"You clearly don't know who the fuck I am."

The person on the other end of the phone was likely scared shitless. Jacob Whitmore tended to have that effect on those foolish enough to draw his ire.

Yours truly? I just clutched the baby monitor tighter, the stirring between my thighs confirming just how long it had been since we'd done the very thing that rolled so easily off his tongue.

Quiet seeped into the hallway, his door open a few precious inches. Just enough that my heart rate picked up a few notches. It was a rhythmic thing, and I counted out each beat.

One.

The candle that was perched on Hope's baby-friendly cake a few weeks ago.

Two.

The number of months since we'd had a date night. And I wasn't complaining—how could I when I looked around at my life? A husband and a daughter that melted my heart with every smile?

Three.

That was the number of times I'd tried to sneak in a quickie; a no-holds barred romp, squeezed in between feedings, meetings, and the laundry list of reasons we hadn't made time for ourselves.

Three was also the number of times my efforts were rebuffed.

I refused to let that number turn into four.

I glanced at the monitor, the slender screen telling me the nap time gods were on my side because Hope was still out cold in her crib. I made sure at least half a dozen more times, guilt lingering like a scratch that was on the verge of itching. I told myself that Jacob had a monitoring set-up in his office that rivaled a NASA space station and alarms would go off the minute she sniffled.

I propped the monitor on the stand in the hallway and smooshed my breasts together, trying to not fixate on the fact that I looked nothing like the mannequin in the store. No woman did, and my man loved me, cellulite, dimples and all.

Even if he hadn't said so in god knows how long.

I pushed my bangs out of my eyes and shut the last bits of self doubt down. I looked damn good. I caught my reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway. Dark brown, wiry curls framed my face. Yesterday at a client meeting, Claudia Joy pat my shoulder and told me, ‘The first year is the hardest’, like I wore every sleepless night and middle finger tossed at the press who harassed us in the bags beneath my eyes.

A little makeup helped out with the bags, masking the fact that I was running on about five hours of sleep in the past forty eight hours. The rose in my cheeks wasn’t due to blush, though. That was my au natural hue when Jacob pounded his fist on the desk, sending an erotic shockwave through my body.

Even though it had been awhile since those powerful hands of his gripped me, I felt him ghosting across my curves. Intuitive, demanding fingertips skating beneath my neglige. Thumb flicking my swollen nipples.

I licked my lips and rolled back my shoulders. I wanted to trade the vanilla undertones of my lip gloss for the minty haze as his mouth hovered above mine. Teasing me as his lips curved in anticipation. It was a fantasy that I had to make reality.

It would be the kiss to end all kisses. I could feel it in my bones, especially when the bones of the house rattled as he ended the conversation.

“We’re done here.”

There was a pregnant pause after his terse declaration. A blank that would have been filled with a phone slamming into its cradle in the old days. I pictured him nearly breaking the screen of the iPhone. The tense set of his shoulders. The scowl on his handsome face.

I snapped my fingers, shaking my head at the fact that I’d forgotten the massage oil. I had a sensual experience in mind that would put any massage parlor to shame—with a very happy ending for us both.

I balled my fist, creating two solid knocks that echoed through the hall.

We’d just have to skip to the good part.

My heart lurched to my throat, my pulse vibrating from head to toe as I waited for-

Wait.

Why was I waiting?

Frowning, I knocked again. Harder this time, though there was no music or other sound rippling through his closed door.

“You can come in.”

I pushed open the door, all teeth and sex until I was met with those tense shoulders of his.

“Since when do you knock?” There was no playful lilt. Heck, he didn’t even bother turning away from the screen of his laptop.

Since when do I knock? I wish I’d brought the tube of massage oil after all—so I could throw it at his head.

When I played out this seduction in my mind, Jacob swiveled to the door the minute I opened it, his eyes popping from his skull. I wasn’t huge on lingerie, but this was a special occasion. This was the celebration of taking it to the next level, cuz ain’t nothing like the real thing. I’d been wearing out my bullet in the shower the last couple of mornings and I needed something more. Something not battery operated.

I needed my husband.

I needed my Dom.

I cleared my throat. “Ahem.”

“Baby, I-”

He finally swiveled his chair towards me and the look on his face told me it was worth the wait. Worth the longing. Worth the nights when exhaustion put us both on our backs.

His wave colored eyes started at my feet and even though I decided against heels, I was glad he approved of the fresh pedicure. My toes were the color of desire. The color of the place that throbbed between my thighs, starving for him.

He pulled off his Bluetooth ear piece, combing his fingers through his ebony locks, pushing them from his eyes so he could get a better look as he worked his way upward. He swept over my calves, lingering on my thighs as I shifted, blushing like he hadn’t seen it all.

Touched it all.

Tasted it all.

That’s what Jacob did to me. One look and I was back in that stairwell the day we met. Undone by his gaze. A sloppy, wet mess, wondering what he’d do to me. When those intense eyes of his stroked my breasts, I had an inkling of what was in store. It was confirmed when I realized that while he was still sitting down, there was a part of him that was definitely standing up.

The blush in my cheeks raced downward, spurned on by the fact that I had a similar impact on him. Jacob Whitmore, the same man who earned a permanent spot in People Magazine’s Hottest Man Alive honorary category. Who broke necks when he walked into rooms, all olive skin, power, and intrigue. Like a walking sin in his tailored suit, skimming every muscled delight beneath.

He was still wearing such a suit, which told me that whomever was on the other end was probably one of the new board members. His suit was his armor, its dark lines a barrier from bullshit. He loosened his crimson tie as he rose to his feet.

I returned the smile before pointedly dropping my gaze from his lips to something I wanted to take between my own. It wasn’t fair. He tented the front of his fly, swollen with need. I’d planned to tease him, maybe even do something really adventurous like a strip tease or a dance to prolong the high. Ride the wave of arousal until we were both so battered, so hot for each other that the moment we touched, the sprinklers would go off from the inferno of lust.

I stroked my neck as he came closer, hands so casual and sexy, dipping in one of his pockets like the model of sex appeal.

All my attempts at being sexy and seductive went out the window because the nearness of him set me ablaze. His eyes flashed with the spark of authority as his mind raced with hints of what he had planned.

I was sweating, fingers tingling as I awkwardly fanned myself. “I take it you approve?”

Blue flames incinerated the lace and silk as he stroked my breasts with his eyes. He didn’t look at me like I was awkward at all. In fact, he looked at me like I was a melting scoop of his favorite ice cream, and he couldn’t wait to taste it. To get me all over his fingers. “Hell yeah.”

The huskiness of his voice made the ache in me grow. Emboldened me. He was close enough that I could reach out and touch him, so I gripped his crimson tie and pulled him even closer. The breasts he ogled collided with a wall of muscle. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.

And all things considered, he was wearing far too much clothing.

I slipped my fingers over his broad shoulders, eager to help him out. “Let me.”

He shook his head, a devilish little smirk curving one side of his mouth. “Nice try, little sub. I know it’s been awhile, so let’s start from the beginning.” The smile went away, but the heat? It just intensified. “Who’s in charge here?”

I picked up where he left off, my heart doing the best kind of cardio work. Being a good submissive when I was so horny for him was harder than I was expecting, but I managed to lower my hands to my sides and curb most of the bite in my words. “You are.”

Apparently, I didn’t curb enough because he arched a dark eyebrow. “We’ll see.” He stroked his chin, a cat playing with a mouse. “Since you’re so handsy, I’ll put those fingers of yours to good use.” He lowered his hands to his side, one slipping back into his pocket. He was still so effortless, so good at what he did. Making me want him, need his touch so badly that I couldn’t stand it. “Take off my tie.”

The fingers that were so sure a moment ago shook like a leaf on the wind.

Trembling with anticipation. I tugged it loose somehow and stepped back.

Biting my lip. Wondering what came next.

He released the tie from his neck, making a slow circle around me like a hawk stalking its prey. Every pore, every inch of my flesh was tuned into him, goosebumps rippling over me as he pondered what dark and delicious things he’d do to my body.

He took a page from my book, sweeping my curly locks over one shoulder. Tracing my exposed skin with his fingertips.

“What were you thinking about when you put that sexy little number on?”

I was hoping we could end this dry spell with a bang. That thought only brushed the surface, though. To be honest, it was like he took a peek inside my head.

“This,” I said softly.

He paused at my right, his profile making my mouth water.

“I was hoping for this,” I finished.

It must have been the right answer because a low moan of approval echoed at the back of his throat. “Put your hands behind your back.”

I snapped them back with military precision. The cat-like reflexes were courtesy of having a little one who was eager to explore every inch of our home. A floating staircase is pretty freaking cool when it’s just two adults—and terrifying when you add a precocious baby to the mix.

He roped the tie around my wrists, securing it then tugging on the binds. It was his physical way of asking if I was alright. The verbal confirmation stroked my ears like a kiss.

“What’s your color, Leila?”

“Green,” I said without hesitation.

Yes.

More.

He rounded his way back to the front and took my face in his hands. He said three words that should have made my heart swoon...and made my core weep with lust.

“I love you.”

He didn’t wait for me to say it back. He saw it in my eyes before he swept his thumb across my bottom lip. Brought it to his mouth like he wanted to taste it. To taste me.

He repeated the moan and without another word, dropped to his knees. He lifted my skirt just enough for the air to lick my bare skin.

And then he blew.

Concentrated pleasure, bringing my body alive. Breath caressing my erotic flesh. Making me squirm. His hands spread my thighs and I gave him more access. I’d give him everything. All of me. He didn’t even have to ask. To order me. But he couldn’t help himself and I’d be damned if giving him the reins didn’t turn me on.

He teased my entrance, tongue probing my slit. I tugged at the binds. Wanting to spread wider. Give him more.

But this was the dance we did. He knew just how much I needed...and just how to make me beg. He was showing me his skills, devouring me. And even though he was on his knees, I was the one at his mercy.

Melting as he told me how good I tasted.

I swayed, delirious with pleasure as he explored my depths with his mouth. He wrapped his arm around my waist to steady me. To go deeper.

"Jacob...I...oh God!"

He didn't give me permission to speak, but I figured there was a reason he tied my hands behind my back instead of gagging me with the bundle of silk.

He wanted to hear the sounds I made.

The moans he elicited.

And just in case I was curious about how in lust he was with me, still, the eyes that glowed up at me when he paused to take a breath seared every word into my heated flesh.

Time stood still the moment he wrapped his tie around my wrists. I had no idea if five minutes had passed or five hours, and from the glimmer in his eye, he wished he could spend an eternity between my thighs. Drinking me in until I was spent.

And then he added his fingers.

Work, stress, the paparazzi—all of it flew out the window as I sighed around the digits. I knew his touch, knew it well enough to know that two fingers were plunged in my warmth. The pointer and middle finger that were intent on making me melt.

Even though his mouth was no longer inside me, my knot of nerves was swollen and aching like he was still lashing it with his tongue. "Is this what you wanted, Lay?"

I crooned my answer, but it wasn't good enough.

"Say the words," he demanded hotly.

Asking me to speak while he was refreshing my memory, reminding me what bliss felt like, was damn near cruel and unusual punishment. He knew what he did to me. How lost I was without his touch. But whatever my Dom wanted, my Dom got.

I drew a breath between my clenched teeth, trying to use my words. "Y-yes. Y-you make me...you make feel so good!”

He was still plunged inside me, knuckle deep. Before I could brace myself and connect the dots he hinted at with the sinister curve of his lips, he reclaimed my clit. Sucked on it with a ferocity that combined with those fingers, made my body shake like an earthquake was happening deep inside me.

It was...and I was so close to coming that I could brush the electric shocks with my fingertips.

Well, I could have, if my hands weren't bound.

But that was part of the thrill. I couldn't touch him, couldn't grip a fistful of his chocolate locks and force his mouth deeper. All I could do was receive.

Trust.

Obey.

I was just really hoping he'd say the magic words before I lost my mind.

He curled his fingers and hit a spot that made me gasp. Lock my muscles as I scrambled to not let go. Not without his permission.

"I'm trying," I whimpered, my curls plastered to my forehead. Mouth wide open. Body wide open for him.

He hummed around the digit, a moan that told me that he heard me loud and clear. Felt how close I was. Could taste it.

He went back to the tongue, swirling around my swollen knot until he let out three of my favorite words in the whole world.

"Come for me."

I wasted no time, my body a thing possessed. The only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered, was climbing higher—then plummeting into the bliss of my climax.

It seized me as mercilessly as his mouth had. I was talking gibberish, a made up language of sighs, pants, groans, and profanity.

He steadied me, his fingertips stroking up and down my calves as I drifted back down into the moment. He rounded to my back, loosening the knot and focusing on my wrists. Massaging the skin. His gentleness and care after finger and tongue fucking me like his life depended on it was the most beautiful contrast.

I should have been happy to be loose, stretching my fingers and drinking in the freedom of motion, but to be honest: I was just warming up.

I flipped my hair, still flushed and breathless while he discarded his tie and jacket. Maybe we were on the same wave length.

“What do you say we take this party upstairs?”

His back was me, turned back to his laptop. Round Two was the last thing on his mind.

“Or, maybe you can close that laptop and we can figure out more creative uses for that desk?”

He didn't answer, and I found myself doing the clearing my throat thing again. “Ahem.”

Jacob turned his head in my direction, his brow furrowed like he'd forgotten I was in the room. Like his mouth wasn't still covered in Leila.

“Sorry, babe.” He gave his full and undivided attention to the desk that I wanted to be splayed on. Bent over. “I've got some other things to finish up. I'll be up soon.”

My dismissal wasn't as vicious as the one he doled out to the board member on the phone, but it still stung.

“Don't make me wait too long.” I tried to keep my tone light and flirty, but I could hear the edge. The desperation. “Hope is down and we both know how rare that is at this hour. Best to make good use of it.” The chuckle at the end was the cherry on top.

When was the last time I had to cajole my husband into bed? That he essentially used his 'safe word' and ended things?

He didn't even acknowledge my statement, already diving back into whatever I'd rudely interrupted.

I swallowed my pride, the burn in my throat snuffing out any delusions that we'd spend some time getting reacquainted.