With pleasure. She ran her hands over his shoulders, indulging herself with their feel and shape. "May I unbutton your shirt, sir? To be more thorough."
"Not this time. Work with what you're given."
Well, she'd had to try. Touching him, even through the cloth of his shirt, was still a sensual gift. As she did that, he moved one hand from her hip and toyed with the navel piercing, sending a lovely swirl of feeling radiating from that point. His knuckles were brushing her mound, reminding her that her legs were spread, her bare cunt just above the seam of his thighs. "Chris gave you the little bear, didn't he?"
"Yes sir."
His attention went to her face at the address. She kept her focus on his shoulders. He had such good muscle tone there, but he was tense. All those hours at a desk, reading, reviewing.
"You should go to yoga with me," she said.
"Men don't do yoga."
"They certainly do. We have several men in our class, and yes, heterosexual men. One of them is really hot. Like you. You could wear bike shorts like he does so I can see everything ripple and flex."
"Really?" His brow lifted. "Does he notice everything ripple and flex on you?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't pay attention to that," she said primly, but with a hint of a smile. "Come to the class to find out. Seriously, you should consider it. You need to figure out ways to relax. You're too tense."
She was sitting in his lap naked, babbling at him, because being there, in this situation at long last, was just too much to take in. But he'd decided he wanted to build them up again, because he wrapped one hand in her hair, focusing her attention.
"Be quiet, Miss Gerard. I'll let you know if I want to hear you talk."
"Yes sir. My mouth is willing to be occupied by anything you wish."
She could feel her cheeks heat as she said it. She kept her attention on the movement of her hands as if her life depended on it. He touched her face, though, gripping her jaw to make her meet his gaze. She expected she was turning deep rose.
"What do you mean by that, Miss Gerard?"
"I think it was pretty clear. Sir." She wet her lips, and the next word came out as a soft rasp. "Please."
"Christ," he muttered. "Chris would kick my ass."
Her brow creased, and she searched his hazel gaze. "Why?"
"It's . . . We shouldn't be doing this." His grip on her hair eased, both hands going back to her waist. She could feel him withdrawing, and she was still sitting on his lap. Naked. Freaking naked.
A shiver of cold went across her skin. "Really? Why is that?"
Geoff gave her a torn look. Whatever was going through his head was tying up his tongue, but she wasn't in the mood to wait for an answer. She slid her hands down the front of his shirt and backed off his lap, sinking down between his knees before he could move away from her. When she hooked her fingers in his belt, the heel of her hand rubbing against the head of his erection, he grabbed her wrists, his expression hardening.
That reaction was what Flo had warned her about. Doms didn't like to be pushed, the sub trying to call the shots. But she'd prefer his anger about that over whatever the hell he'd been about to do or say. Unfortunately, he refused to close that door.
"I'm not going to use you like that," he said. "You deserve better."
"I deserve better," she said slowly. "You want me on a pedestal, Geoff? Is that what you were thinking when you were spanking me, when you had me begging? I know what you want. You want to order me to go down on you. You want your cock in my mouth. You want me on my knees. That's where I want to be. On my knees to you."
She was fucking this up, because things were twisting into a hard knot inside of her. She was freaking telling him what he wanted. She'd made herself too vulnerable and he wasn't responding as she'd hoped. When he said nothing, obviously still struggling with the right words, the right response, she snapped.
"Forget it," she said, sliding back to her feet and picking up her clothes. She would have been better off striding bare-assed back to her room, because the moment she pressed the fabric against her, the shame of being so exposed gripped her. The ache in her throat was what tore it, though. She was not going to cry. If she did, he'd be sure it was all a mistake. At the moment, he might be right, but she knew that was just her fear of rejection talking. If he could just unbend one fucking moment, let go of control, of the idea that he had to keep everything in their world ordered the way he thought it was supposed to go, rather than how they all wanted . . .
"Things have to get messy sometimes," she snapped. "Not being in control of everything isn't the end of the world. Sometimes it can be just the beginning. If it gets fucked up some along the way, it's not the end of the world, either. It doesn't have to be."
Though unfortunately, this kind of hurt made it feel that way.
"Sam . . ."
"No," she said, dashing by him. She hurried down the hall, her movements so uncontrolled that she closed her door harder than she'd intended. She locked it, probably the first time she'd ever done that, and leaned against the panel, holding the clothes against the ache under her breastbone. She couldn't stick her neck out more than that, could she? Had she gone down the wrong path, been too blatant, too contrived? Up until she'd brought up giving him oral, he'd seemed to be getting into it. She shivered again as she replayed it in her head. Miss Gerard . . . God, if she worked for him in truth, hearing him address her so formally would get her aroused every time.