I kept replaying the look in her eyes. The lust, the need. The want.
I swallowed hard, shifting in my seat. Too wired to sit still.
Twenty One-Ciarán
Twenty minutes later, she emerged. Her eyes found mine for a heartbeat, then flicked toward the woman who had led her out. The woman gave a simple command: “Everybody out.” Without a word of protest, the handful of people in the room stood and drifted out, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. My lungs tightened.
Jordin was wearing a black leather leotard, her thick legs and thighs bare, long legs stretching down into six-inch spiked heels that looked illegal. She looked like power. Like pain. Like pleasure dressed in skin.
I didn’t just groan—I suffered.
I had song lyrics come to me, ones about fucking a good girl turned bad in the back of the club, my name on her tongue, her pussy on mine. I groaned. I had signed up for this, but seeing it… this was rewiring my whole fucking brain. I wasn’t walking outta here the same man.
Her eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
She sauntered over, hips swaying.
My mouth opened, awestruck.
“Damn, J. I didn’t—”
She grabbed my jaw, cutting off my words, leaning over me, her cleavage spilling out nearly into my face.
“Only speak when spoken to, and only address me as Mistress,” she said, her voice firm.
My dick jumped. I groaned, nodding.
Her grip tightened. “I need your words.”
“Yes, Mistress.” This shit felt foreign, but terrifyingly right.
Her nails skimmed along my jawline, sending a rush of heat down my spine. My breath hitched. Her fingers lingered a second longer, tracing the line of my throat before she stepped back, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
“You’re overdressed,” she said, her voice silk wrapped in steel. “Fix that.”
My Adam’s apple bobbed, but without hesitation, I stood and reached for the hem of my shirt, starting to drag it over my head. But before I could pull it off, she let out a sound—a soft, disappointed sigh that made my hands pause mid-motion.
“Not like that,” she said. “Slow. Make it worth my time.”
I did as she said, letting it drop, then re-dragging the fabric up inch by inch. Her eyes stayed locked on me, watching me for a reaction. She was getting off on it—the control, the power. And goddamn, she was turned on by it. Her nipples were hard peaks against the leather, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, her pupils black and bottomless.
When my shirt hit the floor, I moved to undo my belt, the sharp clink of the metal echoing in the room. I made a show of it, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness before letting my pants fall to the floor in one fluid motion, stepping out of them completely.
“Better,” she murmured, closing the space between us. Her gaze swept over my body, hot and appraising, before returning to my eyes. “Now the boxers.”
I held her stare, let it burn through me. I hooked my thumbs under the band and shoved them down, slow and steady, stepping out like I was offering up a sacrifice.
My dick slapped against my stomach, thick, hard, leaking.
Her breathing was heavy.
“Good boy,” she said. Her words ran down my spine like a hot blade through honey. She circled me once, slow.
“Now… stand. And turn.”
And I did. Because what the fuck else could I do?
She owned me now.
