But same principle, right? He orders, I obey. He needs to know that I get that.
I turn to look at myself from all angles in the tri-fold mirror. I look hot, yes. But only if you define hot as the latest in streetwalker fashion.
Still, I did as he said, and that should count for something.
He didn't tell me what to do about shoes, so I slip on my tallest stilettos in fire engine red, then strut out of the room. Or try to. With the heels and my own self-consciousness working against me, I can't say that I'm really rocking it.
He is standing as I enter and he's wearing his suit again, and with his hair mussed from sleep and sex, he looks all the hotter.
I look at him, trying to read his expression, but this is a man who knows how to hide his thoughts, and so I can only stand there nervously as he comes toward me, moving as smoothly and sensually as a panther on the prowl.
When he's less than a foot away, his eyes skim over me, pausing at my hemline and again at my breasts before finally focusing on my face. "I can see your nipples, baby. Hell, I can practically see your cunt."
The words are raw, deliberately vulgar, and I can't help but think that he's testing me. I take a step toward him, then press my fingertip lightly against the indentation at the base of his neck, then trail it down his chest and abdomen to finally hook on the waist of his slacks. "And you like it," I say, trying to put a purr in my voice.
For a moment, his expression doesn't change and I think that I've misjudged him. Then I see the heat--and the amusement--flare in his eyes as an easy smile touches his kissable mouth. "Yes," he agrees. "I do."
He presses his hand to my back and steers me out of the room. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" I ask.
"What do you think?"
"No," I say, as we go down the stairs. "You're not going to tell me a thing."
"Does that turn you on? Knowing that everything is in my hands? Not having the slightest clue where I intend to take you or what I intend to do with you?"
We've reached the landing, and I'm breathing hard.
"Tell me, Jane," he orders. "I want to know if that makes you wet."
"Why don't you touch me and find out?" I pause as I say the words, then spread my legs just a little in invitation. My heart is pounding. My skin tingling from the electricity between us. There has always been heat between us, but there were always boundaries, too. We're unfettered now, and even though infinite possibilities lie between us, in this moment all I need is the slightest brush of his fingertip over my clit to make me completely explode.
He doesn't answer. He simply smiles and heads toward the door, then pauses before opening it. "With me, baby."
"Always," I say.
The night is warm, which is convenient since I'm practically naked. He leads the way to the subway station, and I can feel my anticipation grow, because I'm certain that he intends to finger me in the car, and I'm not certain how I feel about that, and when I realize how empty the car is, I start to think that train motion and Dallas and an explosive orgasm would be just fine by me.
But the bastard doesn't once touch me.
"Patience," he says, when we finally get off the train, and I'm so frustrated that I don't even know where we are because I haven't been paying attention to the signs or to my surroundings.
Which, frankly, is a big deal. I'm always aware of my surroundings and I never let down my guard.
Never, that is, until I had Dallas back in my bed.
"What?" he asks.
"You make me feel safe."
I understand from the way his expression goes sweetly tender that those weren't the words he was expecting. "I told you a long time ago that I'd always protect you."
"You did," I agree. "I believed you then, and I still believe you now."
He pauses at street level and kisses me gently. Then he waits a beat, smacks my ass, and orders me to walk ahead of him.
I grin and do, adding a little swing to my step just for the hell of it.
I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, and when I see a penny on the ground, I bend over at the waist to pick it up, just to give him an extremely naughty view. I hear his soft, "Christ, Jane," and smile with victory before I stand and continue walking without once turning around.