Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,45

thighs. He quivered in my touch, cupping my ass gently and kneading, but his motions were gentle and distracted. Even now, I controlled him. I trailed my fingertips up his bare skin until I reached the bottom hems of his shorts. I pulled them up just a little, working my fingertips underneath.

Slate whimpered, turning to putty in my hands, and fuck, my resistance was crumbling.

He pulled back, his eyes glassy and lips wet and parted and right there.

I was staring, shameless in my wanting, and he held my gaze without flinching away. He looked hungry—desperate, even.

But however hard I wished I could, I couldn’t bring myself to close that distance between us. To press a kiss on his lips, and pull him close to me, and tell him how much I wanted him.

Like tectonic plates, my spirit was caught between opposing forces: I was trying with all I had to pull him closer, but another part of me was pushing him away.

I couldn’t fathom the idea of giving all of myself to one man—letting him have the power to crush me. I was already vulnerable. I liked Slate, way too much. Every minute I was around him, he intoxicated me. I couldn’t peel myself away cleanly. Walking away wasn’t an option.

But that only left one route, which made me feel like a cornered animal.

Even through the gloomy light, Slate’s gaze was soft and terrifyingly perceptive.

“Come on,” he murmured, his breath hot across my cheek. “Walk with me.”

I hesitated, my gaze searching his. I found nothing but understanding and curiosity, and it only made shame burn hotter within my chest.

Fuck. I should be the one giving orders here, I thought, biting my lip hard.

I’d envisioned myself confidently steering him around. A neat, clean power exchange—the way it always worked. I’d be the one showing him off, like I’d done plenty of nights with plenty of boys.

What was Master X if he wasn’t meticulous and precise and all-knowing? A chill ran down my spine a second later. Shit, that was it: I wasn’t Master X tonight, and I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t Slate, it was me. I swallowed hard and nodded, taking his hand to pick our way through the crowd and through the hallway.

But he didn’t stop at the bar. Instead, he led me through the well-lit space toward the playroom.

I caught a breath and dug my heels in, frowning the question at him.

What are you doing, Slate?

Slate’s grip tightened on my hand, like he was afraid to let go of me. “We can just look.”

But I shook my head slightly, the world spinning around me. Christ, he had no idea what he’d awoken in me, did he?

I wasn’t the man who could neatly string him up, dispense a punishment, and send him on his way.

My heart was on the line, and the monster that I kept on its own tight chain deep in my soul was snarling, pulling at the fraying edges of my resistance.

I wasn’t myself tonight, and the only reasonable conclusion was that Slate was having this effect on me. Wide-eyed and clueless all while pulling me out of my usual routine.

I hated how much I wanted him, and the way my hands shook. I gripped his hand tighter too, our fingers crushing one another’s like a weird thumb-wrestling match.

“No,” I said, my voice breathless and hoarse.

The disappointment on Slate’s face stung, but it wouldn’t last long. I already knew what my next words would be.

God help me, I didn’t trust myself not to pick Slate apart for all to see. Not to lose control of myself, and let Rex loose in the playroom, until I was the one whose spirit was bared for all to see.

So I gulped and said, “Come home with me.”

It was clear what my words meant. Yes, I was saying to him at last. Or maybe, I can’t stop myself anymore. You’ve won, Slate. You’ve got me. I hope you can handle me.

Slate’s grin would have glowed from miles away. He took my shoulders and scanned my face, his gaze eager, seemingly not noticing the way I tensed up. For a moment, it felt like the power dynamics were all flipped on their head.

Like he was the one with my heart nestled in his hand. I didn’t usually fear rejection, but nothing about tonight was the usual.

“Yes,” Slate whispered. His fingertips glided up to my neck, and then his palms stopped just short of my neck. Like he wanted to cup my face