I drew in a deep breath for courage, then shimmied out of the blouse and tossed it carelessly over the side of the bed. And then, before I could think too much about it, I tugged off the bra and left it draped over the headboard, as if I’d tossed it there in a flurry of undressing.

And then that was it. I was naked.

I was naked, and I was alone. And I was all kinds of nervous.

I sat on my knees on the bed, since that seemed to be the most modest way to sit. Then I remembered that he’d wanted me on my back. I considered staying on my knees anyway, but I could still hear his toss-away comment about leaving.

Okay, then. On my back it was.

I stretched out, my legs so tight together they might have been superglued. I tried keeping my arms at my sides, but only managed that for about sixteen seconds before crossing them over my chest.

I wanted to be a vixen, really I did. I wanted to stretch out and enjoy the feel of the satin duvet on my naked skin. I wanted to spread my legs. To prop myself up when he entered the room, then beckon him in with a crook of my finger and a come-hither smile.

Unfortunately, my fantasies hadn’t quite caught up to my reality. And my reality was all tied up with my nerves.

“You’re stunning,” he said from the doorway.

I lifted my head enough to see him leaning casually against the door frame with a glass of red wine in his hand. He wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was looking at me with such intense longing that it was no longer nerves I felt, but arousal.

I licked my lips and managed a smile. “I thought you didn’t want wine.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he took one step into the room, and in that singular moment it became his room as much as mine. Just by virtue of being there, he controlled it. Dominated it. It struck me suddenly that this was a man who could have anything he wanted anytime he wanted it. But he was here, tonight, with me.

The corner of his mouth curved up, and I entertained myself with the thought that he could read my mind. More likely, though, he was simply pleased with how well I’d followed instructions.

“I wanted the wine,” he said. “But I want you more.” He took a sip as he let his gaze trail slowly over me. If vision were a caress, then there would be no part of me that he didn’t stroke throughout the course of that long, slow inspection. I was hot. Needy. And, yes, I was ready.

“Put your head back,” he said gently, “and close your eyes.” And though I hated losing sight of him, I complied.

“Your breasts are perfect,” he murmured. “Don’t hide them. Put your hands to your sides.”

My arms were still crossed over my chest, and now I slowly moved my arms to my sides. As I did, I reminded myself that I wanted this—and I did, I really did. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but wish that it wasn’t the afternoon, and the sun wasn’t streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I felt exposed—which, of course, was exactly what Evan wanted me to feel.

“Spread your legs, baby.”

“Evan.” I said nothing else, but there was no missing the protest in my tone.

“Spread your legs.”

I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut and did as he ordered. At first, the air cooled my overheated sex. But that faded quickly. My inner thighs seemed as hot as embers, and I was suddenly acutely aware of how open I was. How wet I was. How terribly, wonderfully, deliciously exposed I was. My muscles clenched as if in anticipation, and my clit was a hard, demanding nub.

“Oh, baby,” he said. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Why don’t you?” I whispered, shocked that I could not only form words, but that I would utter such provocative and demanding ones.

He chuckled. “Patience.”

I whimpered, absolutely certain that if I didn’t do something to release some of the pressure bubbling up inside me, I was going to spontaneously combust.

“Do you want to be touched?” he asked. His voice was closer now, and I realized that he’d stepped farther into the room.

“Yes.”

“Do you want a fingertip stroking you? Playing with your clit while your orgasm builds? Teasing your nipples into tight buds?”

The muscles of my sex throbbed in response to his words, and I heard the smile in his voice when he said, “I thought so, baby. Go ahead then. Touch yourself.”

“What?” I couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

“Caress your leg, then slide your fingers up to heaven.” The amusement in his voice didn’t overshadow the tone of command.

I hesitated only briefly, then slowly did as he said. My touch was feather light and just as enticing, and I stroked down my leg, then slowly trailed my fingers up my inner thigh. A string of electric sparks, like a kickline of fireflies, seemed to follow my touch. I kept my eyes closed. Not because he’d commanded it, and not even because of embarrassment. But because it helped me to see—and what I was looking at was Evan’s hands stroking my body.

“Oh, Angie,” he said, as I trailed one fingertip over the soft skin between my thigh and my sex. His voice sounded wrecked, even painful, and I couldn’t help but smile as I imagined his erection straining against his slacks.

“Stroke yourself,” he said. “Tease your cunt. Do you feel how wet you are?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Imagine those fingers are mine—”

“I am.”

He groaned before continuing to speak. “And imagine that I’m playing with you. That I’m sliding my finger deep inside you. That I’m teasing your clit. Stroking it, finding that perfect rhythm.”

My hand moved in time with his words, and I spread my legs wider as the pressure inside me built. I was imagining it was his touch, yes, but at the same time I couldn’t deny the thrill of knowing that he wasn’t the one touching me. That he was only watching. And that seeing the way I touched myself was making him hard.

“Please,” I said, because I was so very close now. “Please, I want you touching me.”

“I want that, too,” he said. “But right now I’m enjoying this particular view. And from the way your pretty pink cunt is glistening, I think you’re enjoying it, too.”

I bit my lower lip, both in silent protest and in agreement.

“So tell me, Angie. Are you enjoying it?” His smooth voice was like an oral seduction.

I nodded. Right then, I couldn’t manage words.

“You like me looking at you?”

“Yes,” I said, though I’m not sure I actually managed a word.

“Does it make you hot, knowing I can see just how aroused you are?”

“Yes,” I said, my fingers continuing their dance.

“Come for me, baby.” His command was low and full of heat, and as his words washed over me, the orgasm building inside me unfolded, filling me up and growing and growing until it had no choice but to burst free. “I want to watch you explode and know that I took you there without even having to touch you.”

As if he’d commanded it, my body seized up and then shattered. My climax ripped through me in time with his words, destroying me so thoroughly I wasn’t quite sure I could ever get myself back together again.

When I finally lay there, calm but breathing hard, Evan was sitting beside me, his hands caressing me, his touch more like worship than exploration. “You’re amazing,” he said, then closed his mouth over mine and took me in a kiss so deep and consuming it almost had me coming again.

I tried unsuccessfully to silence the drum-like pounding of my heart so that I could speak when his mouth left mine and he sat up again. But my pulse wouldn’t settle. I’d never experienced anything like what he’d just given me, and all I wanted was more. All I wanted was everything.

“Please,” I managed to say.

“Please what?”

“I—I want the rest. I want everything you promised.”

“Do you?”

I started to sit up, but he shook his head, a gentle hand keeping me on my back. “There’s something I need to know,” he said. “Do you wear pantyhose or stockings? Maybe tights in the winter?”