A hint of a smile crossed Dmitri’s face. “White for both Presley and me, thank you.”
Elliott turned to Mary, who stared at him with wide, excited eyes. Yeah, he understood her desire. He felt it, too. “Come, beautiful, help me gather the drinks.”
She took a step forward, as if drawn by his order, not wanting to refuse. Which was exactly why he’d phrased the request as he had and not posed it as a question. He watched her, wondering over her next move. Sure, he was testing the waters, but he needed to understand this little puzzle.
Mary drew in a deep breath, lowering her head, trying to recover her emotions. When she regarded Dmitri all heat had vanished from her face, her gaze was guarded. “White wine, you said?”
Obviously sensing the challenge between his two guests, Dmitri smirked. “Two, please.”
Elliott thought her response was ever the more fascinating. Not only did she shield her arousal so fiercely, not allowing it to awaken and be obvious to him, but she seemed hell-bent on keeping him at bay.
In that one second, her actions told him: I turned to Dmitri to ask because I’m not following your order. I’m getting my friends a drink.
Little did she know Elliott loved a challenge. In his life, he conquered businessmen who were known to make grown men cry. He’d gotten investors to dive into risky businesses. He loved those stone walls in life that needed to be broken down to succeed.
Mary had unknowingly become his next conquest.
She turned to him with her chin lifted high. “Are you ready to serve the drinks?”
His frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he took the final step to close the distance. He leaned down by her face, and the sweetness of her flowering scent spiraled around him. “I do believe I already said that I wanted you to help me get the drinks.” He arched a brow at her. “Did you not hear me?”
“I heard you.” She hesitated. “I—”
“Good,” he interjected with an easy smile. “For a moment there I thought you had a problem with your hearing.”
She laughed softly, avoiding his gaze. “No, my hearing is just fine.”
He noted the flush of her cheeks returned as he leaned away. “Then please come with me so we can enjoy some drinks.” A power play with him she would lose, of that he was confident. And he rather enjoyed hearing her following behind him as he entered the kitchen.
Nice try, though, he mused to himself.
He reached the kitchen island and removed three glasses from the side cabinet as Mary went to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of chardonnay. Once she moved to his side, he sensed her become still, almost frozen in time. He took the bottle from her and she stared at him with dazzling eyes, burning with a light he’d not seen in some time—fierce attraction.
He uncorked the bottle and asked, “Are you a member of Club Sin, Mary?”
She shook her head. “No, I prefer not to play with young men.”
He smiled, filling up the first glass. “You are clearly a submissive, so do you play elsewhere, then?”
“No.” She peeked at him before she pushed the second glass closer to him. “I’m no longer in the lifestyle.”
Surprise flickered through him, and he hurried to finish filling the second and third glasses. He placed the bottle down and turned to her. She stared at the wine bottle, not moving, barely breathing, it seemed.
Unable to stop himself, pulled by the attraction, he trailed a finger over her bare shoulder and her gaze snapped to him. He waited for her to lash out at him, but her mouth stayed shut. She wasn’t even blinking.
He lowered his gaze and watched his finger running up and down her arm, and murmured, “Now, why would a submissive who reacts as beautifully as you do not play anymore?”
“I”—she inhaled sharply and moved away from his touch—“it’s not something that interests me any longer.”
“Funny,” he retorted. “Your body seems to disagree with that statement.”
She snapped her head up, eyes narrowed. “By that, you mean?”
Her glare struck him hard in the chest, being the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He loved a woman with fire in her blood. The stronger the personality, the better. “I would say that in my experience as a Dom, and that is about thirty years of experience, that you’re aching to play.”
She stared at him for a few seconds before casting her gaze down. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” He moved closer, getting right in her space. “I bet I could prove you’re wrong.”