I want it more than anything, but I still don’t know what I think about obeying him and why I like it. “Why are you asking me when you know you could just do it?”
He strokes his thumb over my cheek. “Because I beat you till you sobbed and begged me to stop last night and now you might be thinking that the last thing you want is to be my sub.”
Good point. “What does it mean to be your sub?”
He gives his answer serious consideration before saying, “It means that it’s my responsibility to see that you feel secure and cared for. It means I take the bullets for you, real and intangible. It means making you happy.” He smiles. “And it means you’d be making me happy, too.”
A droplet of water runs down the side of his neck and over his chest, and I trace its path with my forefinger. “That’s beautiful,” I whisper. It’s what he’s been doing all along, in a way, but this would be so much more than him just looking out for dangers in the streets.
“My sub is mine,” he continues, possessiveness darkening his eyes, “and anyone who hurts her has to answer to me.”
I’ve witnessed firsthand what Dieter can be like if he’s displeased, and I wouldn’t like to get on his wrong side.
“But you’d have responsibilities, too,” he continues. “Being my sub means doing what you’re told and following my rules. Are you up for that? If you thought it was annoying being my principal you’re going to find a whole other world of obedience being my sub. If you get into one of your moods you might not be able to sit down for a week.”
I smooth my hands up his chest and twine them around his neck. “And what if I’m a very good girl? I can be good, you know.”
Dieter makes a little growling sound in the back of his throat. “Adrienne, the thought of you being good for me is like manna from heaven.”
His eyes are burning with fierce delight and my heart starts to pound. I want him to always look at me like that. But what does this mean next week or next month? How does this work when he’s also my bodyguard?
I have so many questions, but when I catch his eyes again and see that intense look in their gray depths, they fly out the window. What-ifs be damned. I want him.
“I want to be your sub,” I whisper.
He presses his forehead to mine, our noses touching. “Sweet girl. Do you like the things I do to you?”
I make a little whimpering sound in the back of my throat. “Yes, daddy.”
He groans, and buries his hands in my hair and kisses me. I can feel the strength of his need as he crushes me to his chest. His lips are soft, gentle, and my mouth opens beneath his, showing him how much I want him.
“I need you, babygirl,” he whispers, angling my neck to one side so he can trail kisses from my ear to my collarbone. “Can I have you now?”
My right leg starts to quiver and I can’t seem to make it stop. When I press my heel into the carpet it shakes even more.
Dieter pulls back and looks at me in surprise. “Are you cold?”
; “No, I’m just—it just—” I break off, helpless. I know what it is. I don’t just want him. I like him. So much so that it frightens me, and I feel a strange impulse to say something to make him angry. But why? I don’t want him to be angry, I want him to keep kissing me.
He does, and the irrational impulse passes and he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to his bedroom. The room is dark and the bed is rumpled, and he lays me out on the mattress. My hands fumble with the towel around his waist, tugging it free and casting it aside. I reach for him, but he captures my hands in his and holds them tightly. Breathing deeply, he breaks the kiss and just looks down at me, his eyes glittering in the dim light.
“I’m not rushing, babygirl.” His voice holds a warning.
“But I need you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, and if it were anyone else I’d think they were smug. “And I’m going to fuck you, deep and hard and thoroughly. But I’m in charge.”
I catch my lower lip between my teeth. “Yes, daddy.”
Arousal flickers over his face. “I am never going to tire of hearing you say that.” And he slowly undresses me, kissing my shoulders as he pulls the sweater off over my head, and my hips as he peels the shorts down. I see a dark glint in his eyes and he flips me over and catches my wrists behind my back. Holding them in one hand he squeezes the flesh of my behind, examining it in the dim light. “Not even a hint of a mark on your pretty skin,” he murmurs. “But then, I did go easy on you.”
“Easy!”
“Oh, yes. Very easy. I was only using my hand, after all.”
What the hell else would he use? And I wonder if he’s got a drawer full of implements somewhere. But I haven’t got time to think about that as his other hand dips between my legs and starts exploring. He’s murmuring sweet things about how good I feel and how much he’s wanted to have me in his bed again. I’m drifting off into a dreamy world of sensation when he suddenly asks, “How do you like being fucked?”