She was already sprawled across the bed, filled with anticipation when he returned from the drawer, sheets tangled around her hips, hair scattered like wildfire across his pillow. Her lips were still parted from their first round, chest heaving, eyes burning with a dangerous blend of defiance and need.
She had just had the best lay of her life and she should be satisfied, but she wanted more. She wanted him to give her everything that he was even as she was giving him everything that she was and had.
The leather cuff dangled from his hand, and hesitation flickered across her face. She knew what it was. She also knew he would never use it without her consent. That was the fragile beauty of this dance—the dangerous line of trust where she allowed him to push her further than she imagined
