Sasha was sated. So calm and relaxed that she didn’t even care what she’d just done while Lincoln watched. It felt fucking amazing. So much more intense with his gaze nailed to her than any prior orgasm.

She’d been wound up so tight by the time he ordered her to masturbate, she would have done nearly anything in the world to get relief. And she had.

Lincoln released her thighs slowly, easing them closer together.

She winced at the stiffness in her muscles from being held open for so long. But he knew that, and he took care to make it as tolerable as possible. And then she felt the dip in the bed as he climbed onto it, straddling her with his knees. He leaned forward, propping himself above her with hands to the sides of her head.

All of this she knew without opening her eyes.

“Look at me, baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

She blinked up at him.

His expression was pained. Odd. His brows drawn together. He licked his lips. “Thank you, Sasha. I’ll never forget that gift. It was the most beautiful thing I’ll ever have the pleasure of seeing if I live to be two hundred years old.”

She smiled. It was involuntary. “You’re welcome, Sir.” The pride spilled out. She’d pleased him. Immensely. There was no lie in his eyes. He was totally serious.

He lowered the rest of the way over her and kissed her forehead. And then he pulled back, slid from the bed, and gently scooted her body until she lay with her head resting on a soft down pillow and curled onto her side.

He tugged the comforter over her, kissed her forehead again, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sleep, baby.” He padded across the room, closed the blinds, and then he was gone.

The room was bathed in the dim light coming from the window.

Sasha was a wild mix of emotions. Half of her was still relaxed and completely sated from the amazing orgasm. She wanted to listen to that side of her brain, sigh, snuggle under the covers, and slide into oblivion.

But it wasn’t that simple. The other half of her was disappointed and deeply saddened. He’d said such nice things, but he’d given her nothing. Even the two kisses on her forehead only served to remind her she wasn’t his. Not in a permanent way. If he truly felt the strong emotions of the moment that she had, he would have slammed his mouth over hers and kissed her senseless.

He did not.

He detached himself and left her.

A tear slid down her face. She fought to keep them at bay so she wouldn’t slip into a loud ugly cry. It wasn’t warranted.

Lincoln hadn’t brought her to his house to make her his. He’d brought her there to train her to be someone else’s submissive.

Not his.

Not his.

Not his.

It hurt. The pain squeezed her chest, making her curl up tighter. She drew in a deep breath. And another. And another. Until she calmed her nerves.

This was just a small hurdle. It was the first day. It hadn’t even been a full day yet. It was only afternoon. She had so much time. She would convince him. It would be crazy to give up.

She’d seen the look in his eyes before he closed them, schooled his expression, and then changed his tune. She’d brought him to his knees.

She could still convince him she belonged to him. She simply needed more time. This was just one inning. She had eight more to go. And if it was necessary, she was prepared to go into extra innings.

She forced herself to smile and wipe away the pain. She had this. Lincoln was hers.

* * *

Lincoln paced the house while she slept. He was bungling this entire arrangement. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger, trying to ease the tension. He’d lost his mind. What the hell was he thinking? He was clearly short on brain cells.

The entire day had led him down an unexpected path. Every command he made, she followed. She’d surprised him over and over, stripping for him, letting him spank her, holding her legs open for him to shave her, stroking herself to orgasm while he watched…

You’re an idiot.

He’d picked her up from her apartment that morning with a far different picture in his mind of how this would go down. It certainly didn’t include an entirely naked Sasha spread open for him, fingering her clit to orgasm.

Jesus, Lincoln.

The words he’d spoken to Rowen haunted him. “I gave you my word I wouldn’t sleep with her.” He’d just fucking splayed her open and watched her masturbate. The very definition of sex was in serious jeopardy.

He’d ensured his best friend he would push her to drop this insane desire to explore BDSM. His motives were much further reaching than anything Rowen had in mind. Lincoln needed Sasha to give up the lifestyle for his own self-preservation.

Instead, he’d spent the day proving she was unbelievably submissive while his cock got stiffer and his mind became befuddled. She had a freaking spell cast over him. He was mesmerized by her every move.

He wanted her so badly he could taste her on his tongue. Hell, he’d had his face so close to her pussy, her scent alone told him exactly what he was missing. It had taken great willpower to keep from closing the gap and sucking her clit into his mouth.

Lincoln ran both hands through his hair, tugging it hard. Maybe the slight pain would jar him back to sanity.

He had to get this train wreck back on track. Force her to cry uncle. He should have seen this coming. He’d had a week of texts and emails to remind him over and over that she might be right about her tendencies.

Nevertheless, in his wildest imagination, he had never expected her to be able to take things this far. She’s fucking naked in my house.

How hard was she working to submit to him? He worried—not for the first time—that her submission was for him only. He had his doubts about whether or not she could submit to another Dom. If Carter was right and she had a crush on him that had lasted five years, it was possible she was doing all this to force his hand.

Was there anything wrong with that? Not really. Except she didn’t understand the kind of cards he’d been dealt. He didn’t play in a friendly game of poker. He played in the big leagues. She had no idea what the rules were, and she never would.

This had to end. Even if he hurt her.

He wandered into the spare bedroom silently. She was sound asleep, her lips slightly parted, tendrils of her gorgeous curls begging him to brush them off her face. For a long time he stared down at her, watching her chest rise and fall under the sheet.

He wanted her.

She’s not yours.

She can never be yours.

You’re a sadist.

She’s not a masochist.

She can’t give you what you need.

He had to let her go. He had to get her to see reason. He needed to push her so hard that she screamed her safeword. Why had it not occurred to him that this experiment would end so badly?

He’d pictured an hour or two or a day of him directing her and her fighting against him. He’d visualized her laughing at his orders and throwing her hands in the air and accepting defeat.

But no. Of course not. She was not going to go down without a fight.

And the fucking worst part about the entire thing? He didn’t want her to go down. She was perfect just the way she was. Perfectly submissive. She could make another Dom’s dreams come true.

But he was not that man. He was far too dark for her.

He needed more time. And being the greedy bastard that he was, he decided to pamper her before he fucked with her head again. Pretend she was his for a while longer.

* * *

Something was touching her arm.

Something warm. Firm.

She was so deep in sleep it was hard to fight her way out.

A voice called to her. “Sasha. Baby. Wake up.”

She knew that voice.

Lincoln.

Her memory flooded back. She was in his house. Training to be his submissive. No. Training to be someone else’s submissive.

She opened her eyes.

He was smiling down at her. “I didn’t want to let you sleep too long. You’ll never be able to sleep tonight if you don’t get up.”

He was right. “What time is it?”

“Five. I drew you a bath.”

She lifted her brows. He drew me a bath?

“Come.” He pulled the blankets back.

She wasn’t fully alive, let alone awake. She curled up into a ball, the chill of the air hitting her bare skin.

Lincoln’s hand slid over her hip and then her waist until he cupped her breast.

She started to moan into his touch, but suddenly his fingers found her nipple and he pinched. Hard. So hard she screamed, her body uncurling to flatten on the bed and push at his hand. Her eyes flew open wide.

He held on tight though, anticipating her reaction.

When she stopped fighting him and searched his eyes, having difficulty inhaling, she found him staring at her with one brow raised.

She was no longer half asleep. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He released her nipple and then surprised her by bending over and reverently kissing the tip before flicking it with his tongue. Just as fast, he stood and walked away. “Come.”

She scrambled off the bed, her hand automatically reaching for her nipple to rub the throbbing tip.

Lincoln was leaning over the tub, testing the water, when he spoke again without glancing at her. “Did I give you permission to touch your tits?”

She jerked her hand down. “No, Sir.”

He turned around, met her gaze, and reached out a hand.

She came to him. Naked. Tired. Adrenaline pumping. Nipple on fire. Ass still stinging from the earlier spanking.

He turned her around so that her back was to him and then worked her hair free of the band. His lips landed on her ear, and she shuddered when he whispered, “Get in, baby.”

Her legs were wobbly. So many things had happened in the last fifteen seconds that she couldn’t gather her thoughts. As she stepped into the water, she sighed. The temperature was perfect. She gladly lowered her body into the water.

Lincoln kneeled beside her, cupped the back of her head, and set his other hand over her face. “Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes, her hands reflexively reaching up to grab his forearm as he lowered the back of her head into the water. Her face never got wet. He was being cautious. But she couldn’t figure out why he felt the need to dip her hair into the water. She could have done it herself. In a while. After she had a chance to find her brain cells and enjoy the warm water.

“Sit up, baby.”

She wanted to lean back. In fact, she’d already started to do so when he spoke. Instead, she sat up straight.

He reached for a bottle of shampoo next to the tub and poured a generous amount in his hand. He was going to wash her? “Tip your head down.” His words were tranquil.

She relaxed into his care as his strong fingers worked a lather into her hair. It wasn’t her normal shampoo. He obviously hadn’t unpacked her toiletry bag when he riffled through it to find a hairband. The shampoo smelled good, though. Vanilla. She hoped he realized she would need half a bottle of conditioner to tame the curls.

After massaging her scalp far longer than necessary, long enough to lull her into a state of bliss, he set a hand over her face again and tipped her back. With one hand, he held the back of her head. With the other, he worked the shampoo out of her hair. And then he righted her again.

He grabbed a wash cloth, poured bath soap on it, and lifted her arm. Gentle, slow strokes, up and down her arm. And then the other.

She watched his face as he worked. It was like a ritual, as if he derived comfort from reverently caring for her. She felt cherished.

He continued, meticulously washing her entire body, spending equal amounts of time on her breasts as he did her back and her legs and her feet. He then nudged her legs apart and ran the washcloth over her sex.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, a tiny noise escaping her before she could stop it. She was turned on.

Shit.

He froze, the wash cloth pausing over her clit.

That was when she realized she’d spoken that last word out loud.

He lifted a brow as he set the cloth aside and reach for the conditioner. “Your bottom doesn’t hurt?” She thought he was fighting a smirk.

She pursed her lips. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“It does, Sir. I’m sorry. It slipped out. I didn’t mean to cuss.” Would he punish her?

He kissed her forehead, his head shaking as he threaded his fingers in her hair, gave a slight tug, and then angled her face once again toward her lap.

She closed her eyes, a memory flooding her system. He’d done that before. She remembered it well. Right after her high school graduation. They were at the beach. About six employees from Zodiac had gone. And Sasha.

She’d been eighteen by then, though she’d only seen Lincoln a handful of times since that fateful day more than a year earlier. The only words he’d spoken to her had been clipped, and he never made eye contact.

She hadn’t known what possessed her, but she’d decided to pretend she was some other woman that afternoon. One who was bold and confident. So, she’d intentionally tugged off her cover-up two feet from him, stretching her arms to pull her long hair into a bun at the top of her head.

He’d shocked her when he spoke. “I hope you’re wearing sunblock.”

She’d slowly turned to smile. “Thanks for the tip, Dad.”

He’d scowled. “I’m definitely not your father. But you’re gonna burn if you insist on being stubborn. Put the damn sunblock on.”

Still possessed by a far more outgoing and flirtatious vixen than she’d ever be, she had responded with, “Okay, but you’ll have to get my back.” And then she’d handed him the sunscreen.

He’d tugged her hair and then dipped her head toward the ground the same way he’d done moments ago. She remembered him quickly rubbing the lotion into her shoulders and back before he turned and walked away without a word.

She’d been left standing there, not breathing. Shaking. Stunned. Her body on fire for him for the second time since she’d met him at her seventeenth birthday party. His dominance had been palpable. She’d stared down at her mostly bare skin for long moments.

And she did so again now, eyes on her naked body, her nipples hard peaks, her mound shaved, her lower lips swollen from masturbating earlier. She subtly pulled her knees closer together, the throbbing need equal to what she’d felt that day at the beach.

Only this time, Lincoln hadn’t walked away. He was right beside her, his hands still on her hair, rubbing the conditioner in thoroughly. He lowered one hand and grabbed her closest thigh. “Legs parted.”

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to moan as she spread them open again.

After repeating the earlier routine to rinse the conditioner out of her hair, he stood and reached for her hand.

He wanted her to get out? Already? So fast? She wanted to rest. Relax. Think. Be left alone. “Sir, the water is so warm. Can I—”

“Sasha. Don’t argue.” He shook his outstretched hand.

With a deep breath, she took his hand and shivered as he helped her from the tub. She folded her arms across her chest when he turned to take a few steps across the room.

He opened a small closet and grabbed a towel. “Don’t cover your tits. Drop your hands,” he said as he returned. “Stand still.”

She lowered them, but she was losing ground. The soothing bath was over. His face slid from peaceful and reverent to something unreadable.

* * *

Lincoln took a deep controlled breath as he patted her skin dry. He was totally out of his element, and he knew it. He never should have given her a bath. He should have shut the door and left her alone to soak in the water. Instead, he’d started down a path that had no return.

Every inch of her body was so sexy he couldn’t resist the urge to touch her, and he’d hidden behind the bath as an excuse to do so. He’d never bathed a woman before. It was so intimate.

Every second he fell deeper under her spell. Each tiny noise she made… The way her skin pinkened… Her nipples sharp points above the water… How she fought to keep her legs spread… The bare skin of her swollen pussy…

He was mesmerized by her. He couldn’t get enough.

What he wanted to do was cradle her in his arms, carry her to the bed, and fuck the daylight out of her. That’s how slippery the slope was. Tempting. So totally not in the plan.

He gritted his teeth as he leaned down to pat her legs dry, tapping one to get her to spread them wider. His face was inches from her pussy. So close he could smell the sweet scent of her arousal.

He needed to rein in his physical attraction to her and regain the upper hand. His job was to train her. His goal was to get her to see the light and run from this life. He reminded himself that the objective was pushing her to use her safeword. ASAP. It’s what he’d told Rowen he would accomplish. It’s what he’d told himself he would do.

Instead of following his instinct by wrapping her in his arms and kissing her senseless, he stiffened his spine. He’d given himself this time with her. Or perhaps he should say he’d “taken” this time from her. This bath. This opportunity to enjoy every inch of her skin. Listen to her sighs of pleasure. Stare at her nipples as they puckered.

Selfish.

It was time to stop this charade. Convince her to run. From the look on her face, she was a little off-balance at the moment. Perfect time. And she’d presented him with the perfect segue when she tried to convince him to let her stay in the tub.

He stood and stepped back to lean against the vanity. His heart was racing.

She didn’t move. How long could she hold off before speaking again?

Fuck. She was submissive. He hadn’t anticipated her being able to go this far. She went out of her way to please him. Including right now. He could see she was on an emotional precipice. Her small body shook. She was cold. Frustrated. Her fingers were stretched toward the floor—fighting the urge to fist them?

He wanted her. Fuck, but he wanted her. Her body. Her mind. Her submission.

You can’t have her. She’s too sweet for you. She needs a Dom who can guide her to serve him sexually, not someone who’s more comfortable with a crop or a whip than cuffs and feathers.

She had good form even now, her face toward the floor, her legs spread, her shoulders back. It was costing her. But she did it. For him.

He waited, testing her patience, hoping she would break form. It was a dirty move. He was not this guy. Breaking her was not in the plan. Wait. Wasn’t it though?

Now what? Somehow he had to get her to bail on this arrangement without hurting her. He didn’t think it was possible. He was going to hate himself when this was over. He couldn’t see any other way.

He had to push her. But with what leverage? He could make a big deal out of her cussing or touching her nipple or rolling over in bed when he instructed her to get up, but punishing her severely for any of those infractions seemed irrational.

Suddenly, she flinched and lifted her gaze. “Sir?”

He lifted a brow.

She licked her lips. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Stand still. Head bowed. Feet wider. I didn’t give you permission to move.”

She lowered her gaze again, her body shaking. She reached behind her back to clasp her hands. She inched her feet out farther.

He could do this. Wait her out. Why did his stomach clench? This was the right thing to do. Push her. Make her see reason.

She couldn’t stand there forever. She was itching to move. Speak.

Maybe he didn’t need to rely on those minor prior infractions to push her over the edge. Maybe he could simply insist she stand still in the bathroom, damp, naked, exposed, cold until she couldn’t take it anymore.

I’m a total ass.