He couldn’t think that. Because he knew, he knew me.

Which made all my debates pointless. I’d go, and he’d know how I felt whether I told him or not. I’d go, and if he let us be like last time, if he let me in and held me there, then I’d know how he felt too.

I put on the underwear from La Perla. Plus the garter. And the stockings. I blew out my hair and did my makeup. Sultry eyes, mascara. Light lips. I found a coat in the closet that was light enough to wear on a warm April night but long enough to hit my knees. I put it on over the lingerie, slipped on some strappy high heels, and took a cab to the Four Seasons.

I was late when I got there; still I lingered outside the door for several long minutes. What if he wasn’t there? What if tonight was the night he officially ended our deal?

What if, what if, what if.

What if he’d gotten scared, tried to back away, and realized he couldn’t? What if he was on the other side of the door waiting for me with as much trepidation as I was on this side of the door? What if I walked in there and he took me in his arms and loved me? What if it was wonderful?

I slid my key in the slot and went in.

He wasn’t in the living room, but when I walked in a few steps, he appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. He wore suit pants and an undershirt. A wife-beater. I’d always hated them, not only because of the name, but well, no, mostly because of the name. But there was nothing I hated about the way JC looked, his forearms resting on either side of the frame, his muscles tensing from the pose. He looked surprised to see me. And relieved. And worried. And maybe a little lost.

I read every single emotion with clarity because they mirrored how I felt exactly.

A stream of heartbeats passed with our eyes clinging to each other, our bodies frozen while we took each other in. It was like physically touching, the way his gaze skimmed over my skin. Like he was caressing my every inch. Embracing me. Stroking me. Adoring me.

I saw the exact second that he saw them. His expression had been soft and searching, then, as he scanned down my legs and registered my stockings, it turned dark and carnal.

“Take it off,” he said, his voice scratchy with barely contained desire.

I tugged at the tie at my waist, my focus never leaving him. My arms tingled and I couldn’t decide if I felt a flash of warmth or a flash of cold as I dropped the coat to the floor.

JC exhaled heavily. “Turn around.”

I spun, slowly, letting him see me in the underwear he’d purchased for me. Letting him see how perfectly they molded to my shape. He visually devoured me and it turned me on. Set me to flames. By the time I’d made it all the way around, I was wet and needy. A glance at his tightly bulging pants only made it worse. I yearned for him to touch me. Ached for it.

It only took him three strides to cross to me. But when he got there, he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he circled me, drawing a perfect perimeter around me. As if he were setting his boundaries. Here, his confident saunter said. This is the farthest I’ll be from you tonight.

It sent sparks down my spine that ricocheted and traveled to my very core.

“I think,” his tone was rough and raw, “that we,” every word purposeful and promising, “should push your limits.”

A thrill shot through me that was equal parts fear and excitement.

“Follow me.”

Goose bumps shot down my arms as I tailed him to the bedroom. It was so sexy how he commanded me. How I obeyed.

He stopped at the edge of the bed and turned to me. “Take off your bra. And your panties. Leave everything else.”

Each word was thick and raw. They fell on me like little grenades, exploding on impact and annihilating my composure.

I trembled as I complied, nearly sick with anticipation. He’d yet to touch me. I was dying to have his lips on mine. I was hot and horny.

I was also afraid. Because besides the silent exchange we had when I’d first arrived, we hadn’t addressed the last time. I still didn’t know where we stood. And while his aloofness was provocative as fuck, I feared it was purposeful.

So when I’d finished undressing—naked except for the garter, stockings, and shoes—I couldn’t stop myself from moving toward him, seeking his embrace.

He stopped me before I reached him. With a curve of his lip, he said, “On the bed. On all fours.”

I hesitated for the briefest of seconds. It doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. This is the game tonight. Follow where it leads.

And because it was a game I fiercely wanted to play, it wasn’t hard to do as he said.

I climbed onto the bed, on all fours. It was a vulnerable position. I was exposed to him, my cunt on display, the slick evidence of my arousal plainly visible. Even more vulnerable because I was facing away from him and couldn’t see if he was looking at me or not. If he were pleased with what he saw. I had to trust.

“Very nice,” he said, and I beamed inwardly. He began to strip. I heard his zipper. I heard his belt buckle as it fell to the floor with his pants.

Now would he touch me? I hoped. I prayed.

“Crawl to the edge of the bed.”

I moved forward, and as I did, I felt the weight of the bed shift. I shivered with apprehension. Wondering. Waiting.

His hands settled on my hips just as his tongue slid up my seam.

I gasped, and he immediately did it again. This time, he dipped into my pussy. He licked a circle around my hole, rousing my nerves as he passed over them like the wave at a baseball game. I fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Let the pleasure build and tease as he taunted me with his attention.

As he serviced me, his palms moved to knead my ass. It was heavenly and unexpected. He’d gone down on me plenty, but he usually focused on my clit. This time, all of his treatment was on my pussy, and while it was fucking fantastic, the swollen bundle of nerves above throbbed and begged for a turn.

But when JC’s tongue left my cunt, it traveled in the opposite direction—to my ass. He nibbled along my crack, burying his face between my cheeks. As he grazed his teeth against sensitive skin, I whimpered. As he licked around the perimeter of my hole, I wrapped my fingers tightly in the bedspread and fought back a curse. Because…shit…what was he doing? And why did it feel so goddamned brilliant?

He pulled away, and his mouth was replaced with his hand.

“Has anyone ever touched you here, Gwen?”

“Uh, no.” And no one was going to. Well, except he was already touching me there. The swirl of his finger around my rim traced the path his tongue had taken, and as it dipped in, pushing just the tip inside, I felt myself grow wetter.