“You can only use your hands,” I said, throwing his carefully selected word back in his face. “That should be adequate.”
I expected him to push back, but all he did was tilt his head. “All right. To clarify, no oral sex.” He pushed away from the wall, and as he moved closer, shadow fell across his face. “But I am allowed to use my mouth elsewhere. Agreed?”
There was a worried voice in the back of my head that I promptly silenced. “Fine.”
He gave a conquering smile as he sat on the lounge beside me. “Do you think you’ve hindered me, Sophia?” He skimmed his knuckles across my cheek, and his eyes, which never seemed to miss a thing, swept down over my face, zeroing in on my mouth. “You may think you’ve taken away my only weapon, but I have so many more.” He leaned in and whispered it against my lips. “Eleven twenty-two.”
I was already succumbing to his magnetic pull. “What?”
“My hour starts now.”
ELEVEN
MACALISTER
SOPHIA WAS VISIBLY NERVOUS. Anxiety tensed her shoulders and kept her posture stiff, which I found fascinating. I was the one beneath the clock, but if her apprehension was over losing to me, then it wasn’t misplaced.
This was easily the smartest wager I’d ever made.
If I won, not only would she tell me who she wanted named in DuBois’s book, but I’d get to be the first man to give her an orgasm, and I loved nothing better in this world than being a woman’s source of pleasure. In the unlikely event I lost, I’d get an hour of almost total rein over her body.
And what a body she had. The mouth that went with it was another story.
I despised the way she’d taunted when she called me Daddy, but what was more troubling was my own reaction to it. A warped and twisted delight lingered even after her fetishized word had dissipated.
It had pushed me beyond sense, and the spanking I’d delivered escalated far beyond what I had intended. The desire to discipline and correct had been my original goal, and then abandoned at the wayside the very moment my cock had grown hard.
My selfish needs had taken command, and I’d been weak enough to let them.
Sophia had alleviated much of the ache she’d created tonight, and thankfully, now I was back under control, my mind firmly in charge. I was displeased I’d let myself get into this situation, but happier now with the turn of events.
I’d allow myself to indulge, as long as I remembered this was all there’d be. One night of indiscretion was easy to write off, but it could not happen again.
She sighed when I brushed my lips against hers and softened further when I kissed her in earnest. The meeting of our mouths worked to dispel her anxiety one layer at a time, like fingers unlacing a corset. Each slow stroke of my tongue freed her more.
Yet kissing her was . . . worrisome.
After Julia, I viewed kissing as a tool. It was an act to be performed by the man and experienced by the woman, and I typically used it to deepen my level of seduction. Kissing was the most effective way to establish who was in control.
But whenever my mouth was on Sophia’s, I hadn’t a clue who was leading our kiss, or who between us was in charge. It was disorienting, leaving me unbalanced. Kissing was supposed to be a device. A checkpoint to pass on the way toward a sexual encounter. But with her, it had feeling—it had its own version of pleasure.
I kissed her with no motive or agenda, other than I enjoyed the way she kissed me back. I surrendered to the experience, rather than be the one driving it. Thankfully, my competitive nature, which had been lurking in the back of my mind, cleared its throat to remind me of my responsibility.
I used my body and my kiss to drive her down onto her back, and her golden hair fanned around her on the lounge’s cushion. She looked so young and untouched, staring up at me with her big eyes. Why did she stay, when she seemingly knew every awful thing about me? She’d sought me out when she should have run the other way.
I didn’t apologize for the things I’d done, not even the terrible ones. For most of my life, I’d been incapable of admitting a mistake, and now it was too late. I didn’t see the point. If you broke a glass, an apology would not put it back together.
I balanced over her on my arms, and her warm hands distracted me from my thoughts when they dove inside my open shirt, roaming over my chest. A teasing look filled her face. “You realize you’ve already wasted ten minutes kissing me.”