This is the first part in an romantic, beautiful twelve-part series.
Read alsoMy Hubby Lets Me (Collected Stopries)
Hubby Lets Me is a series of erotic short stories about married couples and what they do to enhance their love lives. (Story 1) Jon likes to watch his wife, Cheryl-Anne, play with herself, which she thinks is strange, but when she confides in her friend, Sammy-Jo, she confesses that her husband, Duncan, too shares the…
From bestselling romance author Lillian July comes the first part in a beautifully sexual, romantically-charged novel with intense scenes of domination, submission, bondage, and discipline. Dominate Me, Sir makes no excuses for what it is... scene after explicit scene of a powerful dominant and his submissive. Do you want to enjoy these scenes? Yes... yes, Master.
My heart rate picked up as his hand slid across my skin, lifting my hand to curl his fingers underneath mine. I gasped softly when his thumb stroked across my knuckles. I felt a shock travel all the way down to my core, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from where we were connected in the simplest of ways.
My right hand was shaking, so I set my glass down. Despite the wine—or maybe because of it—my mouth was dry once more. I wanted to lick my lips, but that would require my brain cells to be functioning well enough to send the impulsive desire down the line to my tongue.
He said nothing, just continued touching me ever so lightly. I had sudden visions of that hand stroking other areas of my body in the same way. I shuddered, clamping my mouth down to cut off the moan rising in my throat. Okay, so my brain was working in some capacity.
Apparently I did not affect him the same way, as he continued to sip his wine, the movement of lifting and lowering his glass in my peripheral vision. I don't know how long we sat like that, but I was glad I had not fled earlier. It had even been worth sitting through his alter ego on the drive over and while we waited for our food.
I could hear the noises of people around us—waiters taking and delivering orders; random bits of conversation; the white noise of silverware on dishes—but it was muffled, as if I was hearing it through a tunnel. His hand moved again, breaking my reverie. I watched it slide up until his fingers circled my wrist just above my watch. His grip tightened and I gasped, my eyes darting up to stare into his heated gaze. Those blue eyes were dark now, like the ocean at night, and my heart caught in my throat.
"Becca, do you want me to let go?" His voice was so calm, so low. So sexy.
I felt the word on my tongue, but my head responded in the opposite, shaking slightly.
I swallowed and closed my eyes for a moment. "No."
"No, don't let go."
"Look at me."
My eyes fluttered open, slowly rising from his chest to his face.
He was smiling, his pupils wide. "Are you going to play hard to get?"
Once again, I wanted to answer in the affirmative, but my head just would not cooperate.
"Say it, Becca."
Oh, how hard it was to breath now. "No, I am not going to play hard to get."
And those two words were my undoing. I had known the man less than a day, spent a total of maybe four hours together. And yet, it seemed as if he knew my deepest, darkest secret without me having to speak a word.
He gently twisted his fingers around my wrist.
I had to close my eyes again, swallowing hard. What was happening to me?