“Crawl onto the bed, Brielle,” Elie commanded. “Lie down on your back.”
For the first time, there was an edge to that low, compelling tone. It was still velvet, rubbing over her skin like a caress, wrapping her up in sensual magic, but there was a rasp to it that added another layer.
She shivered, wondering why she reacted to his particular tone, why she needed to comply with everything he wanted from her. How, just by speaking, he could make her feel sexy even when he wasn’t saying anything that had to do with sex.
Brielle crawled up onto the very wide bed, aware Elie watched her every move with that burning gaze locked onto her. The duvet was gray and very thick. Her knees and hands sank into the soft comforter as she made her way up toward the headboard. She felt wholly feminine, her hips and breasts swaying with every movement. In the center, she stopped, dipping her chest to the duvet first and then lowering her bottom before she rolled over to comply with his order.
She had deliberately gone all the way to the top of the bed. She was short and she knew her feet wouldn’t reach the bottom of the bed and the footboard where the ankle cuffs were. She did trust Elie, but she didn’t have confidence in herself yet. She still had nightmares and panic attacks. That was the last thing she wanted to have happen with Elie. What if he decided he didn’t want to play in the bedroom? Or that she was too much work?
“Legs wide apart.”
Elie stood at the bottom of the bed, his arms behind his back, his dark eyes drifting possessively over her. She liked that look on his face. It wasn’t just that he regarded her with the look of someone who could be by turns objective or affectionate. Maybe more than affection. That was Elie’s gift. He could make a woman believe she was special to him—real to him even as he made her his toy. One look or touch, one smile or just a word could bring a woman to her knees, make her want to do anything for him.
Brielle had watched him all those years. He hadn’t even seen her, no matter what he said to her. She’d paid close attention to him and how the women reacted to him. He was so offhand, barely showing his dates any kindness and then suddenly bestowing his famous smile on them. Immediately the woman would fawn all over him. Brielle understood and felt sorry for his date. She knew the woman wouldn’t last long; they never did. He had a pattern. What did that mean for her?
Elie caught her chin and turned her face toward him. “Tell me what you’re thinking and don’t lie to me.”
The last thing she wanted to do was admit to him anything she’d just been thinking but they both had sworn they’d be honest. She veiled her eyes with her long lashes, her heart beating too fast. She knew he could see her pulse beating hard in her neck. His fingers were at her neck now, feeling it, counting her heartbeats.
“I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. Tell me.”
That was a strict order. “It’s a little embarrassing and I know you aren’t going to like all of it. I can’t help the way I think, Elie.”
He was silent. Waiting. She squirmed on the bed, realizing just how vulnerable she felt, completely naked, legs wide open, lying sprawled out while he was still clothed. That only made the flames burn hotter in her core and spread through her body like a wildfire out of control.
“I liked the way you looked at the bottom of the bed when you were looking at me,” she admitted in a low tone. “You have a way of making me feel like I really am your toy that you enjoy playing with, but at the same time, I’m your woman, the one you cherish and protect.”
She hesitated, wanting to leave it there. She knew he could hear the truth in her voice. It was the truth, but . . . He remained silent as he stared down at her. His expression hadn’t changed when she snuck a peek at him. He hadn’t touched her. She sighed. It was uncanny how he knew there was more and he expected her to tell him.
“I remembered all the times you brought women into the café where I worked or the restaurant. They were always gorgeous models. Very famous women. They hung on your arm and stared up at you as if they were afraid to take their eyes off you. You treated them as if they were nothing most of the time but then you would suddenly smile at them or lean close and whisper to them and they would light up as if you had said they mattered to you. I knew you hadn’t. I knew they didn’t matter. I knew you would grow bored with them and drop them within a matter of weeks or even days. I felt sorry for them.”
She hoped—sent up little prayers to the universe—that he wouldn’t insist on any other revelations. She’d gone far enough.