“It actually looks like you had this place professionally decorated.” She ran her fingers over the fabric that swagged over the large four poster bed.
“Thank you.”
“Did you do it all yourself?”
“Yes. I was an artist.”
Her mouth quirked. “Was? You’re not anymore?”
Banner tried to think of the last time he’d picked up a pencil or paintbrush, but for the past six months the closest he’d come was doodling on the minutes at business meetings. He had a loft for one passion and a basement dungeon for the other. Meanwhile, although most people would consider them his hobbies, they were more real and important to him than what he did at the office every day. That was mostly a paycheck and a way to keep his family from starving.
“So where are all of the whips and chains and stuff? I mean, this looks mostly like a vanilla bedroom, albeit with some extra furniture.”
“Well, you know what that padded coffee table can be used for now.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and he thought of how obedient she’d been for him by the end of his inspection. Not tapping into that today was an exquisite kind of torture. All of the wasted potential frustrated a deep part of him. This cat-and-mouse situation they had going on couldn’t continue. He couldn’t keep training a woman he liked this much while knowing she was going to someone else. If Ambrose or Konstantin took her on he might be able to handle it. But seeing her collared to one of his best friends would be rough too. He kept waiting for her laugh to be annoying, or for her to chew with her mouth open, or anything he could cling to that would make her less desirable. Instead, her stubbornness and coltish awkwardness were endearing. Maybe they’d wear on him with time.
“The table also converts.” He slid a drawer out of the side to show her it was a padded place to kneel, which worked well as a spanking bench. The decorative loops on either side of the table were at the right height and position to attach cuffs in case his guest was reluctant about being punished.
She stared at the thing wide-eyed, as though it had turned into a venomous snake. Considering how recently she’d been disciplined, he could understand her reaction.
“The rest of the room has other features that make this a functional dungeon. And because I redid this entire room, it’s quite soundproof when the door’s closed.”
“You could . . . lock a girl up down here, and no one would know.” She shivered, then jumped as he traced a path up the back of her neck, from the collar of her T-shirt into her hair. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly.
“I only let good girls who want to play with me in here.”
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Oh, and am I part of that exclusive club now?”
“Yes. It’s a very small club. You’ll have to fill all of the positions at the moment.” There were several positions he could think of off the top of his head that he’d like to fill her in.
The words he left unsaid seemed apparent to her. She was looking up at him, her eyes docile, the softness of her mouth doing crazy things to his imagination.
He kissed her, unable to resist the temptation, but made it more of a tease than a kiss—over before it had begun, and featherlight.
As he stepped back, she followed, looking for more. She was the one who wanted to keep her clothes on. She didn’t want sex, or so she insisted. There was no way in hell he was initiating anything.
His dick was disgusted with him for being a gentleman.
“So, what makes you think that I love losing control, especially to you?” The tilt of her head and the tone challenged him for dominance. Always testing.
“It’s all in the quality of your screams when you come for me, and the fact that you called me Master. Twice.”
Her face crimson, she sputtered, hunting for words. The right ones came to her, eventually. “I’ll admit that you’re good in bed, but that doesn’t mean I love losing control to you. The words are just words. They slipped out. It happens. You’re just lucky I didn’t accidentally call you William or Rob instead.”
“So you always come that hard?”
She frowned. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“In other words, no.”
“You can choose to believe what you want, but I’m not feeding your ego anymore today.” She pursed her lips. If someone Googled the word “arrogant,” there’d be a picture of Kate making that face.
Sassy little bitch.
A wave of sexual aggression took him by surprise, but he caught himself before he even twitched a finger. He wanted to make her scream for mercy, beg for cock. He wanted to do any number of things she wasn’t ready for yet.
Instead, he shut his eyes and thought about swirls of paint, quiet blues in shades that soothed his soul.
When he opened his eyes again, Kate was looking less certain of herself.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She actually looked ashamed.
He shrugged. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re competitive, and you don’t want me to win. And yet, you do.”
“I do?”
“Don’t you?” He went to the chest of drawers and opened one, fishing out a coil of rope. “Have you ever played with rope before?”
“Not rope, no, but my ex tied me to the bed once. Just my hands. He got bored, though, because he didn’t want to do the work, so he untied me after a couple of minutes.” The frustration in her tone made him sad. What was it with men who didn’t want to blow a woman’s mind in bed? Was there no pride in workmanship anymore?
“I apologize on behalf of my sex. Men like that should have warning labels.”
“He didn’t believe in reciprocating for oral either. Add that to his label.” She shook her head as though incredulous that she’d dated such an idiot. “And why on earth am I telling you this?”
“I think it’s because deep down you know you can trust me.”
“Hmm.” She shook her head skeptically. “I think I just have a tendency to overshare.”
“Well, you answered my question anyway.” He uncoiled the rope. “I’m going to tie your hands, and we’re going to see how you feel about that, okay?”
“Why?”
“To see if you like rope, of course. I’m not tying you to anything, so you’ll be free to move around.”
When she nodded, he moved behind her.
“Would this be easier if my shirt was off?”
Jeez, was she trying to kill him?
“No. It would be prettier if your shirt was off, but I can bind your arms just fine while you’re wearing your T-shirt, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Would it be okay with you if I took it off?” She wasn’t playing a game. Her furrowed brow spoke of her uncertainty.
Fuck. Take your pants off, too, and sit on my aching cock while you’re at it.
“Whatever is most comfortable for you.”
Kate stared at him a moment before yanking her shirt off like it was driving her crazy. “Can I just . . .” She stepped closer and reached up, unbuttoning his shirt from his neck to his midchest. “That’s better.”
She really did seem to have a thing for suits.
Instead of stepping back, her fingers slid over the contour of muscle under his shirt. If she was trying to keep this all business, she was using the wrong approach.
“You, young lady, are driving me crazy.” He grabbed a handful of hair and pushed her onto the coffee table. “Kneel here. If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to assume you’re interested in more than training.”
“I’m sorry. I just—you’re good to look at.”
“So are you. Not turning this into sex is hard enough. Don’t be mean.”
She looked smug, not sorry.
Cock tease. She had a safeword, but he got the feeling that if he tried to turn this into sex she wouldn’t object. But she was the one who’d said no, so she was out of luck until she begged for it.