Sloane has a healthy fear or me, and that suits me just fine. She doesn’t know what she’s just signed herself up for, though, not really, which positively fucking thrills me. I’m still sticking to my scare the living shit out her plan, but the greedy side of me wants her to enjoy it a little first. I might just enjoy it a little, too.
I smile like the cat that got the fucking cream when she tells me yes. I knew she would; there is no reality in which she was ever going to say no. I stand up, leaving her rigid on the bed, and walk over to the doorway.
“Stand up,” I tell her. She moves slowly, watching me, like she’s waiting for me to morph into some kind of monster or something. Poor pet. She should already know this is what a monster looks like. Once she’s standing, I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms across my chest.
“Strip.”
She wants to say no. I can see it on her face, but she’s trying hard not to upset me, too. She takes a hold of the hem of the tiny, skin-tight black dress she’s wearing and hikes it up enough to show me that she’s wearing proper stockings and a garter belt. I’m fucking crowing on the inside. No girl wears that shit unless she knows she’s getting fucked. Sloane can deny it all she wants to, but she knew this was happening tonight. Her fingers move carefully over the catches on the suspenders and then she props her foot up onto the bed, gently sliding the stockings first down her right leg and then her left. Her measured movements aren’t because she’s a master of strip tease—they’re because she’s shitting her pretty little lace panties—but she’s having the same effect on me regardless. My dick is throbbing in my pants as I watch her, but I don’t touch it. I won’t touch it for a while yet.
“Now the dress.”
She wriggles out of the dress, easing it up over her body, and my hands twitch as I imagine her fingers are mine. I would have removed the dress differently, though. I’d have torn that shit right off her. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders like a goddamn waterfall when the dress comes over her head. I was right about the underwear: she is wearing black lace panties, and a matching lace bra, too. That’s just too fucking good. Eli, the disgusting shit, had told her to wear black lace when I’d come to her before, told her that’s what would make me happy, and here she is standing right in front of me in black lace. That speaks volumes.
“Pull your bra down,” I command. She looks startled, like she’s finally realizing what she’s doing and she wants to get the hell out of here. I wouldn’t stop her if she tried but then again I don’t want to advertise the fact. Now that we find ourselves in this position, I need satisfaction. “Do it, Sloane. If you don’t, you’ll be punished.”
Her hazel eyes, just visible in the light spilling in from behind me, grow extra round. She doesn’t say anything, though. On the inside I’m clapping her courage as she slips the straps of her bra from her shoulders and pushes the whole thing down to reveal her breasts. They are big, natural and perfect, just how I remember them from our night together. I may have given her shit for it, but she’s not the only one who’s coveted our experience in the dark. I’ve licked and sucked at those tits, but I’ve always been sore that I never got to see them. Until now.
Her nipples pucker as I stare at them, trying to keep my thoughts from my face. It’s not a hard job, really—I’m a master of intimidation, and this shit is child’s play. Her body is incredible, perfect in every way, but I don’t let her see that. My role here is to remain as clinical as possible.
“Now lie back onto the bed.”
She teeters backward, still in her low heels, and sits stiffly back onto the bed. Oh, dear…she’s still a little uncomfortable. Time to fix that. Time to strip every ounce of self-consciousness from her until she’s putty in my hands. There’s only one way to accomplish such a feat, and that’s to make her body mine, so she doesn’t even think of it as her own anymore. There will only be one thought, one desire in her world, and that will be to please me.
I reach out and drag her body toward me, pulling her legs back to the edge of the bed so I can position myself in between them. I sit on my heels, grinning when I see she thinks I’m going to go down on her. No such luck, sweetheart.
“Touch yourself, Sloane.”
“Wh—what?”
The little mouse is scared. I pinch the inside of her thigh hard enough for her to flinch. “Touch yourself.”
I’m astonished when she does as she’s told. Her small hand darts between her legs and she begins to rub herself over her panties. That’s good, but not good enough. I growl, pressing my thumb into the skin where I pinched her a second ago. She pauses, and I can see her close her eyes. The hand goes underneath the panties this time, and she stifles a whimper.
“Good girl.” I pull her panties to one side so I can see what she’s doing, and I’m momentarily glad she has her eyes closed, because I slip. For the first time in forever, I slip. The sight of her middle finger working the slick flesh between her legs, teasing over her clit, is enough to make me groan. I have to ball up my fist and bite down on my knuckles to stop the sound from escaping me. A shadow falls across the doorway, blocking out the light, and Sloane’s hand immediately freezes. Her eyes snap open and we both turn—two of my guests have come exploring, a guy in a tiger mask and a tall, leggy blonde with a short, sparkly black dress. The girl is still wearing her simple golden mask, but the bottom half of her face is uncovered. Her mouth parts into a seductive smile when she sees what’s going on inside our little room.