His movements were gruff at times, gentle at others. When he pushed her hair from her face, he was tender about it. Then he shoved his hand between her legs.

She hissed in a breath and tried not to move, even though her body was desperate for more. In about half a second he found her clit and rubbed it. The thin fabric didn’t provide her with any protection from the sensation.

“You’re wet.”

You don’t say, Master Investigator. It took her a moment to get control of her tongue. “Yes, Sir. I think you know why, Sir.”

He smirked. Cocky bastard.

Just when she was about to grind up against his hand, he withdrew it.

Ugh! “Are we done yet?” She tried not to sound whiny, but she couldn’t take much more of this. Not without making a serious attempt at jumping his bones. And that would end up with them both naked and in bed together again, which she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do.

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” he answered. “As a Dom, it’s my right to inspect my property anytime and anyplace I want to. The kitchen in the middle of dinner. A deserted hallway at your best friend’s wedding. In the dungeon—”

“Dungeon?” He couldn’t possibly have a real dungeon.

“Yes. Subs are definitely inspected in my dungeon.”

“Like, a for-real, legit dungeon? Here, in your house?”

His answering smile was wicked. “Yes, but I’m not sure you’re ready to see it.”

She scoffed, then narrowed her eyes. Who was he to tell her what she was ready for? That was a challenge if she’d ever heard one. “I’m not scared. I want to see it.”

“How did I know you’d say that?” He sighed, then turned on his heel. “Follow me, then, brave girl.”

When she stepped in line with him, he stopped. “Ah, ah. A sub walks behind her Dom. Eyes down unless he tells her otherwise.”

She sputtered for a moment. “But . . . but what if I walk into something?”

“You have to keep an eye on what’s happening around you, but you don’t have to rubberneck to do that. I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything. It’s a Dom’s job to protect his sub. She’s his greatest treasure, remember.”

“The greatest treasure part sounds pretty good.”

He laughed. “So you just want to be spoiled without giving your Dom anything in return?”

She shrugged. “When you say it like that . . .”

Still laughing, he turned toward the hallway and said, “Come on, princess. Let’s see how brave you really are.”

With a sigh, she followed behind him, keeping her gaze on the floor, trusting him to steer her around obstacles and stairwells. They padded down the corridor then he stopped in front of a door.

Purposefully, she bumped into his back, just to make a point.

He turned, and she could feel the heat of his glare, even as she stared at the floor. “You can lift your head, Trouble.”

She did and felt some satisfaction in that. God, she really was trouble. Maybe submission wasn’t her thing after all.

When she looked up at his face, his sinister expression made her wither. At the same time, a tingling rushed to her pussy. She clenched her thighs together, hoping for a miniorgasm. When he looked at her like that—as if she were the entire focus of his attention, as if he not only owned her but desired her—something switched on inside her. And it wasn’t just her libido. It was as if she suddenly cared about everything and anything he thought, felt, wanted, needed. She was not only in tune but desperate to please him. There was also a hopeless affection growing deep down, where she couldn’t seem to uproot it. But, why? They weren’t even together. Why did this weird switch in her brain flip only for him? More importantly, how could she get it to turn off so she could keep some control? Right now, it felt like it was slowly slipping through her fingers.

After he opened the door and flipped on a light, he crooked a finger at her.

She paused, unable to make her body follow him. She’d been so confident a moment ago. Now, her courage had abandoned her.

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” she blurted.

He turned to face her fully, his eyes a mixture of amusement and concern. “Now you’re scared? What are you afraid of? I promise there are no rats or skeletons in there.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m scared of the way you make me feel.” Why was she telling him this?

He took a step closer, so close she could feel the heat from his body against hers. “And how do I make you feel?”

“Like I’m losing control.” It was barely a whisper, but she knew he’d heard. She stared at his chest, avoiding the disappointment probably written on his face.

“That’s the point.”

“I don’t like it.”

“No.” He put his finger under her chin to tilt her head up, then gazed into her eyes. “You love it.”

Chapter 8

If the glare had been meant to turn him to stone, her superpower only worked on his dick. At this point, keeping her training impersonal was an act. She’d completely charmed him.

How many times had he played with women at clubs and walked away without it becoming sexual? He couldn’t guess. But with Kate, he had to keep pushing away thoughts of how good she felt beneath him and how she was his, even though she tried to fight it. Or the helpless way she moaned when she came. How soft her skin was . . .

“You think I love losing control?” Her brow had lowered in a way that would have made a lesser man quail. Luckily for her, he knew who was in charge.

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out if I’m here to become more submissive.”

“No, I meant that you love losing control to me, specifically.” He turned and walked into his dungeon, counting on her to follow out of spite now. Her courage was unlikely to fail her if she wanted to get the last word.

“Shit.”

She’d followed him in, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted when she caught sight of the room.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect it to be this . . .”

“This, what?”

“I don’t know. Classy? I’ve only ever heard about grungy basement dungeons—like the public one Janine goes to.”

He smiled. “Well, usually people’s private dungeons reflect their personal tastes. I don’t have fantasies about taking my subs in back alleyways or in cold warehouses. The one in town is designed for people who want their BDSM raw and edgy. Everything here was designed to please myself.”

“It actually looks like you had this place professionally decorated.” She ran her fingers over the fabric that swagged over the large four poster bed.

“Thank you.”

“Did you do it all yourself?”

“Yes. I was an artist.”

Her mouth quirked. “Was? You’re not anymore?”

Banner tried to think of the last time he’d picked up a pencil or paintbrush, but for the past six months the closest he’d come was doodling on the minutes at business meetings. He had a loft for one passion and a basement dungeon for the other. Meanwhile, although most people would consider them his hobbies, they were more real and important to him than what he did at the office every day. That was mostly a paycheck and a way to keep his family from starving.

“So where are all of the whips and chains and stuff? I mean, this looks mostly like a vanilla bedroom, albeit with some extra furniture.”

“Well, you know what that padded coffee table can be used for now.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and he thought of how obedient she’d been for him by the end of his inspection. Not tapping into that today was an exquisite kind of torture. All of the wasted potential frustrated a deep part of him. This cat-and-mouse situation they had going on couldn’t continue. He couldn’t keep training a woman he liked this much while knowing she was going to someone else. If Ambrose or Konstantin took her on he might be able to handle it. But seeing her collared to one of his best friends would be rough too. He kept waiting for her laugh to be annoying, or for her to chew with her mouth open, or anything he could cling to that would make her less desirable. Instead, her stubbornness and coltish awkwardness were endearing. Maybe they’d wear on him with time.