soft light. OhMyWord. I instantly want to lick it.
Holy Freaking Hell.
Shade saunters over to me and gently grabs my wrist, the one that is attached to the arm in the air, and lowers that seemingly paralyzed arm for me. As he does, he slides his nose along the skin of my forearm.
“You smell delicious,” he tells me.
I want to melt into the floor. Both because he knows what I was doing and because his voice is so to-die-for-sexy. I look at him and he stares back unapologetically.
“Don’t be self-conscious,” he instructs me calmly. “About anything. That’s rule number one. All inhibitions should be left at that door in order for you to have the most fulfilling experience possible.”
“All of them?” I ask, thinking about my flying squirrel arms. Shade nods.
“All of them.”
“And there are rules?” I ask, somewhat nervous about that fact. I wasn’t shown a rule-book.
“Only a few.” He peels my thick elastic underwear down and I step out of it. He throws it into the corner of the room with a disgusted look on his face.
“Rule number two: Don’t wear that ridiculous shit again. You don’t need it.”
He looks down at me, his gaze appreciative as he runs his fingers along my newly bared torso. Goosebumps form where ever he touches.
“You’re perfect.”
“I’m paying you, so of course you’re going to say that,” I point out. He smiles, a grin full of mischief and cockiness.
“True. But I’m always honest,” he tells me. “Always.”
And then he shoves me onto the bed.
I go flying, sprawled unceremoniously on the thick cushiony duvet.
“What the hell?” I sputter. And then I am instantly overwhelmed again by the beauty of his rippled chest as he climbs onto the bed, like an agile jungle cat, toward me…up and over me. I feel slightly overpowered. I sort of like the feeling.
“You need someone to show you who is boss,” he says seriously. “I think I have you pegged, Alli. You’ve been the caretaker, the decision-maker and the wonder woman for too long. You need someone to make the decisions and to take care of you.”
“You’ve gathered all of this in ten minutes?” I ask, not wanting to acknowledge that he is 100% correct.
He nods. “You’re easy to read.”
Shade moves with all the agility of a leopard as he positions himself above me, the skin of his forearm pressed against the skin of my side. I try not to hyperventilate as I stare into his blue, blue, blue freaking eyes.
“And I’m going to take care of you,” he promises. “Every inch of you.”
Oh. My. God.
I can’t breathe.
Shade dips his head and without any preamble at all, he buries his face in my cle**age as he reaches beneath me and unsnaps my black lacy bra. And then he discards it next to the bed and licks a circle around my nipple.
“Ah!” I cry out and grab the pillows next to me. Shade smiles against the skin of my breast, his mouth widening, moving… then sucking.
“Oh my god,” I can’t help but whisper. It’s like every nerve ending in my entire body is on fire right now- on def-con-five hyper alert and actually, they might implode. Or explode. Or whatever it is that over-charged nerve endings do. I might stroke out, actually.
I gather my courage and release the pillows, instead stroking the silky skin of Shade’s young and muscular back. Holy hell. Rick the Dick was never built like this- not even in his prime. Not even in his dreams when he was in his prime.
Must not think of Rick the dick.
Must not think of Rick the dick, I chant silently. But honestly, it’s not something I have to repeat for long. My attention is focused solely on this perfection in front of me.
And then, before I can trail my fingers down to Shade’s perfectly chiseled ass, he is grasping both of my wrists in his hand and clamping handcuffs on each one, binding me to the headboard.