She’s ignorant to how beautiful she is. I’m losing myself to her already, and she doesn’t even know.
I kiss her forehead, marveling at the silky feel of her skin at my lips. Dragging my hand along her shoulder, I draw it down, grasping her lower back and pulling her to me. She grasps my shoulders, anchoring onto me as I make my way down from her forehead to the apple of her cheek, the tip of her nose, the delicate chin, her graceful neck. But I don’t kiss her lips.
I release her just enough so that I can grasp the sash to her robe.
“Tomas,” she breathes.
“Caroline. What do you have under that robe?”
“Undergarments,” she says on a shaky whisper. One tug, and the tie comes undone.
“Show me.”
With her head bowed, she shrugs out of the robe and lets it fall to the floor. She stands in front of me now wearing nothing but a push-up bra and the thinnest pair of panties. I feel as if I’ve just unwrapped a gift of immense worth, and I’m not worthy.
“Did they leave you clothes to change into?” I ask, looking around the room. Logically, I know they had to but a part of me wishes they didn’t. I want to keep her in my room forever with nothing but this robe between us. And I could if I wanted to.
She swallows hard and points to a gown hung on a hook at the back of the bathroom door. It’s pale blue and edged in delicate lace and silver, almost old-fashioned yet low-cut enough to be modern.
“I’ll dress you myself,” I tell her. “But first you will spend some time with me.”
I can see her pulse at her neck, and when I take her wrist between my fingers, I can feel the way her heartbeat thunders.
“You’re afraid.”
“Of course.” She swallows hard.
“What are you afraid of?”
A pause before she responds.
“You.”
My cock tightens, the need to claim her hard and fast all consuming. I want to show her where fear can take us while at the same time giving her more to fear. She doesn’t know what I have stored in this room, the tools in my closet and in the table beside the bed. The instruments of torture and pleasure I’ll use to command her body to orgasm over, and over, and over again.
“When do we have to go?” she asks, lifting her fingers to her neck, an automatic move of self-protection. “I should maybe get ready, you know. It looks hard getting into that dress and my hair will have to be done again. And makeup. Maybe everything. You should maybe even call Eliott back.”
It’s cute how she’s trying to distract me, as if mentioning a commitment will somehow make me forget I have a beautiful woman who is all mine standing in front of me. As if I don’t command the time we arrive tonight. I could call everything off with one word. I answer to no one.
“Should we?” I ask. I close the distance between us with one step and bend at the knee, lifting her straight up in my arms and to my chest. She squeals like a little girl as I step toward the bed, her arms encircling my neck on instinct. “We have plenty of time, Caroline. Plenty.”
The bed is the largest one I could find, custom made. King-sized and four-poser, the headboard is sturdy and outfitted with solid rings to suit my purposes. I look briefly at the new bedding Yvonne purchased, pinks and ivory, just before I lay my wife down. I approve.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Anything I want.”
“Charming,” she mutters.
I roll her over and slam my palm against her full backside. Though she gasps, she closes her mouth obediently.
“Tonight I want you on your best behavior. No backtalk or sarcasm, detka.”
“I’m not a brat!”
I chuckle. “Baby, brat. This time, I meant baby. The term can vary depending on your behavior.” I tweak her nose. “You sure there isn’t a brat in there?”
The way her brows draw together and she hmphs out loud, I suspect there’s more brat in there than I first realized.
“Now close your eyes and no more talking,” I tell her. “We’re home now, and I’ll only warn you once. In my closet hang my whips and tools, and I won’t hesitate to punish you if I need to.” A low throbbing stretches across my chest at the thought, and I swear she swallows, aware of the sexual tension between us.
Her lower lip sticks out and her brows draw together. “You’re dying to punish me, aren’t you?”
She knows. She fucking knows.
My dick presses up against her side, a steel rod that throbs with unadulterated need at her taunting. “You have no idea.”
“That seems rather disordered. Deviant even. If I—”
I take her mouth with mine to silence her. It almost amuses me she calls me deviant.