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She gazes into my eyes and gifts me a sultry smile that makes my dick throb. “Young and sexy, with a touch of class, like a fizzy pastel Port cocktail. It’s a fabulous idea. But what does one do with a massage candle?”
Lexie could be bullshitting, but I choose to believe that she doesn’t know about massage candles—or at least that she’s never experienced them before now—and my mouth tugs at the corners. “I suppose we could just enjoy the scent, but I thought we’d burn it, and play with the oil.”
She looks up at me, eyes twinkling with mischief, and I know she’s all in, but first she’s going to bust my balls. “You want me to drip hot wax on your chest?”
That is never happening. She’s predictable in many ways. Turning the tables or dropping some outrageous comment is one of her tells when she’s uncomfortable. I expect to see a lot of those tells tonight, because I plan on making her very uncomfortable.
“Not wax,” I tell her matter-of-factly, peering into her eyes. “Oil. I’ll control the drip.”
“Ouch,” she says, ignoring the last thing I said, but she heard it.
Her eyes are dark, and her nipples are tight little peaks that give her away. I don’t know how long I can take this flirty banter before I tear that poor excuse for a dress off her body.
“Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” she remarks, setting a baguette on the cutting board. “Do you actually think the new Port is strong enough to numb the pain of a third-degree burn?”
“I don’t know. We could try it. Then you can tell me.”
She breaks off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth, chewing carefully. “I’m not really into pain.”
I doubt she knows what she’s into. But she’s curious by nature.
“How do you know you’re not into pain? Have you tried it?”
“No,” she says, forming each letter carefully. “Unless stubbing my toe on that ugly chair Valentina put in the guest room counts.”
“It doesn’t.” All I can think about is serving her up a little pain right before she comes. Just a bite, to magnify every sensation the orgasm brings.
She cocks her head, and the sparkle is gone from her face. “Is this a serious conversation?”
“It is.” That reply did nothing to bring back the sparkle, but now that we’ve started down this road, I want to know more about how she feels.
“The thought of it, even with you,” she adds softly, “doesn’t make my lady parts flutter.”
Even with you. I don’t spend a second analyzing the remark, but I file it away for later.
“There’s no pain involved with this activity. The oil isn’t hot enough to cause a burn.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“It’s the truth. I’m not a liar, and I sure as hell wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. There could be a small sting when we begin, I suppose, but that’s the extent of it. Pain’s not my thing either. Not real pain, anyway.” I might be into some kinky shit, but I’d never hurt you—and tonight it’s vanilla, all the way.
“Too bad,” she adds flippantly. “I planned to flog you later.”
You don’t want to play this game with me, sweetheart, not tonight, when you’re still so inexperienced and I’m getting more and more turned on by the minute. You want me patient.
I step closer to her until she’s between my body and the kitchen island. “Floggers don’t normally cause pain. They sting, some more than others. They’re often used to play mind games or to raise the nerve endings to the skin surface to increase pleasure.”
This shuts her mouth—for a moment. But her wheels are turning, and I keep my gaze heated and steady, until I can almost feel her squirm.
“Sounds like you enjoy being flogged.” It’s soft, and cheeky, but there’s absolutely no tang.
“Not me. But I can wield one pretty well. Next time, I’ll be happy to show you the finer points of flogging.”
“Next time. Why not today?” She lists toward me, and it takes everything I have not to rush this along to the final course.
“I don’t bring women here. My toys are in the apartment I keep at the Intercontinental.” My apartment there isn’t a secret, and I’d be surprised if she didn’t know.
“I’m a woman. I’m here.” She grazes my stomach with her fingers, and I suppress a groan.
