Michael opened the door and stepped inside just as she crossed the porch. Flipping a switch to the right, he flooded the dark wooden floor and ceiling with light. There was a long matching table to the right alongside a coat rack. She gawked when he removed his jacket, placed it on a peg and proceeded to pull his navy sweatshirt over his head. A wave of desire spread through her as she finally set eyes on the body she’d dreamed about. Only the reality was so much better than she ever could have envisioned.
There was no hair on his corded chest. A trail of honey blond descended just below his navel into his jeans. His stomach was defined, the six-pack abdominal muscles lean, the line of his hipbones notable and incredibly sexy. His sinewy muscles seemed the result of hard work rather than time spent in the gym, his arms and torso trim and cut rather than massive and bulky. A large tribal tattoo graced his left biceps while a serpent marked the skin from shoulder to elbow on the right. As he turned the remainder of the way to face her, he reminded her of a wayward Viking—stunning, beautiful and dangerous.
Talk about the ultimate bad boy.
Seconds seemed to pass like minutes as their eyes met and they studied each other. She knew her cheeks were flushed, her lips were parted and her chest was heaving. The strangest thing was he seemed to be enjoying her reaction, basking in it somehow. Before he spoke, he grinned, causing her insides to become liquid as her knees threatened to buckle.
“Feel free to explore the house. There’s food in the fridge and wine on the counter.”
Afraid her voice would reveal exactly how she felt, she nodded. Right then, if he had asked her to bend over the table, bare her ass and let him do as he wished, she would have. The thought alone created another tidal wave of moisture in her panties, causing her to squirm.
He took a step toward her, then another, then another. When he stopped he reached out, cupped her chin and forced her to meet his level stare. “If you decide to go down to the basement, make sure you leave the door open behind you. There’s a security lock that activates the moment it closes and you won’t be able to get out.” He swept his thumb along her lower lip and a tendril of excitement created flutters in her belly. “Understand?”
“Uh-huh,” she breathed, wishing like hell he’d end her suffering and allow her to learn what he tasted like by closing the distance and kissing her long and hard.
The loss of his presence was gut-wrenching. She felt her stomach fold in on itself as he let her go, turned on his heel and walked away. She stood there as his heavy footsteps indicated he was going upstairs, staring down the hallway until the rush of water through pipes overhead indicated he was taking a shower.
Dear Heavenly Father.
Right now he was naked and climbing into steamy water. She imagined she was a bar of soap, drifting over his abdomen, outlining the indentions of his six-pack, drifting into the flaxen hair below…
Snapping out of her daze, she placed her purse on the floor, removed her coat and placed it alongside his. She walked down the hallway. Directly in front of her was a large set of stairs leading to the second floor. To the right was an open door. A pool table and television were visible from where she stood. To the left was a sizeable kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a large center island and stools placed discreetly beneath. His home was immaculately clean and notably masculine, with brown and black fabrics throughout.
It figured. Scott was a total slob without a maid to pick up the shit he left tossed around.
Michael, who worked long hours and did his own laundry, didn’t so much as have a dirty sock or wrinkled towel in sight.
Walking into the kitchen, she peered into the formal dining room, which had an expensive dark wood table and matching chairs. The crystal bowl situated in the center of the silken runner was stocked with bananas and red apples.
Good lord. Who would have thought Michael had this kind of money?
Eventually she wandered into the entertainment room. The large pool table took up the center of the area and intricate stained-glass fixtures were situated directly above it. The large plasma television was affixed to the wall in front of a huge black leather couch. To the left of the room was an open door with stairs going down.
The entrance to the basement.
She walked over and studied the numerical pad above the knob. Excitement and curiosity warred with nervousness and uncertainty. What would he possibly have down there that would necessitate having a lock on the door?
“You know exactly what’s down there,” she muttered.
The way Michael looked at her when he warned not to shut the door behind her told her all she needed to know. No doubt his playroom was down there. The place he brought women to satisfy his dominant urges. Would it be like the ones she’d seen surfing the ’net? A dark, clinical-looking place? Or would it be warm and inviting, setting up some kind of a scene?
Temptation and inquisitiveness combined, battling for control over her sense of logic.
Everything was so clean and tidy upstairs; surely it was the same below. How far did he take his sexual games? Was it a casual thing he did with a consenting partner from time to time? Or was the space special to him?
Listening for the sounds of the shower, she glanced at the ceiling. She had plenty of time to rush downstairs, take a peek to satisfy her curiosity and hurry back before he noticed. If she was quick enough about it, she could come back upstairs, pour a glass of wine and pretend she’d been waiting for him in the kitchen the entire time.
He never had to know.
She quietly tiptoed down the first set of stairs and took a right onto a shorter set. The cooler temperature struck her first, shocking her slightly. As she lifted her head and gazed into the large and open room, it took her a moment to properly compute what her eyes were seeing.
The walls were painted in a soft, muted cream, while the floor was a darker stained wood. All along the left wall, dangling from hooks, were floggers, whips and straps of various lengths. On a shelf just above them were dildos and plugs in an assortment of colors. Some looked like hers, while others flared oddly at the bottom or had an extension near the base that expanded upward. A bench made of wood and what appeared to be cushioned black leather was against the far wall, next to a large four-poster bed. A giant St. Andrew’s cross was bolted into the floor and ceiling on the right, the polished wrist and ankle restraints shining brightly in the space.
Directly in the center of the room was a large table with leather straps; the metal mechanical device beneath indicating it could be moved and shifted. Right above it was a huge mirror giving a full view of the table and room below.
She expected to feel shock or fear. Instead warmth spread throughout her body as she walked around the room. Starting at the left, she studied the floggers and devices on the shelves, slowly worked her way to the bed with the clean linens and matching pillows and finally made her way to the cross.
For a moment she imagined what it would be like to be naked inside the chilly room, the crisp air caressing her skin, whispering against her peaked nipples as her knees ached from the unyielding hardness of the wood flooring. She closed her eyes and pictured Michael standing above her, gloriously naked, his cock long, hard and ready. He’d tell her what he wanted, and she’d give it to him. There wouldn’t be fast foreplay followed by unsatisfying sex that lasted less than five minutes. Instead she would give, Michael would take and they’d spend hours exploring and tending to each other’s pleasure.
Her body hummed, going hot and tingly as images of him sliding that unrelenting velvet steel between her lips caused her to shiver. Would he order her to stay still? To keep her hands at her sides?