“Do you really think you can taunt me and get away with it?” I demand, my voice soft but lethal.

Her chin lifts, defiance in the depths of her eyes. “Who said I wanted to get away with it?”

“So you wanted me to make you pay?”

“I just wanted you to hurry up and fuck me. It didn’t work. You still aren’t fucking me.”

I press my other hand to the footboard, trapping her with my body, my cheek pressed to hers. “Consider this a warning,” I say, inhaling her sweet, floral scent. “There’s a price for taunting me. A punishment.”

“What do you mean, punishment?”

“I have a very creative imagination. Nipple clamping, flogging, or just a good spanking.”

“No,” she whispers, panic in her voice as she jerks her upper body, unable to move away. “No, I won’t—”

“But I will,” I promise. “And you’ll want me to, I promise—or I won’t do it.”

“Can’t we just—”

“No. We can’t just.” I dip my fingers into the dripping wet heat of her sex. “Your body says you like the idea of me punishing you.”

“Your hard cock is between my legs. Of course I’m aroused.”

“Me punishing you is me arousing you.” I dip two fingers inside her.

She moans, her lashes fluttering. “No.”

I pull out of her, moving my hand to her hip. “No?”

“I mean yes. Or—” I arch a brow and she lets out a rush of air. “I don’t want you to spank me, flog me, or whatever else you dream up. So please just fuck me already, Mr. Compton.”

I slide my hand up her back and arch her into me. “There’s no such thing as ‘just’ fucking.” My lips caress hers. “Not with me. Not with you.”

“I think you might want too much,” she says, sounding breathless.

“Not too much. Just what I said before: more than you thought you had to give. But you can. You will.” I press my cock to the lips of her sex, then drive deep into her, my hands cupping her backside. “But one day, you’ll know my hand on your gorgeous ass and you’ll wish you’d known it sooner.” I thrust into her hard and fast, one time, two—

“My arms,” she pleads. “Mark, I’m can’t hold myself—”

I wrap an arm around her, anchoring her. “Let go,” I order.

“No. I’ll fall.”

Her words blast me with a dark emotion that aches and burns in my chest and belly. I don’t just want this woman’s trust. I want to deserve it. “You won’t fall,” I promise, my words rough, vehement. “I won’t let you.”

She blinks up at me, her expression softening as she whispers, “I believe you.” She lifts her arms, wrapping them around my neck before repeating, “I believe you.”

Her promise eases that ache inside me, delivering a sense of purpose and rightness that I haven’t felt in too long to remember. I slant my mouth over hers, kissing her, claiming her, taking every drop of the passion I feel in her and demanding more. And she gives it to me, meeting every lick, every touch with one of her own.

Lifting her, I carry her to the side of the bed, laying her on her back and coming down on top of her, drowning in the collision of our eyes. The connection I feel, which I didn’t know I could feel after all of these years, shakes me to the core. And in this moment, I admit what I’ve only suspected before. I have been lost, and in some way, this woman has found me.

I kiss her, tasting her in a way I have never let myself taste, rocking into her body, her soft moans and the way she arches into me thickening my cock. I feel every thrust up and down my spine, every touch of her hands in every part of me, in ways I’m not sure I’ve ever allowed myself to experience. She touches me eagerly, without restraint, and it drives me over the edge. I drive into her, wild with need. Burying my face in her neck, I pump against her as she arches upward, meeting every thrust of my hips with her own. There is only this frenzied need between us . . . until her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she stiffens. Her body spasms around my cock and I am one part relief, one part regret as she drags me with her, and my release is on me, shaking me with the impact, as she shudders beneath me.

Finally, we collapse into sated exhaustion, me on top of her, not wanting to let her go. It’s as if there’s a floor beneath me with a gaping hole, and a cyclone pulling me through to the other side, and she is the calmness that keeps me from falling through.

Finally I lift up on my arms, and my eyes meet Crystal’s.

“Mmmm . . . hi,” she says.

I laugh. God, when’s the last time I laughed while I was inside a woman? Never. “Hi?” I ask in disbelief. “What kind of—”

“My kind,” she says, smiling. “If you’re getting up to throw out the condom, go and come back. I’m not letting a Master off with one orgasm.”

“I’m not letting a submissive—”

“But I’m not your submissive. Now go, before you get punished,” she teases.

I pull out of her, feeling the moment like a shock wave, and the way she bites her bottom lip tells me she’s feeling it, too. I am in so much trouble, yet I can’t seem to care. Tearing my gaze from hers, I walk into the bathroom and toss the condom in the toilet, intending to return to the bedroom. But when I turn, I see the tub filled with bubbles and inhale the sweet scent of the flowers that’s always on Crystal’s skin.