His eyes still on mine, Alec slowly stands until he’s towering over me at his full height. I feel intimidated and excited and a little fearful of what he could do to me if he so chose.

“I’ve imagined what your br**sts look like,” he says as he curls his fingers in the hem of my shirt and eases it up. When it’s free of my arms and lying on the floor behind me, he continues. “Pale white and perfectly round,” he whispers as he slides both bra straps off my shoulders and down my arms, pulling the cups over my nipples. His eyes fixate on them in a way that feels like a physical touch. He lets out a sigh that sounds both pained and excited. “With pink ni**les that taste like candy.”

I feel them tighten as he speaks, as if begging for him to try them. And he does. In a movement so slow it almost hurts, Alec unhooks the clasp between my br**sts and bends his head to take my aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it until I can’t breathe.

I let my head fall back, immediately lost to the sensation. It’s easier than it usually is. But I shouldn’t be surprised. From the moment I first saw Alec, I’ve found myself lost in him, lost to him.

“I’m making introductions,” he explains, trailing his mouth across to my other breast, “because you and my tongue are going to become close friends. Best friends, in fact.” He flicks my nipple with the warm, wet muscle then sucks it into his mouth. When he releases it, he licks his way down my stomach to the waist band of my skirt. “You’ll dream of it,” he says, his hands moving to the small of my back where he unbuttons and unzips the closure. Easing it over my hips, he lets it drop to the floor. “And you’ll think of it every time you go to put on your panties.” Leaning forward, Alec runs his tongue along the elastic band, his chin grazing the top of my most sensitive body part.

He hooks one finger inside the material where it runs between my legs and he brushes it back and forth over my nearly-smooth flesh. “Hmmm,” he groans. “These are already damp. That’s why you won’t be wearing panties while you’re here.” He glances up at me as he continues dragging his finger seductively over me, his knuckle grazing my clitoris. “I want all this on me, not wasted on satin and lace.”

I can’t move. I can’t speak.

Alec drags my panties down my legs, leaving me standing completely na**d before him. I’m not thinking of my modesty, however, I’m thinking of his touch. I know it’s coming. Part of me is begging for it. Part of me is dreading it.

He pauses, his face only inches from my moist, hot center, and he watches me. Closely. As though he’s reading my mind.

I feel the shift and I know he saw into me. He saw my hesitation. And he’s adjusting his plan.

Rising, Alec directs his attention to his shirt. His hand moves to the collar, drawing my attention as well. I watch his fingers move deftly over each button, unfastening them as he makes his way to his waist. My pulse is throbbing erratically in my neck and I’m rooted to the spot.

When he slowly parts the two halves of his shirt, I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized by the flexing of rock hard muscle under smooth bronze skin. His chest is broad and sculpted, his abs are rippling and defined, and his waist is trim and narrow. He is a study in perfection.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks quietly, bringing my eyes up to his face. “Because I can keep going.” His hands go to his belt buckle and stop, awaiting my instruction. He’s leaving it up to me—how far we go right now—and as curious as I am about what’s inside those pants, and as hopeful as I am that he can be the one to do what no other has been able to thus far, fear that it will all fall apart wins the day.

“What else did you have in mind?” I ask shyly, hoping I don’t sound like a high school virgin.

Alec says nothing, moves nothing, for several long tense moments. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to ask.

But then, much to my relief, he abandons his buckle and steps closer to me instead. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the tub. Dropping to one knee, he sets me in the warm, scented water. “I want you to concentrate. Hard. Focus all your attention on not enjoying my hands on your body, okay?”

I’m surprised and confused, but thrilled that his task will be easy for me. I nod in agreement.

Alec takes a brand new bar of soap in his hands and lathers them. Starting at my throat, he massages the thick, creamy froth into my skin in lazy circles. He works his way down my chest to my breasts. Then I understand why the tub is only half full. It leaves my upper body out of the water. Open to his eyes. And his touch.

I tremble as his gaze follows his hands. “These ni**les are mouthwatering,” he groans as his slippery fingers move over them. “I can only imagine how they would look all red and tender from being covered in hot wax.” As if to punctuate his thought, he pinches them, unleashing a gush of heat that floods my core. I clamp my lips against the gasp that traps air in my lungs. Remembering his words, I think about how I shouldn’t be enjoying what he’s doing. And I’m not. Not really.

Or am I?

No, I’m still too nervous, still too sure of how this will end to truly enjoy it, right? I know he can’t give me an orgasm. No one can. Right?

Or is this why I’m here? Because he’s the one man who can?

Pausing in his torture, Alec re-lathers his hands and turns his attention to my arms. He works the scented soap into the skin from my armpit to my fingers, even soaping in between them. The way he moves in and out of the webs of my fingers makes me struggle not to enjoy his ministrations.

Lathering up again, Alec leans toward me, circling my waist with his hands, moving them up and down my sides, his fingertips meeting at the center of my spine. Each long stroke brings his face closer, my back arching further and further. His eyes are trained steadily on mine, neither of us speaking as he strokes me, up and down, up and down.

On his last downward stroke, Alec lets his hands trail down to my hips. His fingers dig into my flesh, pulling me up off the bottom of the tub as he slips under me to massage each butt cheek. His fingertips fan inward, moving along the crease between them. They glide teasingly inward then playfully away.

When Alec stops to soap his hands again, I’m breathless and I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he’s watching me. Maybe it’s because I know where he’s going next. Either way, anticipation is curled in my stomach like a snake ready to strike.

Alec’s foamy hands disappear under the bubbles. My body is vibrating with tension as I await his touch. But it never comes. He just watches me, his hands floating somewhere beneath the bubbles.

I suck in a breath when I feel his palms settle on my lower abdomen. My muscles twitch reflexively.

Alec splays his fingers out wide, covering me from hip to hip, and moves them slowly downward. I’m completely focused on where they’re headed and, against everything he told me to do, I’m anxious for it. I want it. But then, at the last minute, he parts his hands and drags them down the outside of my thighs.

My frustration mounts until Alec stops just above my knees and pulls his hands inward, toward the inside of my legs, and begins to climb back to my center, his thumbs pressing in as he ascends.

Mere inches from my core, Alec stops, his expression knowing, as if he can see my fingers curling against the warm ceramic of the tub. And then he moves again, all the way up to my heated center.

His thumbs part my swollen lips, allowing warm water to rush over my sensitive flesh. I clench my teeth, trying to hold still and keep quiet. But when his thumb grazes my clitoris, a single pant of air escapes before I hold my breath in, repeating the mantra over and over again.

I won’t enjoy this. I won’t enjoy this.

Up and down, Alec’s thumb moves gently over me. My instinct is to writhe against him, to grind against his hand, but I remain perfectly still, not stirring or speaking or uttering a single sound.

One hand leaves my leg, turning over in the water to cup me. “I’ll be tasting this soon,” he whispers, teasing my entrance with one fingertip. “Bend your knees,” he commands.

I do as he asks, placing my feet flat against the bottom of the tub, opening myself to him. He slides one long finger deep inside me. “God, you’re tight,” he groans. His heavy-lidded green eyes are turned nearly black by his dilated pupils. “You’ll grip my c**k like a glove.”

He slowly withdraws his one finger only to plunge it back inside with a second. My heart is racing as tension builds inside my stomach. I fight the urge to let my head fall back and my eyes drift shut, my body overcome with sensations that are totally foreign to me.

“I’ll be watching you when you come on me for the first time. And you will be coming on me. And after you do, I’ll roll you onto your stomach and I’ll come all over that perfect, round ass of yours. And there won’t be anything you can do about it. Because this weekend, you’re mine,” he declares, his fingers sliding in and out of me, winding me up like a pocket watch. “To do whatever I want with. Whatever. I. Want. Do you understand?”

Faster, his fingers move inside me as he awaits my answer. My brain is scrambled, nearly every thought and nerve centered on what he’s doing to me.

And then he stops, his fingers at rest deep within me.

“Say it,” he orders.

“Yes,” I say automatically, not really caring what I’m agreeing to.

“Yes what?”

I struggle to think. My breath is trapped behind my ribs. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“You will not tell me no.”

I pant as my body sucks at his fingers, a silent plea for him to continue. “I will not tell you no.”

Slowly, he eases his fingers out, leaving me with an empty feeling of frustration. “Good,” he says, bringing his hands out of the water to lather up again.

With expert attention, he treats my legs and feet to the same tender attentions he did to my arms and hands, never once acting as though he’s bothered by what just happened. Or nearly happened.

When he pulls the plug to let the water out, I’m forced to admit to myself that I failed miserably. Not only did I enjoy the bath, but I’m disappointed that it’s over, that he didn’t continue. And that’s a first for me.

Hope rises again, mingling with that frustrated feeling, leaving me achy and distracted as Alec pulls me to my feet. Reaching behind him to grab a towel, he begins to pat me dry as his eyes rove my body. He seems thoughtful when his gaze moves back to my face. “Leave your hair up for tonight,” he says of the sexy, messy pile of red tangles atop my head.

I nod absently as Alec helps me from the tub. He bends to brush his lips over mine before he walks toward the door and grabs my bag from the corner. He carries it back and sets it near the vanity that graces part of one wall in the bathroom. “I’ll see if your clothes are here while you get ready.”

He stares into my eyes for a few seconds before he turns casually around and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Alec

I glance over at Samantha, sitting primly in the passenger seat of the car. I brought the Mercedes tonight. I drive it so seldom, people are less likely to recognize it. Not that I’m well-known anyway, but still, I’m cautious. This kind of thing could ruin a man.

I wonder what Samantha is thinking. She hasn’t said a word since she came down the stairs wearing the dress I took up to her.

She’s quite the vision in the sheath. Every curve is perfectly delineated in nearly-sheer black silk. She didn’t mention the discreet zipper in the back of the dress that begins at her ankles and travels all the way to the base of her spine, just like I didn’t mention that I could see her hard ni**les when she stepped into the light.

Her deep red hair is still up, albeit in a sleek twist now, and her lips are stained a rich crimson. I’d love to see that color smeared around my c**k as I thrust it into her mouth while she’s bound and helpless on her knees in front of me. But I doubt that will happen tonight. In all likelihood, her hands will remain free for the remainder of the weekend. That is, unless she lets Laura Drake out of the bag. Then all bets are off.

The thought of that, of being with a woman like that again, makes me hard as a rock behind my zipper. It also makes me uneasy. I learned my lesson with Alyssa. Or at least I thought I had.

I shift in my seat. From the corner of my eye, I see Samantha glance at me. I turn to capture her gaze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Should I be?” she replies.

“A week ago, I would’ve said yes. But now…”

She doesn’t respond, just looks away. I see her fiddle nervously with the domino in her lap. I’m sure she’s curious about it. Or maybe she’s not. My estimation of her responses is skewed; she’s a bit more of a mystery than I’d originally thought. But there’s nothing I like more than unraveling a mystery. Except, of course, unraveling a tightly-wound woman.

When we arrive at the deceptively blasé building, I’m a little more sexually…jacked up than usual. For the last couple of years, I’ve come here only to watch, to feed my addiction just enough to keep it under control. I haven’t participated in a long time. But tonight…tonight is different.

I’ve got the sweetly naive Samantha sitting beside me, dressed in something I could really take advantage of, something that gives me easy access should she decide she’d like to take a room of our own. But also in the seat next to me I’ve got Laura Drake. She writes about sexual exploits that fascinate me. And inflame me.

The question is: Who will accompany me inside tonight? Who will show up to dominate the beautiful redhead on my arm? Both excite me, just in totally different ways, and the anticipation is like rocket fuel to an already raging fire. It’s been too long.