Jesus. Am I ready for this?

I lean closer across the table and my fingers find her center—and the lacy fabric covering her pussy. As I brush my fingers over her clit, she swears under her breath and grips the edge of the table.

“Has it been a while since a man’s properly taken care of you?”

She nods, her chest beginning to show the telltale signs of arousal. She’s flushed and pink, and breathing hard already.

Sometimes I still dream about her. Macey was a shy girl but confident with her body, touching her breasts for me while I watched, opening the delicate petals of her pussy to show me her swollen clit. I liked giving orders back then, and she took every one like a personal challenge. Maybe this won’t be so different after all. I find the hard nub of her clit and press down, eliciting the most beautiful little whimper from her.

With my free hand, I raise a finger to my lips. “Shh. Quiet.”

Macey nods.

As I move my fingers back and forth, Macey’s panties grow damp and her breathing is ragged. Just when her thighs begin to tremble, I shove the lace of her panties aside and ever so slowly sink one finger inside her heat. Her tight pussy grips me, sucking at my finger.

My cock is so hard it hurts. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself where Macey’s concerned.

“I just remembered. Rule number three. You don’t come until I say so.”

“Reece,” she whimpers.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” That didn’t take long. She’s right about one thing. She’s wound up tight and in need of relief. And I’ll deliver, but not before I demonstrate to her exactly who’s running this show.

Whether her eyes are pleading with me to stop or continue, I can’t tell. “I’m going to . . . ,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

I pull my hand from beneath the table, and the look painted across her features is pure anguish. She was right there. Right at that beautiful, blissful moment where nothing else exists but blinding pleasure and the building sense of release.

“Not yet. When you come all over my hand, we’ll be somewhere private where I can enjoy every second of it.”

“Then why the hell did you do that?” she asks, breathless and clearly frustrated.

I shrug, my mouth turning up in a smirk. “Just wanted to see if I could still get you off in under a few minutes.”

She frowns. “Well, don’t you deserve a pat on the back? Are we done here?”

“Eager,” I remark. Her pussy juices are drying on my finger, and it takes all my restraint not to bring my hand to my mouth to taste her. I’m a caveman, but I still have some impulse control. “Yes, let’s go.”

I leave a wad of cash on the table, including a generous tip for our waitress. I’ve never fingered a submissive under the table before, but something tells me our little show might not have gone as undetected as I thought. The waitress and busboy are grinning at me like we’re sharing a private secret. Great. That better not be in the headlines tomorrow.

I escort Macey back to my apartment, both of us quiet on the walk.

When we reach the club, Crave is in full swing, and I keep my hand at Macey’s lower back as we maneuver our way through the crowded club. Sex and money are in the air, and normally I’d feel jovial, and probably sit down at the bar for a while to see if anyone interesting caught my eye. Tonight, I shoot scowls at the men openly admiring Macey. I can’t wait to get upstairs. And lock the goddamn door.

When we get inside, I turn on the lights and head for the kitchen. “I’m going to get a Scotch,” I call over my shoulder. “Would you like one?”

Macey slams the door.

What the hell? “Is that a no to the Scotch, sweetheart?”

“Are you serious right now?” She storms into the kitchen and squares off with me, anger slashed across her pretty features.

“About?”

“That’s it? The night’s over?”

I swallow to avoid revealing the smile playing at my lips. She’s angry about earlier and wants to continue playing. Perfect.

Taking a step closer, I pin her with my gaze. “I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your fuck friend. I’m your Dom. We’ll play on my terms, in a private room I’ll reserve for us in my club. Not before then. Do you understand me?” I finish pouring my measure of Scotch and wait.

She huffs out a frustrated breath. I think she’s going to argue, but instead she stomps from the kitchen, calling out an exaggerated, “Fine,” over her shoulder. When she heads straight for my bedroom, curiosity takes over and I immediately follow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I find her in my closet, down on her knees and rummaging through a black duffel bag that just happens to hold all my sex toys. Apparently she did see this when she cleaned up.

“Ah, here we go.” Her fingers close around a generously sized flesh-colored vibrating dildo. “You won’t do the job? Well, I have a feeling this baby will.” She waves it in the air like she’s found the damn golden ticket. Then she rises to her feet and smiles sweetly at me.

For the love of God, this woman does not fight fair. She never has. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

“Probably my bed, then the shower.” A line creases her forehead. “Do you have spare batteries for this thing? It might be a long night.”

“No way. Not happening. Give me the toy, Macey.” I reach out a hand, my voice as stern as the set of my jaw, my fingers barely avoiding crushing the crystal tumbler in my other hand.

A slow smile uncurls on her mouth. “Why, Reece Jackson, are you jealous?” She eyes the toy in her hand and then lets her gaze slip seductively down to the crotch of my pants.

If she really thinks that toy’s size has me feeling insecure, she’s insane. Certifiably. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Now I’m the one smiling. She’ll be in for a pleasant surprise later.

“I remember everything. I remember how you always made me keep my underwear on, and that I never actually saw you”—her gaze flicks downward—”down there. I only felt you with my hand, and since I had nothing to base it on, I assumed all guys were like that.”

“Well, in that case, you’ll be sorely disappointed with this toy.” I snatch the dildo from her hand and toss it back in the open bag.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, planting a hand on her hip. “You left me hanging at the restaurant.”

“And you will stay like that until I say so.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m not allowed to masturbate?”

I shake my head. Unless she wants to perform a private show for me, no. “No touching yourself, no toys, and definitely no other men, until I say.” I take her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to drink Scotch.”

“Reece, stop.” Her voice makes me pause on my way from the closet.

I face her and place my finger against her plump lower lip. “You’re trying to top from the bottom, and the more you fight this, the longer it’ll take. Give up control. Go with it, okay?”

I’m not going to explain every small detail to her. Now that we covered how this works, I need some time to properly set up a scene. I won’t rush this. I’ve been waiting six years.

“Fine,” she says, her voice small.

She follows me into the living room and we sit down on the sofa, side by side. It’s not lost on me that we’re alone in my apartment. We could be fucking each other’s brains out right now. I have a drawer full of condoms, and God knows, she’s willing.

But I know myself better now than I did six years ago. I need to keep the control in this situation, separate the sex from the emotion. And the only way I know to do that is through carefully crafting a scene and performing within its parameters. And that takes planning and preparation.

I wanted to give her the world at one time, and I would have. Now I'm questioning my decision to share three sessions with her.