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“Look over your shoulder at me.”
I flicked my hair out of the way and twisted the way he’d asked.
Heat flared in his dark eyes. But he held himself firm in his seat, picked up his tools, and got to work.
I held the pose, loving the way his hands moved as he molded and shaped the clay with various tools I didn’t have names for. Every tiny movement seemed insignificant, and yet as time ticked by, the clay changed from a lump of nothing to the curves of a woman.
My gaze strayed to the other pieces around the room. His work was dark. Erotic. All the newer pieces based on him or me or the things we did together.
Me on my knees for him.
Him covering my body, wrists pinned above my head.
A close-up of our torsos, his dick buried deep inside me.
They were beautiful. Sexy. And so was he.
It was too much for me to be naked in his presence without wanting him. A building need for him rose deep inside me. I let my hand drift to the ache between my legs and rubbed my clit gently.
“Don’t move, Lyric.”
I flashed him a sassy grin and trailed my fingers lower, pushing two of them up inside me. I closed my eyes and moaned at the intrusion.
He dropped his little spatula-like instrument on the table, leaning back in his chair and watching me finger myself. “That how you want me to sculpt your fingers? With you riding them?”
I rocked my hips, tempting him a little more. “Unless you want to give me directions otherwise.”
He groaned, reaching down beneath the table to palm his cock. “Squeeze your nipple.”
I dragged a palm up my belly and cupped my breast, rolling the nipple. He couldn’t see that, because my back was still turned to him, but he could hear my breaths morph into pants at the new sensation.
I knew what I liked. I knew how to touch myself to get me to the line in a matter of minutes. But I also knew he’d stop me.
He stood, washing his hands in the bucket of fresh water he kept here for that sole purpose. But his gaze never strayed from what I was doing, how I writhed, the noises I made.
“Not yet, Lyric,” he said gruffly. “There are other things I want to do today before I let you come. Stop moving.”
With a whimper I slowed down, taking my finger off my clit and dropping my hands to my side. I trembled in anticipation as he put one hand to the back of his shirt and dragged it over his head. My gaze dropped to his abs, wandering all over them, visually tracing the ridges and curves that were only more pronounced now he had a more physical day job. His biceps were solid muscle, popping and flexing as he stalked across the room to me, undoing his jeans while he walked.
Free of his jeans and underwear, he stood at the edge of the couch behind me, in the gap between my feet sticking over the edge. He trailed his hands down my arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake until his fingers interlocked with mine. He brought both our hands up, guiding me to rest mine on the back of the couch once more.
His breath was warm on my neck when he leaned in, trailing his tongue up the sensitive flesh to my ear. “Do you remember your safe word?”
I nodded, breathless.
“Good girl. Hold on. Don’t let go unless I tell you to.”
Excitement pounded through me. We’d done this so many times now. So many decisions fell to me during our day-to-day lives, especially as a mother. Zeph and I weren’t at a place where he could make decisions about Amelia. Not yet. She had Lleyton for that, and she and Zeph were taking their relationship day by day, building a friendship first, more than a father/daughter bond.
Outside this room, I was the boss. I’d been single too long and liked my independence too much to ever fully give that up.
Inside it, he had full control.
The power to dominate me.
The permission to take what he needed.
And the ability to blow my freaking mind.
