I nodded. I took the wheel, holding it between my fingers. Then I mimicked his motion, rolling the spikes from his wrist to the crook of his arm. He, likewise, pulled in a small gasp.
The sound of his hitched breath sent a rush of heat through me.
Oh. Fuck.Did I enjoy that?I had to test this out.
I cocked my head thoughtfully. “Take off your shirt,” I told him. “And sit on the bed.”
He removed his shirt, revealing a strong chest underneath. A grove of soft, black hair that swept down his front and tapered like sand in an hourglass. He sat on the burgundy duvet and put his palms down on the mattress, exposing himself for me. I stood in front of him. I slowly dragged the wheel down his chest. It snagged on a couple of those fine hairs, which made him wince, but he didn’t protest. I was taking my time with him now. I ran the spikes down the center of his body, admiring the small, red pinprick marks they made here. He groaned, a deep, wanting sound that vibrated through me. I pressed in harder as I reached his hips and he flinched, squirmed, and whimpered, but kept hishands obediently at his sides, letting me explore his limits.
That was when I realized:I wanted to hurt this man.
Like, really, actually hurt him.
What was it about him? His masculine entitlement? His pretty, disobedient blue eyes? The challenge hidden in his smirk? Or was it the way his lips parted and he moaned every time I hurt him like it was the most delicious kind of ecstasy?
Was it the fact that he wanted this, too?
I dragged it over his belt and hit the fabric of his slacks. I ran the wheel against the outline of his hard cock, tenting the material. “Wait,” he said, and I stopped. Those sharp eyes met mine. “Just…this first time. Let’s keep it above the belt. If that’s okay.”
Big eyes. Sweet eyes.
I told him, “That’s okay by me, sweet boy.”
He shuddered.
I grinned. “Do you like that? Do you like being my sweet boy?”
“Yes, mistress.”
His eyelids were dropping. He was dipping into sub space, and, holy fuck…
I was enjoying this. Just as much as he was.
“Not mistress,” I said.
He blinked, his vision briefly refocusing. “Sorry?”
“Mistress. I don’t like the word. It makes me feel like I’m your dirty little secret.”
“Understood. What would you like me to call you?”
I had to think about that one. I came up with: “Boss.”
“Boss?”
“Yes.Boss. Should remind you of who is in charge. Plus, it makes me feel like I’m some… super villain and you’re my naughty little henchman.”
A small grin curled over the corner of his mouth. “Yes, Boss.”
A thrill chased through me at that word on his tongue. I slipped my hand through his hair. I gripped it, feeling the soft curls protest under my tug. His head went back and he swallowed visibly as I raised the wheel. “Now,” I said, “lay back and let me have fun with you.”
6
A GIFT TO WOMEN EVERYWHERE
Dove.Now.
My phone pings with a notification.
