Page 6 of One More Night
THREE
Corinne
My legs ache from the position I’m in, but I get the feeling Jordan isn’t the kind of man who appreciates disobedience. Although, why that matters, I don’t know. I could get up, put my dress back on, and then walk out of here without issue. He has no legal right to hold me here, and I’m sure if he became forceful the police would love to know about that.
My pussy clenches at the fantasy of him, tight jaw and bulging muscles as he forces me back into this room. Why does that seem so hot? I’m tempted to snatch up my dress and walk out of here in my lingerie and heels merely so I can see what would happen.
How long has it been?
My phone chimes from inside my purse, the blue light casting a pale glow over the seat cushion. I look toward the door and then back to my purse. Five more minutes. I’ll give it time. If it’s important, my phone will signal another message.
“You are a well trained little thing, aren’t you?”
Air rushes into my lungs on a gasp as I snap my eyes back to the doorway. Jordan leans one shoulder against the frame, hands clasped behind his lower back as he frowns with clear admiration.
He’s impressed. And what’s worse, knowing so makes me feel good.
“You think I should reward you now?” He prowls into the room, all strength and muscle in only his tight black boxer briefs.
The man is six-foot plus of sinful intent, and damn I want that … every fucking inch.
I nod in response, not certain if his untold rules allow me to talk.
“How should I start?” The question is rhetorical; his index finger taps his lips as he appears to think.
Red-hot awareness floods my veins when he blatantly stares at the soaked fabric barely covering my pussy.
“Tell me, Corinne.” I frown at his use of my name. When did I tell him that? “What would you like me to do?”
Aw, hell. How do I answer this one? “Whatever pleases you.”
His lips set in a thin line as he comes to stop at the foot of the bed, his thick thighs pressed against the mattress. “Not what I asked.”
Damn. “Um.” I roll my hips to stop the spread of pins and needles in my legs. “Something that involves me putting my legs straight.” I lift a hopeful eyebrow and smile.
His hooded eyes follow the rock and roll of my hips as I fail to keep the numbness from setting in. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He leans forward, the muscles in his shoulders rounded as he reaches for my calves and takes them in hand.
My legs protest, but the pain is soon chased with relief when he tugs them forward, straightening my legs before me.
I soon find out why he agreed so easily.
A sinister smile graces Jordan’s curved lips as he yanks my panties down my legs: left, right, left, right, in sharp tugs until the garment lies discarded on the floor.
“Better.” He steps back, fingers to his lips again while he appraises me much like an artist would.
The power he exudes, the control he has without having to resort to violence—I crave it.
“Take the bra off.”
I reach behind myself and release the clasp. His lips curl up at the corners, slightly hidden behind his hand as he watches me with his chin tucked to his chest. He looks as though he’ll tear me apart and I can’t wait to see what that feels like.
I let my arms rest at my sides, bunching the bedspread in my hold to keep my hands occupied and my mind at ease.
Jordan takes his bottom lip between his teeth, the sight stirring a hunger deep inside that needs to be fed. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, shoving them down his legs to step free.