Page 72 of On His Terms

When he returned, he pressed a warm cloth between her legs.

“Mmm. I like that, Sir. Thank you.”

“If you’re sore, I can’t fuck you again.”

“So you’re doing this for selfish reasons?”

“Of course.”

“I see.” Chelsea knew better. He didn’t have to fetch a towel at all, and he could have handed it to her.

His courtesy was delicious, and she saw how a Dominant might appreciate being taken care of, also.

“I can take out the plug here, or I can do it in the bathroom.”

Nothing like reality to shatter her inner peace. “I could do it myself.”

“You could,” he said agreeably. “But I’m going to. Decide where you’d like it done, or I’ll make the choice for you.”

This might be the worst thing he’d forced her to face.

“It’s no different from me fucking you with it.”

“I know.” She shook her head. “It just seems more personal than what we did earlier, Sir.”

“Let go of your need to control this.”

She curled into a tighter ball.

“Now the choice is mine.” He scooped her from the bed.

Gasping, she wrapped her arm around her neck so he wouldn’t drop her. “Sir!”

He strode into the en suite bathroom and continued to hold her for far longer than necessary.

Tension grew, and she stopped breathing, wondering if he might kiss her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he cleared his throat, severing the insanity of the moment.

“Get on all fours, forehead on the floor,” he said, sliding her down his body and holding her waist until she found her balance. “You may use the rug.”

She frantically glanced at one of the shower benches. “How about that?” She pointed. And they could turn the water on.

“I’ll take away the option of the rug if you prevaricate any further.”

“This is miserable.”

“You’ll survive.”

So much for sympathy.

He kicked the rug aside. When would she learn not to test him?

“The floor, now. Or I’ll fuck you with it again before taking it out.”

Waging war with her own hesitation, she followed his command.