A Second Opinion in the Dressing Room
# The Dressing Room The boutique was a temple of silent luxury, all hushed carpets and soft, recessed lighting that seemed to absorb sound. Eliza stood before a triptych of mirrors, the cool air of the air conditioning raising goosebumps o
Chapter 1
The boutique was a temple of silent luxury, all hushed carpets and soft, recessed lighting that seemed to absorb sound. Eliza stood before a triptych of mirrors, the cool air of the air conditioning raising goosebumps on her skin. The dress she was meant to be considering—a slip of black silk—was a forgotten puddle at her feet. She was exposed, clad only in simple cotton underwear, her tall, softly curved frame reflected back at her from three angles. The constellation of freckles across her shoulders and chest seemed darker in the dim light, a secret map. Her fingers traced the delicate line of a tattoo on her ribcage, a nervous habit.
A shadow moved in the reflection behind her.
Her breath caught, a silent hitch in the quiet room. He was just there, leaning against the velvet curtain of the doorway, having entered without a sound. Nathaniel. He was tall, his shoulders broad and straining the fine wool of his dark suit jacket. The careful, serious lines of his face were softened by the low light, but his eyes held a focused intensity that pinned her in place. A faint, silvery scar traced his jawline.
“They said you might need a second opinion,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the plush carpet. He didn’t move from his post.
Eliza’s hands flew to cover herself, a flush of heat climbing her neck. “I… I’m just trying it on.”
“I can see that.” His gaze was a physical weight, traveling over the reflection of her body with a deliberate, analytical slowness. It wasn’t leering. It was… assessing. Appreciating. “The black was a good choice. It makes your skin look like moonlight.”
The compliment, so bluntly delivered, made her shiver. She found she couldn’t look away from his reflection. His eyes were dark, absorbing the light, and they held hers with an unnerving steadiness.
“You seem uncertain,” he observed, finally pushing off from the doorway. He took one step, then two, into the room. The space, already intimate, shrank around them. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. “Is it the cut? The fabric?” He leaned forward slightly, his lips near her ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or is it the way it makes you feel?”
His breath ghosted over the shell of her ear. Eliza’s heart hammered against her ribs. His presence was overwhelming, a dark, magnetic force that both terrified and fascinated her. She was shy, out of her depth, a novice in the face of such direct, simmering intent.
“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, the admission leaving her lips before she could stop it.
In the mirror, she saw the ghost of a smile touch his full lips. It wasn’t kind. It was possessive. Triumphant. “That’s alright,” he murmured, his eyes holding hers in the glass. “Knowing what you want is my job. You just have to be brave enough to try it on.”
He reached out then, not to touch her, but to adjust a phantom strap on her reflected shoulder. His fingers hovered in the air between them, a promise and a threat. The tension in the room was a live wire, humming with unasked questions and unmet desires. He was the teacher, and this mirrored chamber was his classroom. And she, bathed in the soft light and his dark gaze, was the only subject that mattered.
Chapter 2
His finger hovered, a phantom touch in the glass, and Eliza felt the ghost of it on her skin. She was frozen, caught between the cold reflection and the living heat of him behind her.
“Bravery,” Nathaniel repeated, the word a low, thoughtful murmur against her ear. “It’s not the absence of fear, you know. It’s feeling it… and stepping forward anyway.” He shifted, his shadow enveloping hers in the mirror. “Take a step for me, Eliza.”
Her breath was shallow. “What kind of step?”
“Turn around.”
The command was quiet, yet it left no room for debate. A shiver, part fear and part thrilling anticipation, traced her spine. Slowly, achingly, she pivoted on the plush carpet. Now she faced him directly, no glass between them. The air seemed to thicken, charged with a new intensity. She was acutely aware of her near-nakedness, the simple cotton of her underwear feeling like a flimsy veil.
His dark eyes swept over her, a slow, deliberate inventory that made her skin prickle. “There,” he said, a note of dark satisfaction in his voice. “That’s better. Now I can see you properly.”
“See what?” she whispered, her voice barely there.
“The want.” He took a single step closer, closing the final distance. He didn’t touch her, but his proximity was a tangible force. “It’s right here.” His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, to the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. “And here.” His eyes traveled down her body with a possessiveness that stole her breath. “You’re trembling. But you haven’t covered yourself. You haven’t asked me to leave.”
Eliza swallowed, her throat dry. He was right. Every instinct screamed for modesty, but a deeper, newer instinct held her still, exposed. “I don’t… I don’t know what I want,” she confessed again, the admission a soft surrender.
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “I do.” Finally, he lifted a hand. He didn’t grab, didn’t seize. He simply extended his index finger and traced the delicate line of her collarbone, from the hollow of her throat to the slope of her shoulder. The contact was electric, a brand of pure sensation on her oversensitive skin. “You want to feel… claimed. You want to be shown what pleasure is, so thoroughly that your shyness burns away.”
His finger drifted lower, following the path of a freckle-dusted trail. It skated over the lace edge of her bra, a teasing, maddening pressure. “This,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “This is my classroom. Your body is the lesson. And I am a very dedicated teacher.”
His fingertip hooked under the lace. With a deliberate, slow pull, he drew the cup down, exposing the soft, peaked flesh beneath. The cool air hit her skin, and she gasped, a sharp, needy sound. His eyes held hers, watching her reaction with fierce concentration as he touched her, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, circling caress that made her knees weak.
“Tell me,” he commanded softly, his thumb applying a perfect, taut pressure. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I… it’s…” She was drowning in sensation, her mind blank. “It’s too much.”
“No,” he corrected, his voice firm yet threaded with dark warmth. “It’s only the beginning. ‘Too much’ is what happens when I’m inside you. This is just the preface.” His other hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You can take it. I know you can. Now, say it. ‘It feels good, Nathaniel.’”
The use of his name, in that context, from her lips, felt like another kind of unveiling. She was panting lightly, her body arching faintly into his touch despite her mind’s chaos. “It feels good,” she echoed, her voice a breathy thread of sound.
“Good girl,” he purred, the praise settling deep in her belly, warm and heavy. His head dipped, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers. “Now, for your next lesson.”
Chapter 3
The words, “good girl,” hung in the air like a spell. His thumb continued its maddening circles on her breast, the friction exquisite and cruel. Eliza felt unmoored, adrift on a tide of sensation she’d never allowed herself to imagine.
“My next lesson,” Nathaniel murmured, his lips finally brushing hers in a whisper of a kiss. It wasn’t enough. It was a promise of deprivation. He pulled back, his dark eyes gleaming. “Involves listening. And following instructions. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded, a frantic little motion. Speech felt beyond her.
“Use your words, Eliza.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes, what?”
Her mind scrambled. “Yes… I can.”
“Good.” His hand left her breast, the sudden absence a shock of cold. He took a deliberate step back, putting a foot of charged space between them. His gaze swept down her body, now fully exposed from the waist up, her chest heaving. “Now, take off the rest.”
A fresh wave of shyness crashed over her. Her hands trembled as they went to the waistband of her simple cotton panties. His unblinking stare was a physical weight, a demand for complete surrender. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic and pushed them down her thighs, letting them fall to the plush carpet. The air felt different on her newly bared skin, intimate and invasive.
“Step out of them,” he instructed, his voice a low command. “And turn around. Hands on the mirror.”
The order was so specific, so deliberate. It spoke of a plan, a curriculum he was meticulously unfolding. Heart hammering, she obeyed. The carpet was soft under her feet as she turned her back to him, placing her palms flat against the cool glass of the central mirror. Her reflection stared back, wide-eyed and flushed, a portrait of vulnerable anticipation.
She heard the rustle of his clothing, the soft click of his belt buckle. Then his heat was against her back, his body a solid wall of muscle. His hands settled on her hips, his touch possessive and grounding.
“Look at yourself,” he said, his mouth by her ear. “See what I see. A canvas. Perfect for my touch.” One hand slid around her hip, his fingers delving through the soft, blond curls between her thighs. She gasped, her forehead nearly touching the glass. “So responsive. So eager to learn.”
His fingers found her, slick and hot. He didn’t plunge inside, but traced her, exploring her folds with a slow, scholarly precision that made her whimper. “This is where you’ll feel me most,” he said, his voice thick with intent. “Every thought, every command, will echo right here. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” she moaned, her hips pushing back against his hand of their own volition.
“Yes, what?” he prompted, applying a firm, circling pressure to her clit that made her knees buckle.
“Yes, Nathaniel!” The cry was torn from her, loud in the hushed room.
“Perfect.” He rewarded her with a deeper stroke, two fingers sliding just inside her entrance, stretching her gently. The fullness was shocking, delicious. He held them there, letting her adjust, his other arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady. “This is just the beginning, little one. Just the first page. The real story…” He punctuated his words with a slow, curling motion of his fingers that made her see stars. “…is much, much longer. And I intend to read every single word.”
Chapter 4
His words were a dark, vivid spell. Before she could process them, his hands tightened on her hips and he spun her, a controlled whirl that left her breathless. Her front collided with the cool glass of the mirror, the shock of temperature against her flushed skin and bare breasts making her gasp. Her own breath fogged the surface, obscuring her wide-eyed reflection.
Nathaniel’s body molded to her back, a solid wall of heat. His rough hands, possessive and unyielding, gripped the swell of her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. The hard, thick length of him pressed insistently against the cleft of her ass, a promise that made her whimper.
“Arch your back,” he growled, his lips against the shell of her ear. His voice was gravel, pure command. “Push that pretty ass out for me. Show me you’re ready for your lesson.”
Trembling, Eliza obeyed, pressing her hips back, presenting herself. A ragged sound of approval rumbled from his chest.
“Good girl. Now listen.” His voice dropped, painting the picture with crude, thrilling clarity. “I’m going to wet my cock with your pussy first. Get it nice and slick for you. Because I’m going to push into that tight little ass, inch by fucking inch, until you feel me in your throat.” One hand left her hip, his fingers sliding through her soaked folds from behind, gathering her wetness. She cried out, the sound muffled against the glass. “You’ll take it. You’ll love it. And you’ll come while I’m buried there, feeling you clench around me.”
The explicit words, the raw intent, shattered the last of her shyness. A wave of pure, dark need crashed over her. “Please,” she begged, the word a broken sob against the mirror.
“Please what?”
“Please, Nathaniel. Do it. Claim me there.”
His answering groan was feral. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one brutal, perfect thrust, he sheathed himself inside her pussy, the sudden fullness drawing a scream from her lungs. He drove into her, a few deep, punishing strokes, coating himself in her arousal as promised. The sound of their joining was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Then he withdrew, the emptiness a shock. She felt the blunt pressure shift, nudging against her other, untouched ring of muscle. He spit onto his fingers, slicking her further, the act unbearably primal.
“Breathe out,” he commanded, his grip on her hips iron-tight. “And take it.”
He pushed.
A sharp, burning stretch tore a gasp from her. He didn’t stop, feeding himself into her with relentless, controlled pressure until he was fully seated, buried to the hilt. The feeling was immense, a fullness so complete it bordered on pain, edged with a shocking, depraved pleasure. She was pinned, impaled, utterly possessed.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his body trembling against hers. “So goddamn tight. My perfect girl.” He began to move, short, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened. The friction was electric, lighting up nerves she never knew she had. Each stroke brushed a place inside that made her vision blur.
The coil in her belly snapped. Her climax ripped through her without warning, a violent, convulsing wave that clenched violently around his invading length. She screamed, her body buckling against the glass as pleasure, sharp and infinite, detonated within her.
Her contractions milked his own release. With a final, deep grind, he buried himself and roared, his hot release pulsing inside her, marking her in the most intimate way possible. He collapsed over her, his weight pressing her into the glass, his breath harsh in her ear as they shuddered through the aftershocks together, spent and joined in the silent, mirrored room.
Chapter 5
His weight shifted, a sudden, decisive movement that broke the stillness. Eliza barely had time to register the cool air on her back as he pulled out. Then his hands were on her, spinning her around with a force that stole her breath. Her back slammed against the cold mirror, the glass shuddering behind her.
“Look,” Nathaniel commanded, his voice a dark, graveled scrape against her ear. One hand remained clamped on her hip, holding her hard against the glass. The other came up, his fingers rough and insistent, parting her lips to force her mouth open. “Look at yourself. See what’s about to happen.”
Her wide, blue eyes stared back, fogged with arousal and fear. She watched his reflection—a looming, powerful shadow behind her trembling form.
“You see this?” he growled, his free hand dropping between her legs. His thick fingers stroked her slickness, gathering it, before guiding the swollen head of his cock to her entrance. The blunt pressure was immense. “This is going inside you. This is going to fill that tight, innocent little cunt until you can’t remember your own name.”
Eliza whimpered, the sound trapped by his fingers on her mouth.
“Watch,” he ordered, his gaze locking onto hers in the mirror. “Watch me wreck you.” He pushed forward, a slow, relentless invasion that stretched her with a burning, perfect fullness. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream against his hand as he seated himself to the hilt, his body flush against her ass.
“See how you take me?” he rasped, his hips drawing back and thrusting in with a deep, measured stroke that made her eyes roll back. He kept the pace slow, torturous, letting her feel every inch. “See how your body opens for me? You were made for this. To be filled. To be used.”
His thrusts began to deepen, to quicken. The sound of skin against skin, of their joining, filled the hushed room. “I’m going to fuck you like this every time,” he promised, his voice thick with possession. “Against every mirror, every wall, until you can’t look at your own reflection without feeling me inside you.”
Eliza’s hands scrabbled against the cool glass, her nails leaving faint marks. The coil inside her tightened with every brutal, perfect thrust. The pleasure was a storm, building, threatening to shatter her.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he snarled, his pace becoming punishing, driving her higher. “You want to come all over my cock. But not yet.” He slammed into her, once, twice, then stilled, buried deep, making her gasp at the sudden halt. He held her there, throbbing inside her, on the terrifying, exquisite edge. “Not until I say.”
Chapter 6
His hold on her was absolute, his stillness a cruel, deliberate cage. Eliza could feel the frantic pulse of her own heartbeat everywhere—against the cold glass, against the hard press of his body. He stayed buried deep, a hot, thick presence that stretched her impossibly full, and didn’t move.
“You’re so desperate for it,” Nathaniel breathed against her damp neck, his voice thick with dark amusement. “I can feel you clenching around me, trying to pull it out of me. But you don’t get to decide.”
He drew back then, a slow, slick slide that pulled a ragged whimper from her lips. The sudden emptiness was a shock. Before she could process it, his hands were on her hips again, turning her bodily away from the mirror. The world spun, her vision blurring with unshed tears of need.
“On your knees.”
The command was soft, absolute. Eliza sank to the plush carpet, the fibres soft against her skin. She felt exposed, vulnerable, kneeling before him. He loomed above, his cock glistening with her slickness, a stark, imposing reality inches from her face. His hand tangled in her hair, not roughly, but with a possessive certainty that made her shiver.
“Open,” he said.
She did, her blue eyes lifting to his. He guided himself into her mouth, the salty, musky taste of her own arousal coating her tongue. He didn’t thrust, just held himself there, letting her feel the weight, the heat.
“This is what you do for me,” he murmured, his other hand stroking her cheek. “You take every part of me. You learn to crave it.” He withdrew, a glistening trail left on her lower lip. “Now turn around. Hands on the mirror.”
Eliza obeyed, her body thrumming with a submissive ache. She braced herself against the cool glass, her back arched, presenting herself to him. She heard the rustle of his clothes, the sound of a foil packet tearing. A fresh, cold dread mixed with the heat.
“Relax,” he soothed, his palm rubbing a slow, firm circle on the small of her back. “This is part of the lesson.” The cold touch of lubricant made her jump, followed by the slow, insistent pressure of his thumb against her other entrance. She whimpered into the glass, her breath fogging it.
“Shhh,” he whispered, the word a dark caress. “Just let go. Give this to me, too.” He pressed forward, a relentless, burning invasion that stole the air from her lungs. He filled her completely, a different, deeper conquest. He held still, letting her adjust, his body curved over hers.
“Now,” he growled, his voice rough with his own restraint. “Now you come for me.”
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that ignited every nerve. One hand anchored on her hip, the other snaked around her front, his fingers finding her clit with unerring accuracy. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, a lightning storm gathering in her core.
“That’s it,” he urged, his thrusts deepening, speeding. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you fall apart.”
The coil inside her snapped. Pleasure erupted in a white-hot wave, crashing through her with a violence that tore a broken scream from her throat. Her body clamped around him, convulsing, as the world dissolved into sensation.
With a guttural groan, Nathaniel followed her over the edge. His rhythm fractured into hard, frantic thrusts as his own release slammed into him. He buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering against hers, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the hushed room. Slowly, he withdrew, his hands gentling on her hips as she trembled, boneless, against the mirror. He turned her, pulling her into his arms, her face against his chest. His heartbeat was a wild drum under her ear.
“Good,” he murmured into her hair, the single word holding a universe of dark, satisfied praise. “So good for me.” He held her there, in the wreckage of her shyness, as the cool air of the dressing room dried the sweat on their skin. The lesson was over. The imprint of him remained.
Chapter 7
Nathaniel held her as her trembling subsided, his large hands stroking slow, possessive lines down the damp curve of her spine. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the soft hum of the boutique’s ventilation and the slowing cadence of their breathing.
“Look at us,” he murmured finally, his voice a low rasp against her temple. He shifted her gently in his arms, turning her just enough to face the mirror again.
Eliza’s breath hitched. The reflection was a study in ruin and possession. Her skin was flushed, marked by the faint red imprint of his grip on her hips. Her lips were swollen, her blue eyes wide and dazed. He stood behind her, fully dressed except for his open shirt, his body a dark, solid frame around her spent softness. His chin rested on her shoulder, his dark eyes watching her watch them.
“See what happens when you listen?” he said, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even felt fall.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice raw. The words were a confession. “What is this?”
“A beginning.” His answer was immediate, absolute. His hands slid around to cup her breasts, his thumbs tracing slow circles over her sensitive nipples. A fresh, aching pulse echoed deep inside her, a body already learning to crave his touch again. “The first lesson is over. You did beautifully. But you’re still mine. This room, this time, is still mine.”
He guided her hands back to the cold glass. “Hold on.” His voice was a soft command, edged with renewed intent.
Eliza obeyed, her fingers splaying against the mirror. She heard the rustle of his trousers, the click of a cap. A cool, slick touch probed her from behind, not his cock, but something smoother, tapered.
“Relax, Eliza,” he coaxed, his mouth at her ear. “This is just a toy. A little reminder for you to carry home.”
She whimpered as the pressure increased, the object stretching her, filling a different, deeper space. It was smaller than him, but its presence was undeniable, a constant, intimate invasion.
“Good girl,” he praised, his hands settling on her hips as he seated it fully. He turned her to face him, his gaze dropping to where the subtle, translucent base of the toy was just visible between her legs. “Every time you move, you’ll feel it. You’ll think of this room. You’ll think of my cock in your ass, and my hand on your throat, and the way you came for me.”
Eliza’s face burned with a mix of shame and dizzying arousal. She was full, claimed in a way that felt irrevocable.
He began to dress her with a terrifying tenderness. He picked up the forgotten black silk slip and eased it over her head, his fingers skimming her skin. The delicate fabric felt like a brand over her sensitized flesh. He smoothed it down her body, his palms cupping her ass, a dark promise in his touch.
“When you get home,” he said, kneeling before her to slide her shoes back on, his eyes level with the gentle bulge the toy made under the silk, “I want you to look in your own mirror. I want you to touch yourself, right here.” His fingertip pressed lightly against the clothed apex of her thighs, over the toy’s base. “But you don’t come. You wait. You ache. And you think about your next lesson.”
He stood, towering over her once more, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His expression was serious, his playful darkness replaced by something more profound. “This doesn’t leave with the dress. This is yours now. Do you understand?”
Speechless, Eliza could only nod, the persistent, secret fullness inside her a relentless answer. He had re-dressed her, but she had never felt more naked, or more his. The door to the dressing room seemed a thousand miles away, and the path to it felt like walking into a new, terrifying world wearing his signature under her clothes.
Chapter 8
The car was a silent capsule, gliding through the evening city. Eliza sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the buttery leather cool against the backs of her thighs. The toy inside her was no longer a shock, but a persistent, low-grade thrum of awareness. Every subtle shift in her posture, every bump in the road, sent a fresh wave of sensation radiating through her core. She kept her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window, watching the blurred lights of the city slide past, a shield against the man driving beside her.
Nathaniel drove with a quiet, focused ease, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. He hadn’t spoken since he’d guided her from the boutique, his large hand a steady, proprietary pressure on the small of her back. The silence wasn’t empty; it was dense with the memory of the dressing room, charged with the secret she carried.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the engine. He didn’t look at her.
Eliza started, her fingers tightening in her lap. “I’m not.”
A low, knowing chuckle escaped him. “Your breath changes. It gets shallow when you’re trying to ignore what’s happening in your body.” He finally glanced over, his eyes dark pools in the dashboard’s glow. “You can’t ignore it, Eliza. That’s the point.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She felt seen in a way that was terrifyingly complete. He turned the car onto a tree-lined street, the buildings giving way to older, grander homes set back from the road. He pulled into a curved driveway, the headlights illuminating a modern, angular facade of glass and dark stone.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“My home,” he said simply, cutting the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. “Your lesson isn’t over. It’s just changing classrooms.”
He exited the car and came around to her door, opening it before she could move. The cool night air kissed her skin as he offered his hand. It wasn’t a request. She placed her trembling fingers in his, and he pulled her gently to her feet. The movement jostled the toy, and a sharp, sweet ache made her gasp softly.
Nathaniel’s lips curved. “Good. You’re remembering.” He kept her hand in his, leading her up the steps to a sleek, black door that opened silently at his touch.
Inside, the space was vast and minimalist, all polished concrete floors, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a shadowy garden. It felt like him: controlled, serious, intensely private. He led her through the open living area, not toward a bedroom, but to a spacious study. A large, worn leather sofa faced a fireplace where embers glowed low. Books lined the walls, and a single, elegant floor lamp cast a pool of warm light.
“Sit,” he instructed, nodding toward the sofa.
Eliza obeyed, sinking into the soft leather. It enveloped her, a stark contrast to the unyielding fullness within. He didn’t join her. Instead, he moved to a sideboard, pouring two glasses of something amber. He brought one to her, his fingers brushing hers as she took it.
“Look at me,” he said, standing before her.
She lifted her gaze. He had removed his suit jacket and tie, his white shirt open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tattoos on his forearms were stark against his skin. He looked more dangerous here, in his own domain, than he had in the boutique.
“In that room, I showed you what your body could do,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Here, I want to see what your mind can do. I want you to tell me what you’re feeling. Right now. Every ache. Every pulse.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “The shy girl gets to stay in the car. In this house, I want the woman I saw in the mirror. The one who came apart on my cock. Give her to me.”
The command, to voice her own arousal, was more invasive than any touch. Eliza’s mouth went dry. She clutched the cool glass, the persistent, teasing pressure inside her building a desperate need for friction, for release. But his rule was absolute: she waited. She ached.
She took a shaky breath, the words forming like a confession in the sacred quiet of his study. “It… it doesn’t stop,” she began, her voice a thread of sound. “It feels like you’re still there. Like I’m carrying you with me.”
Chapter 9
He didn’t move, didn’t touch her, yet his presence commanded the very air in the room. “Go on,” he urged, his voice a velvet stroke in the quiet. “Carrying me where?”
Eliza swallowed, the heat in her face a brand. The toy pulsed, a slow, maddening rhythm. “Inside,” she whispered, the word a fragile, breaking thing. “It’s… a constant pressure. A reminder that I’m not empty. That I’m full of you, even when you’re not there.” Her own audacity sent a shiver through her, a blend of terror and heady liberation.
Nathaniel’s eyes darkened with intense approval. He took the glass from her trembling hand and set it aside. Then he knelt before her on the rich carpet, bringing them to the same level. He was so close she could see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the faint line of the scar on his jaw. He rested his hands on his thighs, a picture of controlled patience.
“And what does that fullness make you want to do, Eliza?” he asked, his gaze dropping pointedly to the apex of her thighs, still covered by the simple cotton.
She felt her muscles clench around the toy in answer. A soft, helpless sound escaped her lips. “I want… I want to move. To find friction. To make it stop and… and make it worse.”
“But you won’t,” he stated, the playful edge returning to his serious tone. “Not until I say. The wanting is part of the lesson. It teaches you patience. It teaches you who owns your pleasure.” He leaned forward then, until his lips were a breath from the fabric covering her stomach. He didn’t kiss her. He simply inhaled, a long, deep draw of air, as if tasting her arousal on the scent of her skin. “You smell like mine,” he murmured, the words vibrating against her. “All heat and sweet, desperate need.”
His head dipped lower, his nose skimming over the cotton of her underwear. Eliza’s back arched off the sofa, a silent plea. He placed a single, open-mouthed kiss over the fabric, right where the toy sat nestled inside her. The damp heat of his breath, the firm pressure of his mouth through the cotton, was an exquisite torment. He was worshipping the evidence of his own control.
“On your knees,” he commanded softly, pulling back.
Her body obeyed before her mind could protest. She slid from the sofa to the carpet, facing him. He stayed kneeling, a dark prince before his supplicant.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want you to show me how much you want it. Just with your mouth. Tell me what you would do if I let you touch yourself. Describe it to me. In detail.”
The command was a new kind of exposure, more intimate than the mirror. She was to use words as her instrument, to make him see the fantasy she was too shy to enact. She looked into his obsidian eyes, saw the hunger there, and found a thread of bravery.
“I’d… I’d push my underwear aside,” she began, her voice gaining a husky warmth. “I’d spread my legs wider on your floor. I’d use my fingers to find where I’m the most sensitive, right above where you put your toy. I’d press there, in little circles, pretending it was your tongue.” The confession sent a bolt of pure lightning through her core, and she gasped. “I’d be so wet for you. I’d imagine you watching me, telling me I was a good girl for showing you how much I ache.”
A low groan rumbled from Nathaniel’s chest. The sound of his pleasure at her words was a reward in itself. “And then?” he prompted, his own breath slightly ragged.
“Then I’d slip a finger inside,” she breathed, her eyes glazing with the vividness of the image. “Alongside it. To feel how full I am. To feel myself stretch for you. I’d move it, slowly, matching the pulse I feel… until I was trembling.”
He reached out then, not to stop her, but to cradle her heated cheek. His thumb brushed her lower lip. “That’s my girl,” he praised, his voice thick. “Using that beautiful mind. Now you understand. The anticipation isn’t a punishment. It’s a gift. It makes every eventual touch a revelation.”
He stood, pulling her up with him. The movement sent a fresh, dizzying wave of sensation through her. “The lesson in patience continues,” he said, leading her from the study toward the shadowed hallway. “You will sleep in my bed, with that reminder inside you. And you will dream of the morning.”