Free Play Me Hot by Tracy Wolff Page A

stroke.
    She trembles, her body jerking against my own. And then she’s burrowing her face more tightly against my neck, licking her way along the edge of my collar.
    It feels good, her breath warm and wet against my skin. Her body soft and yielding against the hardness of my own. Knowing she needs the contact—and the small amount of control it gives her—I tilt my head back and let her do her worst.
    She does. Jesus Christ, does she.
    Her lips skim along my jaw, from my chin up to the sensitive spot behind my ear. She pauses there, sucks gently at my skin. Then bites, one sharp, clean nip of her teeth.
    Fuck.
    Her tongue is out now, soothing the small hurt, the small bruise that I know she will have left there. Marking me as I so desperately long to mark her.
    As I will mark her, as soon as she says—
    “Yes.” For the first time since we started this, her voice is strong, steady, sure.
    It’s my turn to shake, something that never happens to me anymore. Relief, I realize, slowly pulling my hands from her body before she notices. A breach in my control is not what either of us need right now.
    Except—
    “Sebastian?” Her voice is quiet, her body searching as she turns a little into me..
    I stop her with a hand on her hip, keep her facing the window. A glance at the clock on the wall tells me we have twenty minutes before she’s supposed to be back on the casino floor. And while everything inside me revolts at the idea of letting her go back down there now that she’s mine, of standing by and watching other men grab and grope the sweet body that is even now moving against my own, it’s not my choice. Not now.
    Not yet.
    I want to do so much to her, want to take her apart like a puzzle, until I’m holding each individual piece of her in my hand. Until I can see inside her, around her, between the cracks I recognize but don’t yet understand.
    Twenty minutes isn’t nearly enough time. But it’s a start.
    “Put your hands on the window.”
    “What? I don’t—”
    “Your hands. The window,” I tell her again, making sure to keep my voice dark and stern despite my overwhelming need to cuddle her close to me.
    For long seconds she doesn’t move, as if she’s contemplating whether she should do what I’ve instructed. I wait patiently, let her decide. Other Doms, other men, would do something to persuade her—maybe even punish her for her hesitation. Setting the precedent. Beginning how they plan to go on.
    But I’m not those guys and my goals are very different from theirs. I don’t want a slave, don’t want her to obey my every whim inside the bedroom and out.
    No, what I want from Aria is something completely different. In the end, I want to build her up, not break her down. I want to give her control, not take it away.
    I want her strength, not her submission.
    And so I wait, to see how she’ll respond. To see what she’ll do. Already I have plans for her, so, so many plans. Plans that include taking her to the very edge of cataclysmic pleasure and then hurling her over. Again and again and again.
    But not until she’s ready. Not until she takes this first small but imperative step.
    She’s watching me, her head turned toward me even as her body faces away, the look in her eyes dark and dangerous and delicious. She’s taking my measure, deciding how far she wants to go. How far she’s willing to let me push her—how far she’s willing to push me. Too bad she can’t yet imagine the depths we’re going to explore.
    Long seconds tick by while neither of us moves. We just stand there, eyes locked. Breathing in sync. I think about repeating the command, but no. She heard me. Saying it again is a sign of weakness, a loss of control that I just won’t give her. Can’t give her.
    But there’s an uncertainty in her eyes, a fear that I don’t like to see. Keeping her off-balance is one thing, pushing her boundaries, her limits, far past where she thinks they should be. But genuine fear? That’s