Joe paces the floor, and every step illustrates one thing—he’s in control. I, on the other hand, am not.
But I can’t let him know that. Not yet.
Instead I look at my lover’s broad back as he walks away from me, hating the distance it puts between us.
He did not know it, but all I want at the moment is his body against mine, hard, possessive and unrelenting.
The way he looks, so easy in himself, so strong, leaves me awestruck. It always does. His ripped T-shirt is stretched taut over his shoulder blades.
The belt on his jeans emphasizes how low they are hanging on his narrow hips—low enough that one finger latched over the belt could ease those jeans down if I wanted to, and I was able. My body thrums with expectation at the very thought of it, but my hands are tied and strung up above
