A footstep.

And another.

Each one measured, precise, and unhurried. As if he were at leisure to take his time and play with every second before he touched me.

My body thrummed with need. A second whimper escaped my mouth as he stopped beside me.

Not touching, just silence. Looking. Watching.

I arched my back, pressing my pelvis into the bench.

A sharp smacking sound ripped a shocked cry from my lips, but there was no sting on my exposed skin.

He’d struck the edge of the bench. “Don’t move, little mouse.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I hate mice.” The words managed to come out clear despite my heart hammering away inside my chest. “You scared me,” I accused him.

Mace stepped around to the front of the bench. I opened my eyes from where I lay with my head on one side and stared straight ahead at his crotch.

A very solid and bulging crotch.

The black, stretchy material enhanced the shape of him. I opened my lips and licked them, wishing I could press my mouth to his groin and kiss him through his pants.

A strangled sound above me brought me back.

“Christ, Enota. Looking at a man like that is dangerous.” His voice was rough with undisguised need.

I smiled and looked up at him through my lashes without raising my head. “Saying things like that might get you a girl you weren’t planning on.”

His gaze darkened, glazing with lust. “Can I touch your legs?”

“Yes.” I didn’t bother to flirt any longer. We’d moved past that.

“Thank you.” His measured footsteps resumed, this time adding a light caress as he worked his way from my thighs down to my ankles. He circled my calf with one hand, encompassing it easily. “Can I take your boots off?”

I nodded and felt the sharp sting of his fingers as he flicked my thigh.

“Words, little hardcore girl.”

“I’ve never been called that before.” I’d been called a lot of things, but never that.

“You don’t crave it? Your body says you do.” He stroked his fingers along my legs, soothing where he’d flicked me, working my boots with his other hand until my feet were bare and my shoes clattered to the floor.

“I—” I swallowed as his fingers dug into my feet, massaging them. I sank against the padded support, letting the maelstrom of emotion and sensation he evoked wash over me. “Define hardcore.”

“Hard fucking, deep throating, flogging, gags, clamps, more than one partner at once.” His fingertips trailed the inside of my thighs until I ached.

“Ohhh,” I moaned and gushed again, a vein of hot molten desire pooling at the center of my pussy, swelling my lips though he hadn’t touched me there yet.

“When was the last time you were with a man and a woman together?”

“Never,” I whispered.

“And more than one man?” Light circles began around my ass. He flipped my short skirt up, exposing me in full.

I buried my face in the padding, panting as he traced the curve of my ass, played with the top of my tailbone, right over my asshole. “Maybe—maybe a year ago.” My voice caught between a moan and a cry.

Desire built in me, and I couldn’t think.

“Liar.” He smacked one palm down and then the other.

Then his hands disappeared.

I cried out, more from his disappearance than from his accusation. “You’re right. It was … two years or so ago. Before.”

Before had been my benchmark. I refused to recognize what had happened in this room, and yet here I was again, being touched by a man I had started to trust.

I didn’t want to remember how bad that worked out the last time I tried it. Tears welled and broke, tracing my cheeks in cooling wetness, and I could breathe.

“Enota?” Warm palms cupped my cheeks, lifting my chin to him as he knelt before me, though I hadn’t noticed him move. “I hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I smacked you.”

“Yes, but the hurt happened long ago. At the—at the—”

Mace stayed silent, watching. Waiting, as he had before. Letting me get there on my own. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing my tears, but not pushing me. Just being there. Listening.

I sucked in a long breath, forcing my neck into the uncomfortable position of looking at him. His steady gaze soothed me. “I was whipped at the post. By my … master. I called him Sir but he wasn’t. Not what I know now that I work here. I know what a good Dom is supposed to be, but I hadn’t found one yet. Not someone who likes me as I am.”

Who accepted me.

Mace repeated the single word. “Hadn’t.” He leaned forward until his nose pressed against mine. “You said hadn’t, Enota.”

“Oh.” I let it percolate in my brain while he watched me. “Oh! Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so presumptuous. That’s not—”

“Shh.” He kissed the tip of my nose, then my forehead. “You weren’t.”

And that was it. He straightened and stepped away.

I swallowed back fear. A different sort that shouldn’t have arisen, but it did. I wanted Mace, I wanted this thing between us, if only for one short night.

“Please, Mace.”

“Hmm?”

“I liked you touching me.”

“I liked that too.” His voice came out guarded, where it hadn’t been before.

I swallowed and tried again. “I liked you spanking me. And the foot thing.”

“All right. Would you like more?” He returned to the front and knelt by my face. “Enota, honey. Look at me. Deep breath. May I use the restraints?”

More tears ran free as I stared at him. A furrow dipped between his brows as though he expected me to say no. But this was a night for madness, and I rode its high on a midnight-dark wave.

“Yes, please.”