‘Oh, Sarah.’
I turned.
‘Yes?’
‘When you come back down,’ he said, ‘I want you naked.’
He had changed his shirt by the time I came back down to the drawing room, but he still wore the black dress trousers and the shinier-than-shiny shoes. His clean shirt was more relaxed, open at the neck, exposing his Adam’s apple and a patch of chest, tan and sparsely scattered with hair.
He sat by the fireplace, accessorising nicely with the black cast-iron mouldings of the surround. I didn’t think my pale, unclothed skin would blend quite so well.
I don’t know why I found the nakedness so challenging. He had, after all, caught me in post-coital disarray at our first meeting, and the bodystocking had hardly provided a decent level of coverage. It felt awkward and unnatural to be completely bare, though, and I could not for a moment forget the fact that every part of me was vulnerable and on show to him.
Instinctively, I put my hands over my pubic triangle, protecting my breasts with my upper arms.
He shook his head.
‘Move your hands,’ he said. ‘Are you embarrassed?’
‘A bit.’ I pouted for a moment then clenched my fists at my side.
‘I like embarrassment. It suits you. Your little rosy cheeks. Come over here.’
I stalked forward and stood, hunched and shivering a little, in front of him.
‘Get that footstool and bring it here.’
I picked it up – rosewood with dark-green velvet upholstery, elegant carving on the legs – and set it down by his chair.
‘Right. Now kneel on it. But spread your legs wider … that’s it.’
I felt like an exhibit and I couldn’t face him. What should I do with my hands? They hung there uselessly while I endured the unforgiving laser of his attention.
‘I need you to look at me, Sarah.’
I did as he told me, but kept my eyelids low. My whole face twitched with the effort of not looking away.
‘I told you earlier not to come while I was licking that juicy little cunt of yours, didn’t I? But you came anyway. Right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s that you say?’ He cupped a hand behind his ear, his voice suddenly hard-edged.
‘Yes, Sir.’ The words came as easily as breathing, surprising me. I was meant to say them.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I couldn’t help myself.’ I paused and waited for it to say itself. ‘Sir.’
‘Right. And why couldn’t you help yourself?’
‘Because what you were doing to me … it was very … it made me … lose control.’
He smiled but his eyes were flints.
‘I made you lose control? Well, then, if you can’t control yourself, you’re going to need me to do it for you. Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir.’