His gaze stayed fastened on her face as she fought to breathe. "Do you forgive me, Sam?" he asked again.
With the arousal came a tangled knot of other emotions, ones that captured her throat and wouldn't let her utter anything less than the truth. "I'd forgive you anything. Which was why it hurt so much." She took a breath at his shuttered look, was afraid it meant he was withdrawing from her again, no matter what he'd said. "I think part of what a family is . . . what it should be, are people who can take risks with you and who will be here, no matter what. If not, we weren't ever really family. Staying away from the stuff we think will test that isn't a way to make it truth, right?"
His eyes darkened. He pressed his mouth to hers, and her lips trembled under his as he spoke. "If I could take the words back and never say them, I would. But I'll try to make it up to you by not being a coward from here forward. By not being afraid anymore to show you just how much I want you. Deal?"
As restitution went, she couldn't come up with anything better. He broke the kiss to nuzzle her nose, her cheek. When he slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her, he brought them to her mouth, painting her response over her lip gloss. "Who are you so wet for?"
"You," she whispered.
"Good." He rose to his feet and extended his hand. "Come back inside with me."
She put trembling fingers in his grasp, and he helped her out of the car. As he escorted her back inside, he had his hand on her lower back, curved over her hip. Once they stepped inside, he held her in place while he closed and locked the door. She could hear her heart beating. He'd turned off the TV so the house was still except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Gently turning her away from him, he unzipped the dress, guiding it over her head. She lifted her arms to help him remove it.
"Stay like that," he commanded, low, as he set the dress aside. He slid his hands down the length of her arms, palms molding under her armpits, the frame of her rib cage, down to her waist. Learning her body, possessing it, marking every inch with his touch. She shivered.
"All right, lower them now."
Taking her hand, he guided her to
the center of the living room and adjusted her so she was facing the couch. "Stand there," he said. He took a seat, stretching his arm out along the back, hooking his ankle over a knee as if he were preparing to watch something on TV. Only he was watching her instead.
Straight men liked to look at women, quick glances that focused briefly on hip or breast, legs. This was the first time in her life she'd been looked at the way a man might look at a pinup, one he could hold in his hands and peruse as intently and as long as he wished. Geoff started at her feet, working his way up. It felt as intimate as if he were learning her with hands or mouth. It made her self-conscious, but he made a quelling noise when she twitched uncertainly.
"Your Master is looking at you, Samantha Beth. Your posture should show how proud you are of that, because he finds you perfect in every way. Your long, slim legs. Your pale, soft skin. Your gorgeous breasts, nipples already so tight your bra can't hide them. Your pussy is wet, your panties stained with that response. And then there's that gorgeous mouth." He gave her a lazy look. "Do you want to tell me what you were imagining when you put on your lip gloss?"
"You remembered."
"There's very little I forget, when it comes to you."
She blushed, and his lips curved, but there was no humor in the gesture. Only heat, and barely leashed demand. She could feel it waiting, and she wondered if he knew how it heightened the anticipation, to make her aware of it even as he held back until he was ready to release it. Whether by instinct or premeditation, it affected her, took away any of the conflict she'd had earlier.
"Yes, I'd like to tell you. May I?"
Those same instincts had her asking permission, and she earned a reward for it, his body noticeably tightening, increasing that sexual tension between them. He gave a short nod.
"Do you remember The Matrix, when Persephone told the Merovingian the lipstick she meant wasn't on his face? I noticed both you and Chris shifted during that scene. Like you were getting aroused, and didn't want me to see how the thought of that girl giving him oral sex made you both hard. I fantasize about you treating me like a submissive, Geoff. I have for so long . . ."
She took a deep breath, encouraged when he followed how the movement lifted her breasts. "So I would like to ask . . . what I hoped you'd command me to do the other night. I want to be on my knees to you. I want you to make me put my mouth on you. Please . . . sir."
Had he realized she'd wanted to say something far more dramatic than that? She'd wanted to call him Master, but just the thought of it and her face had colored, because it didn't feel entirely right, not when so many things were up in the air. But she couldn't resist the sir. She'd loved using it during her secretary role-playing with him.
As he continued to stare at her, she reached behind her, fingering the clasp of her bra. "Would you like me to take this off?"
"Yes. But leave the panties on."
She unhooked the bra, letting it slide down her arms. Dropping it to the side, she waited. Remembering what he'd said, she straightened, making her small breasts tilt proudly under his gaze.
"Run your fingers through your hair. Pile it up on your head with one hand, and slide your other hand into your panties. I want to see you play with yourself."
She complied. Molten heat coursed through every artery, down to pool between her legs. When she put her fingers there, his attention was on everything she was doing. How her arm was lifted to hold her hair in place, how her fingers moved beneath the fabric of the panties, how stiff her nipples were. She swayed at the sensation of being at the center of his attention. He was letting her pleasure herself for his pleasure, which just made her hotter. She bit her lip as a spasm from between her legs made her hips jerk, her shoulders twitch.
Geoff opened his jeans, reached in and gripped himself, starting to stroke. She made a tiny noise of protest, her gaze clinging to the movement of his hand beneath his shorts, which offered her a glimpse of the head of his cock as his hand slid upward, covered himself, then stroked down again. She licked her lips.
"Ask me again, Sam."
"Please . . . I want to suck you to climax."