But somehow, I manage to resist, even as he reaches down, circles his base with his thumb and middle finger, and holds it out as if offering it to me. I pull his tie from my neck and reach for his hands instead, guiding his arms behind his back and turning him to tie them together at the wrist. It’s tight, but not so tight he couldn’t get out if he wanted.
Turning him back around, I push lightly on his chest. “Go sit on the couch. It’s time for questions.”
“I’m a little nervous,” he admits with a tiny wink, but walks confidently over and carefully lowers himself to the seat, hands trapped behind him.
“Men are always nervous about this part,” I say, following him and straddling his thighs. I reach forward and draw a circle around the head of his c**k with my index finger. “No one likes to admit all of the terrible things they’ve done.”
“And how many men have you done this with?” This time, his voice catches on something—jealousy, maybe. Or maybe the dark thrill that comes from imagining me doing this to someone else.
These are the things I need to learn about the man I’ve married.
“Thousands,” I whisper, relishing the way his eyes grow hard. Jealousy, then. “I’m the best negotiator out there. If you want me to remember tonight, you should probably impress me later.”
I rest my ass on his thighs and then slide forward, giving his c**k the briefest bit of friction against me before I slide away again. Beneath my palms, his shoulders bunch as he pulls against the bind around his wrists.
“Does it make you wet to take control, Cerise?” he whispers, looking torn. He’s broken role, but it seems like he can’t help himself. “I wish I could tell you what seeing you like this does to me.”
He doesn’t need to tell me; I can see what it does to him. But in the length of a heartbeat, I know what he’s asking for. It’s the same as our first night playing maid and master: feed it to me.
He’s just doing it differently.
I reach between my legs, slip my fingers under the satin, and decide to give him a little show: I close my eyes, moan quietly as I stroke myself, rolling my hips. But when I pull my hand back, instead of putting my fingers in his mouth, I capture his chin with my free hand and paint a wet line on his upper lip, just below his nose.
He groans, and it’s an amazing, gravelly, pained sound I want to record and play on a loop while I slide down over him and ride him. He’s so hard, his c**k arches up to his navel, the thick ridge nearly pressing to his belly button. A slick bead of moisture forms at the opening and slides, glistening, down his length.
My mouth waters, my chest tightens. I don’t imagine my game is going to be fast. I never know if it’s true, but he looks hard enough for it to be uncomfortable. “Do you want me to put my mouth on you before the questions?” I whisper, briefly breaking role. The corded tension in his neck and the vulnerable expression on his face make me want to take care of him.
“Non,” he says quickly, more quickly than I expected. His eyes are wide, lips wet where he’s just licked them, trying to clean his skin of my taste. “Tease me.”
Pushing off his lap, I stand, giving a crisp “Very well then,” and bend over the coffee table to retrieve the clipboard and pen. I give him a long view of my backside, my thighs, and the red silk thong. Behind me, he exhales a deep, shaking breath.
I return to him, looking over my short list. I’ve written a few things just to remind myself what I want to ask him because in the heat of the moment, over his lap with him naked and looking at me like he’s barely keeping his hands tied up, I’m prone to forget.
Settling back down, I run my pen down the smooth skin of his chest and rock slightly over the tight bunching muscles of his thighs. “We can start with an easy one.”
He nods, staring openly at my br**sts. “D’accord.” Okay.
“If you’ve ever killed anyone, you’re really not worth very much to me because we’ll be getting your soul eventually anyway.”
He smiles, relaxing a little as the game reveals itself. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“Tortured?”
He laughs. “I fear I’m on the receiving end at the moment, but no.”
Blinking back down to my list, I say, “We can reel through the cardinal sins pretty quickly.” I look up at him and lick my lips. “This is where men usually lose the most value.”
He nods, staring intently at me, as if I really do hold the power to change his fate tonight.
“Greed?” I ask.
Ansel lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m an attorney.”
Nodding, I pretend to make note of this. “For a firm you hate, but who pays you ridiculous sums of money to represent one huge corporation suing another. I suppose that means I can also put you down for a bit of gluttony, too?”
His dimple flashes suggestively as he laughs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Pride?”
“Me?” he says with a winning smile. “I’m as humble as they come.”
“Right.” Fighting my own smile, I look back down at my list. “Lust?”
He pushes his hips up, his c**k a heavy presence between us as I gaze at his face, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t answer aloud.
Heat ripples along my skin and his gaze is so penetrating, I finally have to look away from his face. “Envy?”
It takes him long enough to answer that I look back up at him, searching his expression. He’s grown oddly contemplative, as if this is a serious exercise. And for the first time I realize maybe it is. I couldn’t simply ask him these things as Mia, sitting across the dining room table from Ansel, though I’d want to. No one can be as perfect as he seems, and part of me needs to understand where he’s damaged, where he’s ugliest. Somehow it’s easier to dress up as a servant of Satan to find out.