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Clouds could cluster around a man’s mind and soul. When she found the way to part them, to glimpse the fire and need that lay behind that screen, it told her even more clearly than words what needed to happen next. “Invite me in, Lawrence. I promise to drain all your blood, steal your soul, and have you thank me in the morning.”

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Now his eyes crinkled at the corners. Humor returning, even as it had to push its way out of the shadows. “So you’re staying the night?”

“It depends. On what shape you’re in when I’m done.”

On how much aftercare he’d need after he gave her everything she demanded. She held that thought to herself.

Her fingers tightened on his belt and this time she didn’t ask. She stepped forward, executing gentle pressure.

Five foot seven or not, the man was a brick wall when he didn’t want to be moved. But just when she thought he was going to give her that hard no after all, he relented, letting her into his place.

Once inside, she eased him arm’s length from her so she could close the door. She flipped the latch with a decided thunk, remembering what he’d said about needing to be sure their space was secure before he gave over control to her.

As she turned her back to him to do that, he gravitated toward her. A predator was good at taking advantage of an unguarded moment. Though his torso didn’t touch hers, she expected there was less than a hand span between them. He confirmed it, by resting his forehead against her shoulder. She went still, waiting to see what he thought he had the liberty or implicit permission to do. His hands crept to her waist, dug in, and then he laid a kiss on the bare collarbone offered by the scoop neckline of her silk shirt.

He stayed like that, his forehead against her shoulder again, his hands at her waist. Holding her, but also holding himself, she thought. Giving himself strength by drawing from her presence, her strength. A simple, subtle sign of trust and faith in that power. Or hope for it.

The man could overwhelm her, not just with the power of his need, but with how strong a hold he had on the reins to it. When she convinced him to hand those reins to her, it was very possible her world might change in ways she didn’t expect.

Easy, she thought. Slow it down. For both of you.

She’d had a brief impression of a living room with a flatscreen, an open floor plan that led to a kitchen, but none of that interested her. Not right now. She didn’t want any distractions. She wanted her entire focus, everything filling her senses, holding her attention, to be him.

She put her hand over his on her waist. “Show me where you spend the most time when you’re here.”

If it was the bedroom, she expected he’d choose his second most preferred living space, to avoid being obvious. Or to avoid temptation. She didn’t disagree with that.

Taking her hand, he led her to the kitchen. The island there doubled as his dining table. A sliding glass door led out to a small patio. Through the half-open vertical blinds she glimpsed a tiny backyard enclosed by wooden panels on the left and right sides. While it was open to the woods behind the townhome, the panels provided semi-privacy between his patio and that of the neighbors.

No dishes in the sink, all surfaces clean. The kitchen was mostly white walls, brown and white granite counters. But along the backsplash of the stove were a line of brightly colored tiles, each with a Day of the Dead sugar skull design. Matching skull saltshakers on either end. A cast iron skillet had a permanent spot on one of the burners.

Hanging from the handle of the stove was a dish towel that looked hand-embroidered, likely a gift from a family member. It was the SEAL emblem, a fierce-looking eagle with a bowed head, the talons grasping a trident. It was flanked by two solid blue functional towels.

Lawrence stood a short step behind her left shoulder. Because she knew he was watching her reactions, she let her gaze travel at a leisurely pace over the room again, for a different reason. She wanted to check out her options.

There was the refrigerator, the handle of the stove. Cabinet handles. She liked breaking a sub’s control, so none of that was sturdy enough. Her gaze returned to the refrigerator, and she marked the broom and dust mop tidily tucked in the space between it and the counter. Then her attention returned to the kitchen sink. Double-sided, fiberglass.


Moving to the sink, she tilted her head in that direction, indicating he should follow her. The small area made her hyperconscious of his scent and heat. They were closed into their own private world, no work requirements here for either of them. He didn’t disrupt what was building between them with the offer of a drink, the option to sit down or other such nonsense.

What she’d felt standing next to him in the doorway to Lindi’s office space, what she’d sensed when he had first come into their board room, was a mere echo of the force of attention she felt from him now. It told her how much he’d been suppressing behind that façade. The increased heat in his gaze, the dense energy that surrounded her, reminded her that he had a woman he wanted in his home, and it was just the two of them. He was more than capable of overpowering her and taking what he wanted. Not that he would, but he would push her awareness of that, see how she would react, to give the sexual energy between them a dangerous edge.

That edge, if they both gave into it, could turn this into just sex, offering quick relief. The bottom level. But she was banking on him knowing, just as she did, that so much more was possible here than that. Even if it was still mostly subconscious for him, that knowledge, when the conscious mind got out of the way, became far more powerful.

“Face the backsplash. Put your hands on the edge of the sink, shoulder width apart.”

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Written by Story Witch
Hochgeladen July 10, 2020
Notes Marketing CEO Rosalinda Thomas knows how to bring quality to the top. Especially from the men who serve her in the bedroom.

Lawrence has been a SEAL for twenty years. From the moment he sees Ros, his deep need to serve gets redefined.

He's never belonged to a Mistress. Ros is going to change that.
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