“I didn’t—I’ve never—”
“Maybe not. But you know you’d like it. You may not have been spanked yet, but I see the flush on your skin, the way your nipples are straining against your dress. You can imagine the sting, then the warmth after. You can almost feel the heat spreading through you. The way your body clenches with desire. You can imagine being naked across my lap, not knowing if I’m going to spank you or fuck you, but simply desperate for my touch.”
He paused, and I gulped in air, realizing with some surprise that I’d forgotten to breathe. “Jesus,” I murmured.
“Tell me I’m right. Tell me you want that.”
“Yes,” I whispered, because how could I lie when he’d already seen the truth?
“Then you’ll have it. But not now. Now, you’re going to strip.” He pulled the folded napkin with my note out of his pocket. “You said you wanted to play.”
“I did. I do. But I also expected you to keep your promises.”
He lifted a brow. “I see. And what promise have I broken?”
“In the corridor. You said you were going to strip me naked.” Desire cut across his face, and I took a step toward him, emboldened by victory. “You said you were going to stretch me out,” I said, as my blood burned with the memory of his words. “You said you were going to taste every delicious inch of me.”
I was right in front of him now, my head tilted up to see his face. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he still wore the suit. He looked commanding and powerful and incredibly sexy, and I craved his hands upon me.
His eyes locked on mine, full of heat and power, and I drew in a breath, certain that he was just as turned on as I was. “I have a very good memory,” I added.
He cocked his head in acknowledgment. “So I see. And you’re right. I said all of those things. I meant all of them. And I’m looking forward to doing exactly that. But first,” he added, in a voice that broached no argument, “I’ll watch you strip for me.”
“I—”
“I want to see you,” he interrupted. “Want to see you so much I can barely breathe.” He moved across the room to a floor lamp, then adjusted it so that the beam cut across the room like a spotlight. He nodded at the circle of light on the carpet in front of me, then moved to casually sit in an armchair. “Strip for me, Sloane.”
My breath hitched as my pulse increased. The tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my head seemed to stand up. Electricity fizzed through me. I was scared—as riled and as jacked up as I’d ever been before going through a door. Then, I didn’t know what lay on the other side. Death? Blood?
Now, I knew exactly. There was Tyler. A man who saw more of me than I wanted to expose. And that small truth was both terrifying and oddly comforting.
For a moment, I considered refusing. Telling him that if he wanted me naked he could take care of that himself. But when I looked at his face, the words died on my tongue. He was looking at me with such a mixture of lust and adoration that it seemed to not only fill me but to spur me. It felt like a challenge. Like he was taunting me even as he was worshipping me.
This was the game. And the only way I could win was to watch the flame in his eyes burn even hotter with every bit of flesh that I exposed.
Slowly—so very slowly—I lifted my hands to the back of my neck. My fingers found the ties that held the halter in place, and I pulled at the bow, releasing it. I eased the two sections of material down, slowly revealing the swell of my breasts, the tight brown of my areolae, the hardness of my nipples.
I dropped the material, allowing the halter portion to dangle at my waist. The air felt cool against my heated skin, and my breasts seemed heavier, as if they were begging for the support of his hands.
I heard Tyler’s sharp intake of breath, saw the way he shifted in his chair and the way his fingers tightened on the armrest, as if he was working hard to hold himself back.