“What shall we do with you now?” he says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks

sharply so that I’m forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my

head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his

hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he’s panting too

and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; and I’m left wanting, gasping for breath, my

wits thoroughly scattered. I’m sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual assault.

“Turn around,” he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly

braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up.

“You have beautiful hair, Anastasia,” he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shiv-

ers running up and down my spine. “You just have to say stop. You know that, don’t you?”

he whispers against my throat.

I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me round once more and

picks up the end of the tie.

“Come,” he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the

box’s contents are on display.

“Anastasia, these objects.” He holds up the butt plug. “This is a size too big. As an anal

virgin, you don’t want to start with this. We want to start with this.” He holds up his pinky

finger, and I gasp, shocked. Fingers . . . there?He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought

of the anal fisting mentioned in the contract comes to mind.

“Just finger—singular,” he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my

mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that?

“These clamps are vicious.” He prods the nipple clamps. “We’ll use these.” He places

a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins, but with little

jet jewels hanging down. “They’re adjustable,” Christian murmurs, his voice laced with

gentle concern.

I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more

about all this than I do. I’ll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most

things . . . except cooking.

“Clear?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper, my mouth dry. “Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?”

“No. I’m making this up as I go along. This isn’t a scene, Ana.”

“How should I behave?”

His brow creases. “However you want to.”

Oh!

“Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?” he asks, his tone vaguely mocking and

bemused at once. I blink at him.

“Well, yes. I like him,” I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his

thumb down my cheek.

“Do you now,” he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I’m your lover,

Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you re-

laxed and happy, like you are in José’s photos. That’s the girl that fell into my office. That’s

the girl I fell in love with.”

Holy cow.My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It’s

joy—pure joy.

“But having said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele; and my alter

ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you’re told and turn around.” His eyes glint wickedly,

and the joy moves sharply south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my

waist. I do as I’m told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he’s in

front of me again.

“Come,” he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the

couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes have vanished. It distracts me. Were they

there yesterday when I came in? I don’t remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones?

Christian interrupts my train of thought.

“I want you to kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table.

Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out—she’s

already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.

He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front

of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my

thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He

looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded . . . lustful.

“Arms behind your back. I’m going to cuff you.”

He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. This is

it. Where’s he going to take me this time?

His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after

one’s husband like this? I don’t remember reading about that anywhere. I can’t resist him,

and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly

and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls

back.“Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants,” he warns. For a mo-

ment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with

amusement.

“You’re irresistible,” I pout.

“Am I now?” he says dryly.

I nod.

“Well—don’t distract me, or I’ll gag you.”

“I like distracting you,” I whisper, looking mulishly at him, and he cocks his eyebrow

at me.

“Or spank you.”

Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have

been subdued by this threat. I would never have had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while

he was in this room. I realize now, I’m no longer intimidated by him. It’s a revelation. I grin

mischievously, and he smirks at me.

“Behave,” he growls and stands back, gazing at me and slaps the leather cuffs across

his palm. And the warning is there, implicit in his actions. I try for contrite, and I think I

succeed. He approaches me again.

“That’s better,” he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist

touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night’s shower.

Hmm . . .I should bottle this.

I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me

arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together.

When he’s finished, he stands back to admire me.

“Feel okay?” he asks. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but I’m so wired with

anticipation to see where he’s going with this that I nod, weak with wanting.

“Good.” He pulls the mask from his back pocket.

“I think you’ve seen enough now,” he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head,

covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow.Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am

here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting—sweet anticipation hot and heavy deep

in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It

resonates through my body. I hadn’t noticed before. He must have it on repeat.

Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a draw-

er, then closes it again. A moment later he’s back, and I sense him in front of me. There’s a

pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It’s delicious, almost mouth-watering.

“I don’t want to ruin my favorite tie,” he murmurs. It slowly unravels as he undoes it.

I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie travels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin

his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he’s going to do. He’s rubbing his hands together.

His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline.

My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand