Wishing Well(49)

Glancing over his shoulder, he cocked a brow. “I assume you’ve had sex before. Once already with me. The mechanics are pretty much the same, although the experience can be dramatically different.”

“Maybe it’s the experience I’m worried about. Last time was...” My cheeks flushed red. “...it was memorable, but the ending left me hanging.”

Turning with two drinks in hand, he pinned me in his stare as he approached. Handing one to me, he asked, “You didn’t get off?”

“It was more about the abrupt exit,” I admitted.

My cheeks flared brighter and I brought the glass to my lips not caring what the hell he’d poured in it. Vincent grinned to see I’d polished it off. Eyeing his glass, I asked, “Are you going to drink that?”

He handed it over. “You may want to pace yourself. I can’t have you passing out during the best parts.” Correcting himself, he added, “Well, not from the alcohol anyway.”

I chugged the glass down, the alcohol seeping quickly into my veins. Feeling a touch more relaxed, I licked my lips and asked, “So, how will all this work? Are you going to blindfold me like last time?”

His green eyes flashed with some unspoken thought. Taking the glass from my hand, he was walking it back to the sidebar when he said, “Take off your clothes, Penelope.”

What? Somehow the sentiment wasn’t as romantic as him ripping the clothes from body. When I’d been with him after the ball, it had been naked, raw, stifling heat. Now? It was distant, calculated, cold.

Setting the glass on the bar, he glanced over, ice clattering within a new glass he was whipping up. “I wasn’t joking. If you’re here to learn what it’s like being my lover, I suggest you learn to follow directions. You won’t like the punishments I have to offer.”

Punishment?! My eyes rounded. “You didn’t do this last time,” I stammered, accepting the drink from his hand after he’d crossed the room on smooth steps to stand in front of me.

Taking a sip from his glass, he answered, “Last time was an introduction. Tonight is the real thing.”

His smile was lascivious. “I warned you I’m a man with particular tastes. Don’t act so surprised.” Jutting his chin, he commanded, “Finish your drink, Penelope, and strip down. If you don’t like the terms of this arrangement, you know where you can find the door.”

My first instinct was to toss the drink in his face and storm off. My second, however...

I couldn’t forget how he’d made my body sing. Memories of it had kept me up every night for the past three weeks. This? This felt more like a business deal.

Breathing out, I slammed the drink, placed the glass on a nearby table and looked over to see Vincent settling himself on the piano bench. His nimble fingers softy played over the keys while I made my decision as to what I would do.

It wasn’t like I had to do this again if I didn’t like it. Maybe the raw heat I remembered would come back once my clothing was off and my body was bare. Slowly, I peeled off the clothes I’d carefully selected earlier, insecurity roaring through me as Vincent quietly played piano. The floating notes did nothing to ease my anxiety. He didn’t bother to look up until I’d walked over to stand at his side.

Even then, it took him another minute or two to give me his attention, and when he did, his gaze slowly traveled up my body, starting from my toes and ending with my eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice soft, husky. “I hope you know that.”

A rush of self-consciousness made me dizzy. I felt exposed. Studied. A lab rat waiting for the hot as hell scientist to poke me with one tortuous instrument or another. Ignoring the shiver coursing down my spine, I answered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His head tilted to the left. “Second door from the window. Enter the room, stand in front of the Saint Andrews Cross, and wait there until I come to you.”

My heart skipped, then sputtered, jolting back to life with a ragged rhythm. “The what?”

Lifting a hand, he caught my chin between his fingers and angled my face down to look at him. “The point to these exercises is to learn total submission. You must do as you’re told without question. You must accept pain. You must keep from screaming and crying unless I ask you to do so.” Pausing he let those thoughts sink in before: “You must trust me, Penelope, and know that you’ll thank me in the end.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

He was faced me fully and stood to his full height, his proximity reminding me just how small I was compared to him. It didn’t make me feel any better.

However, his demeanor softened as he reached to cup my cheek with his palm, his thumb sweeping across my lips with a staggering gentleness I hadn’t expected from him. Warmth returned into a dynamic that, until that moment, had been devoid of feeling. “I know you’re scared. You should be scared. And that’s not how I want you to feel. But in this, you have no idea how important it is that you trust me no matter what you’re feeling. I only have your best interests at heart. But you must submit, and you must obey.”

Leaning down, he kissed me, the warmth of his lips causing my body to melt against him, the warmth of his hands carefully sliding up my sides, never touching my breasts, but stopping just below them. A pervasive need was a tidal wave crashing through me, memories of the first time we’d been together becoming liquid heat between my thighs.