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He carries me out the main door of my apartment building and places me in the passenger seat of his car, before dropping my handbag at my feet. Seriously, he remembered to grab my bag—he gets brownie points for that.
He comes around the car and slides into the driver’s seat.
“You’re so bossy and take charge and confident and self-assured and—” I search my mind for the right word and fail. I settle for, “I’ve never met anyone like you. It’s overwhelming--”
“And you like it.”
“I do.” I nod. ”More than I’d have thought possible. When you order me to do something, I shouldn’t want to obey right away, but?—”
“You want to.”
I scowl at him. “Am I that easy to read?”
He smiles, and when he turns to me, there’s a softness around his eyes. “Only for me. And only because you’re submissive.” He turns to look at me. “You’re my submissive.”
The possessiveness in his voice makes me shiver. His words resonate with that hidden part of me—the one only he seems to awaken. I nod slowly. “I am.” It’s a relief to have it out in the open. The tension I wasn’t aware of holding in my muscles fades.
His eyebrows draw down. “When we get married, there’ll be rules.”
I don’t bother pointing out that the ‘when’ was in error. What's the point? He'd ignore it anyway. My curiosity is piqued enough to ask, “What kind of rules?”
“These rules are for your safety. So you know what you’re getting into with me.”
“Okay?” I’m still not sure what he’s talking about.
“I will reward you for being good. I will own your every orgasm. You cannot come without my permission. It’s up to my discretion when I allow you to climax. Your body is mine. Your cunt is mine. All of your holes exist for my pleasure. Do you understand?”
My head reels from the impact his words. My nipples are so tight, I’m sure they’ll slice through my shirt. My cheeks are flushed, my breathing ragged. His words do not leave anything to the imagination—they never do—and it should come across as obscene, but the way he delivered them—without emotion, in a cold, clinical manner like a doctor laying down instructions that brook no argument—is so very arousing. And so puzzling. None of the passion-drenched poetry I’ve memorized, or the spicy romance novels I’ve read, or the porn videos have prepared me for the reality of this confident man telling me how he wants to possess me. And I find myself nodding in agreement.
“Do you, Raven?” he asks in a voice that’s impatient.
“Yes.” I duck my head.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“Yes.” I jut out my chin. “I understand.”
“If I were to bend you over the hood of the car and take your pussy, what would you say?”
Oh my god! My belly trembles. My toes curl. I’m so turned on I can barely choke out, “yes. I’d say, yes.”
“Yes, sir,” he prompts me.
“Yes sir,” I whisper.
“Good girl.” There’s approval in his tone which elicits a fresh burst of arousal between my legs. There’s a touch of relief in his eyes, which confuses me. Did he think I would say no? Doesn't he know, I can’t say no to him. Does he know I trust him not to hurt me? Can he tell I know it’s inevitable that I'll marry him, even though I haven’t said it aloud?
He searches my features, then nods, as if satisfied with whatever he sees. Then he eases the vehicle onto the road.
"Wait, what about my clothes and my stuff I was packing?"
"I’ll have it sent to my place."
"Oh." I suppose that saves me the effort of doing it. Besides, I don’t want to head back to that apartment and risk running into Felix again. So I nod, then reach for my handbag—and pulling out the key to the apartment, hold it out to him.
He looks at it then nods toward his jeans pocket. "Slip it in, will you?"
I hesitate, then slowly reach over the center console between the seats. He arches up his hips, not that it helps. His thigh muscles stretch the fabric of his jeans, so I have to struggle to slip the key inside the pocket. The whole time, I’m aware of the bulge between his legs. My throat goes dry. I tear my gaze away from his package and sink back into my seat.
