The Italian's Pregnant Prisoner. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“I want you to tell me what you were wearing,” he said, speaking slowly. With supreme authority.
“To...to tell you?” she asked, the words choked.
“Yes. Tell me in great detail exactly what you were wearing tonight. A gown, I assume, and with an interesting material. Not silken. A thin layer over something heavier. Yes?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Describe it to me as you remove it.”
He was standing in the center of the room, his expression impassive, his dark eyes resting behind her. Even if he had been looking directly at her, she knew that he wouldn’t be able to see.
“It’s...it’s red,” she began haltingly. She started to try to jerk the zipper down, but it was as halting as her words. “It has a V-neck, thin straps. It conforms to my figure. Hugs my hips. And follows my body closely all the way down past my knees. It flares out there. Like a mermaid’s tail.”
“Very interesting. And what is underneath this gown?”
She let the straps fall around her waist, a whispering noise as it fell away from her curves and pooled at her feet.
“Underneath...” She swallowed hard. “My bra is red. It matches the gown. It’s made of lace.”
“I see. And would I be able to see those beautiful nipples through it? They were very pale. I recall that clearly. All of you is very pale. Your nipples...they are a particular shade of pink that I find extremely arousing. Like candy. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”
She swallowed hard, trembling now. “Yes. You would be able to see them.”
“If I could see,” he said, his tone dark.
“Yes,” she said softly. “If you could see.”
“Please tell me that your underwear matches. That they are red and lacy, and that I would be able to see your beautiful golden curls through the fabric.”
She could hardly breathe. She felt dizzy.
“Yes.” She swallowed hard again. “The fabric is transparent.”
She had never played the part of seductress. Those weeks in her room he had been seducing her. And while she had certainly begged him to take things further—to take them all the way—he had still been the one in control of the situation. It felt different now. The air between them an electric shock. And his expression... Growing tighter, growing more tense as the moments wore on. His hands were curled into fists at his side, and he might have been made of stone.
Beautiful stone that looked as though it would be hot to the touch. There was a strange power in this moment. In him demanding that she paint a picture in his mind. She could have told him anything, but she found that she wanted nothing more than to give him honesty. Because here, in this strong man, was some sense of vulnerability. He was stronger than her. More experienced than her. As he had always been.
But she had some power. She did.
Because he had given it to her.
Even now, with things as they were between them, he had handed her this.
“I want you to remove the bra,” he commanded.
Without thought, she obeyed.
“Now tell me,” he said, his voice rough now. “Are your nipples tight? From the cold air? From my voice? From your arousal? Knowing exactly what I will do next. Because you know me, and you know I am insatiable when it comes to those breasts of yours. I’m going to suck one of those sweet buds into my mouth, lick you, taste you.”
She shivered. “Yes.”
“Yes, you want me to taste you? Or yes, they are tight?”
“Both,” she whispered, the word husky, her voice unrecognizable as her own.
A smile curved his mouth, and she would be tempted to describe it as cruel.
“The panties next. Push them down your hips slowly.” He smiled wider. “You did not tell me about your shoes.”
“Stilettos. Red. Like the dress.”
“And are you still wearing them?”
“You didn’t tell me to take them off yet.”
His mouth twitched. “Good. Leave them on.”
She complied with his wishes, pushing the thin scrap of fabric down her legs slowly, then kicking them off to the side. And she prepared for more commands.
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