Free Submissive by Moonlight by Sindra van Yssel Page B

need to do and try your best to find out what happened to Jerry Mackey. Inconsistent of me, isn’t it?”
    “You believe what you believe. That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for doubt. There are times I doubt what I believe too. I’m sorry for shutting the door on you.” She wasn’t sure explaining how clear her vision had been or why she’d felt so strongly right then would help or hurt, so she decided to save that for later. She didn’t need him to believe in her psychic ability. She needed him to believe she wasn’t crazy or a liar.
    “Since my boss is going to think I’m pulling one over on him if I take you into town for a date, I only know of one way for us to restart.”
    “What’s that?” She wondered if she sounded too eager.
    “Where we left off. Bring a cushion from the couch if you wish, because I want you in front of me. On your knees.”
    She hesitated for a moment. Could it be that simple? Then she stood up, picked up the cushion she’d been sitting on, and plopped it on the floor in front of him. She knelt there, letting her knees sink into the softness. “Yes, Sir,” she said fervently.
    “Good girl,” he said. His hand caressed her neck, moving from the side of it to where it met her collarbone.
    “Would you like me to hang your jacket up, Sir?” she asked. She had the heat turned up enough that she was comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans. He had to be roasting.
    “Nah. I can throw it on the couch.” He took his jacket off and tossed it where the cushion had been. “You can take your shirt off, though, as long as we’re stripping.”
    “It’s not exactly the same,” she pointed out.
    “No, it isn’t.” He grinned. “And I don’t think either of us would want it to be.”
    She inwardly cursed him for being right, took a deep breath, and pulled her shirt over her head. She would have chosen a different bra if she’d known it was going to be seen. The one she wore was plain, white, and utilitarian, and she was only wearing it because her black ones were drying on the clotheshorse. She avoided his gaze, looking down at his knees instead and then at his crotch. He wasn’t hard, but there was still plenty there.
    He brushed the back of his hand across her chest, and her nipples tightened in response. Her heart pounded. Am I really so easy? Yet why should desire be difficult, just because it always has been?
    He raised his hand and tilted her chin up until she had no choice but to look at him. Then he kissed her. From anyone else it would have felt tentative, a nibbling kiss that worked around the edges of her mouth. From him she knew it was teasing. Her lips opened. He pressed his lips against them and took possession of her with his tongue. His hands held her, one on each cheek, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
    With that kiss, her last resistance was gone. And she could tell from his face that he knew it, too. He kissed her again, and this time he unhooked her bra in the process and slipped it off her shoulders. It soon joined his jacket on the couch.
    He pulled back, letting her catch her breath. But not for long. “Get up on my lap,” he ordered.
    He acted as if there was no chance she’d refuse him. Why was he so confident? Arrogant, really. But she found it damn attractive, like the day’s growth of stubble on his chin. Rough, but sexy. She climbed up onto his lap, sitting with both legs to one side. She felt something hard against her bum. He was aroused now, she noticed with satisfaction.
    She realized she was too. She’d been so distracted by the hardening of her nipples and the way her chest was pounding that she hadn’t noticed her pussy getting wet. But now she was aware, her panties damp against her tingling skin. She regretted sitting sideways. It would feel good to grind her crotch against his, letting the hard ridge rub her pussy through the layers of fabric. She doubted he would object.
    But he wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her still