“The tango requires a strong partnership with a physical connection. One leads, one follows, but they need each other. And touch—” Jonas’ hand works its way under my dress as his words wash over me. His fingers find my nipple, and he pinches it, hard, using it to lift my breast. The tugging ache sends an answering tightness through my core, and I can’t help the moan that grinds out of my throat.
His voice is slow and gravelly. “Touch is everything. How we touch, when we touch, all of it controlled and used to give their partner what they need—” Jonas slaps my clit and I cry out, rolling my hips in his lap, pleasure and pain pushing out every other thought.
“Whether or not they know what they need.” I can hear the smile in his voice as Jonas leans down, his lips finding the sensitive spot at the base of my neck. He presses kisses to my skin, so soft and loving, completely at odds with the brutality of his hands. His fingers speed over my clit, fingers pinching my nipple. I’m so close. The need inside me is a hollow, empty ache. I move restlessly on Jonas’ thighs, but he locks his arm around me, holding me tight to his chest.
“You want to come, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice is almost a purr, but there’s something devilish hinting at the edges.
“Yes, sir,” I gasp. So close. So close. So close.
“Beg. Me.” The devil isn’t a hint anymore. He’s keeping me on the edge, softening his touch when I tense, and refusing to let me come. His voice is hard and demanding, and I’m helpless but to obey.
“I-I…” I swallow for a moment, the struggle rising in my throat.
“Yes, Kitten?” he purrs, his voice rich and laced with amusement, as if he knows what’s coming. As if he knows I can’t possibly resist.
And he’s fucking right. “Please, sir,” I blurt out, far more loudly than I should. “Please let me come!” I’m too far gone to be quiet. I’m sure half the club heard me debase myself for one orgasm, but I need it. The need is so great that I feel like it’s ripping me in two.
Jonas’ arm ratchets tight against me and for one heartbreaking second, his hand pulls away from my panties and I think he’s going to leave me like this, in pieces and desperate. But he doesn’t. What he does is worse.
He slaps my pussy, hard enough that his hand makes a sharp sound against the soaked satin of my panties. I detonate. I’m not ripped in two as I expected. Instead, I’m a cloud of particles, exploding out through the night air and blowing away on a breeze of pure passion. I float like that for a long time, lost, but deeply at peace with it.
Slowly, the fragments of me coalesce, and I’m cradled in Jonas’ arms like a child. He has me pulled sideways, my legs dangling over his thighs, and my head tucked under his chin. His fingers stroke my hair, my arms, my waist. He holds me to him like I’m something precious that he can’t bear to let go of. I feel like a treasure even though I’m shaking like a freaking chihuahua. There’s moisture at the corner of my eyes. I swipe at my face, but my fingers hit my mask and blindfold.
It’s official. Jonas has wrecked me for all other lovers, and he didn’t even take off my panties. A sob escapes my lips before I can hold it back. It’s so unfair. He doesn’t want me. So why the hell is Jonas the only person my body reacts to like this? I never considered myself to be an emotional masochist, but I guess the proof is in the fucking pudding.
Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed. All I can smell is Jonas. All I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears. Or maybe that’s the thump of the club? I can’t tell. There’s too much sound. Too much sensation. Too much… everything. I make to get up, but Jonas doesn’t release me.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, shaking my head and reaching for my blindfold.
“Sit, Kitten.” The demand is clear, even though his voice is gentle. Jonas stays my hands, holding them in his bigger ones, and the callous at the base of his finger rubs at the back of my hand. Something about that calms me. Anchors me. To him.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Yeah, for now. Until he realizes who I am. Then what? Even as I roll the question around in my head, I know. All of this goes away, just like it did last time. A stab of guilt twists my stomach for deceiving him. If I were a braver woman I’d admit everything… but he’s holding me so tight. His fingers stroke the back of my hand and I can’t bear to ruin this moment.