“Fuck,” I groaned, my eyes fluttering closed.
Macalister’s fingers pressed against the damp center of my panties, rubbing gently against my clit, and the pleasure it produced was white-hot. It curled my toes inside my shoes, and I melted across his lap, threatening to liquify and drip down his legs.
“Watch your language.”
It was shockingly natural the way we fell into our roles. I was the disobedient little girl who craved attention, and he was the disapproving dominant, determined to teach me a lesson.
I wanted it to sound snarky, but his fingers twitched, and more pleasure jolted through me, so my retort was breathless. “Sorry, Daddy.”
His hand cracked across my ass. “Do not call me that.”
I bit down on my tongue, but the inappropriate chant continued in my head. Daddy, daddy, daddy . . .
God, his fucking fingers. They teased without mercy.
I squirmed against his hold, not wanting to break free but enjoying his restraint. And when I writhed in his lap, it made me rub against his erection, and the faintest grunt of pleasure escaped his lips.
Strain filled his voice, so his order verged on a plea. “You will hold still as I’ve asked you to.”
“I can be good,” I whispered. With the thin lace, it was like nothing stood between his touch, and he pressed harder on my swollen clit, causing sparks behind my eyelids. “I can be so good . . .”
Whatever had been holding him back broke down. He came unleashed, overwhelmed with desire. He let go of my wrists so he could curl the fingers of both his hands into the waistband of my underwear and peel the fabric down until it was gone, hung on the backs of my knees.
No longer inhibited by the lace, Macalister slid two fingers across my most intimate part and discovered exactly how powerful an effect he held over me. I was wet. So wet, it had to be shocking to him, but all he issued was a hushed sigh. My hands moved mindlessly, seeking whatever part of this gorgeous yet cold man I could find. One latched onto his leg, and the other followed the line of buttons on his shirt upward, searching for skin to connect with.
The gravel in his voice did nothing to hide his lust. “I suspect this also doesn’t feel like punishment.”
The pads of his fingers strummed over my clit. I quickly shook my head and dug my nails into the suit fabric covering his thigh. His strokes pulled a whimper from the back of my throat.
But abruptly, his touch was gone.
He was harsh and wicked. “And now? Is this punishment?”
Oh, my God. Yes. The absence of his touch after he’d built it up wasn’t just cruel—it was torture. But it was one I was far too familiar with.
Perhaps it was hard for him too, because he didn’t stay away for long. Only a series of deep breaths, long enough for me to mourn his absence and revel in his return. His fingers kneaded and probed . . .
And again, he suddenly went still. The muscles in the legs beneath me hardened.
“What—?” I’d never heard him sound so uncertain.
My desire was a thick fog and slowed my response time. It took me a full two seconds before I understood what had caught him off guard, and more blood rushed to my face. “Uh . . .” I pinched my eyes closed tightly. “I have a VCH piercing.”
“Which means?”
My pulse roared like a jet engine, so loud I wasn’t sure if my faltering voice could be heard over it. It probably didn’t help that I spoke like I was dying. “It stands for vertical clitoral hood.”
He took in a lengthy breath. “Stand up and show me.”
It was impossible to hear any emotion in his tone, so I couldn’t tell if he was interested or horrified by this new development. I’d gotten the piercing last year during Kelly Sumner’s bachelorette party in Vegas. I’d heard it could increase stimulation, and I loved the way it looked. But leave it to me to find the one guy who might not find this sexy.
I was still shaking in response to his touch, plus my panties were caught around my knees, so it was difficult to push off the couch, but somehow, I managed. I stepped out of my underwear and left it behind on the floor, teetering on my unstable legs as I stood in front of him.
He was sexy as fuck as he sat back against his couch and crossed his thick arms, his Cartier watch peeking out from behind a sleeve cuff. His hair was dark in the low light, and his angular face and expression were darker still. The look in his penetrating eyes was carnal. Macalister was a wolf watching its next meal from the shadows, planning exactly when to strike.
Anxiety twisted me tightly, and the heated blood flowing through my system left me jittery and quivering, but I placed my sweaty palms over the tops of my thighs, pressing my skirt against my legs, and slowly began to drag them up.
It was terrifying and exhilarating, this idea of showing off my body to him and the jewelry I wore that no one else knew about. A fantasy of mine come to life. I was a member of his royal court, submitting myself to the king for his evaluation. Up my dress went, all the way to my waist, baring my nakedness to him. And I was starkly naked. I liked a clean look and had shaved bare just this morning.
His scrutinizing gaze focused between my legs, and it was so intense, I felt it like a caress, as if his hands were gliding between my thighs. But his eyebrows tugged together, creating a crease between them, and his attention rose to my face.
“Well? I’m waiting,” he said impatiently.
Oh, God. Because he couldn’t really see the piercing like this. I pinned the bottom half of my dress to my hips with my wrists, and reached my fingers down, peeling myself open.
It was vulgar. Pornographic.
But the way his shoulders lifted as he sat forward? That was obscene and erotic. Excitement spiraled inside my stomach. His eyes zeroed in on the small set of pink gems decorating my skin, one stacked over the other, just above my clit.
“Do you like it?” I breathed.
His expression was unreadable, and he didn’t answer me. But he licked his lips, and my entire body shuddered. The lewd thoughts in his mind began to seep out at the edges of his expression, and I let out a slight sigh of relief.
“It’s new,” I whispered. “You’re the first person to see it.”
Oh, this, he definitely liked. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, but he was pleased. I knew a thousand secrets, but this was the first one I’d only shared with him.
I dropped my skirt, covering myself, and his scowl that followed was epic.
“You wore that dress for me today,” he sat against the couch and slung an arm across the back of it, “but now I think you’ll wear nothing.”
I went weightless, yet also as heavy as the grand piano that sat in the corner. I didn’t say no, because I didn’t want to—and I wasn’t capable. That was the only thing that scared me about him. He could make me do almost anything.
But the question burst from my lips. “Why?”
He tilted his head, curious. “Because I want to see everything.” When I didn’t move, he added, “I haven’t seen a naked woman in years, Sophia, and I have no doubt you will be an exceptionally beautiful one.”
Electricity crackled across my arms, and goosebumps rose from my skin. There was something satisfying in knowing I’d be his first, not only after prison, but after her. The first woman he’d chosen to pay attention to in the post-Marist era of his life.