I had to gather my courage for a moment.
"One time, you promised me that if you had my number..." I trailed off, hoping he'd remember.
"Oh." He chuckled, quietly. "I was kidding. Mostly."
I licked my lips, which suddenly felt very dry. Damn, he wasn't going to make this easy. "What, you want me to ask?"
"Yeah, I want you to ask." I could hear the smug. "You ask, or you get nothing, sunshine."
Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the rest of my dignity. "Send me a picture. Please."
"You want a dick pic, sweetheart?" He was grinning. But I could hear the sound of his zipper. "Will you be good, the next time I see you?"
"Yeah." My heart was beating so fast, and suddenly I couldn't catch my breath. Why did I care so much? I'd seen it, I didn't need a picture. But I wanted him to do something for me. Something naughty, something transgressive, something dirty and sexy and wrong.
I expected him to ask for something in return, but he didn't. I just heard him pull the phone away from his ear, and I heard the shutter noise when he did what I'd asked for.
My phone buzzed in my hand, against my head, and I looked at the screen. My breath caught in my throat. God damn it. I wanted.
"How come you're so far away?" I asked him, softly. "I want..."
"Tell me what you want." His voice rumbled down the line, low and sexy, making me tingle all over. I wanted to tell him, wanted to put it into words, but my tongue felt tied. "Do it, sunshine. Do it for me."
"I..." I choked, the words swirling in my head but refusing to come out. Shit, why wasn't I better at this? Why did I freeze up when it came to Ben?
Because it matters.
Because you care what he thinks of you.
I hated the realization, and I tried to push it away. But there was no denying. The stakes were too high. I hated it when he thought of me as naive, virginal, and my inability to have proper phone sex was just another mark against my record. Ironically, that made it impossible for me to go with the flow.
"Come on," he coaxed. "I know you can do it. Tell me what you want. Do a good job, make it sweet, and I'll give you the reward you deserve when I get back home."
Oh, it was tempting. What did he mean, exactly? I pictured him nestling his head between my legs and almost whimpered out loud, but bit it back. Why? What was I afraid of? Hadn't he cured me of this, back in wine country?
"Come on." he sounded frustrated. "What's wrong? Just talk to me. I want to hear your voice."
And that moment, I did the worst possible thing I could have.
I hung up on him.
***
Guilt roiled in my stomach. It had been almost sixteen hours - not that I was counting - and he hadn't called back. I knew he was angry, and he had every right to be, but I wished he'd stop torturing me.
For all he knew, maybe my phone just cut off. Maybe it died, and I was frantically trying to get it fixed.
Yeah, right. Too damn convenient. He knew exactly what he was doing.
And I had a hell of a punishment coming.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jenna
Ben was due home tonight, and I was a bundle of nervous energy.
Just then, my phone buzzed with a text message.
Black skirt, white blouse, nothing else.
An interminable minute passed. Then, another message.
Be home soon. Assume the position.
My face burned. I knew exactly what that meant. After watching Secretary at his behest, it was clear - I was to bend myself over his desk, hands flat on the wood, waiting for my punishment. And I was supposed to do it now, even though he'd offered no definition for "soon."
He wouldn't know the difference. I could wait until I heard his key in the lock, sit and read comfortably, or have a glass of wine to help my nerves stop jangling. But that wasn't what he told me to do.
Heart pounding, throat dry, I undressed, and found the clothes he requested. The tight skirt on my bare skin felt positively sinful, and by the time I'd finished, pulling my hair up into a bun because I felt like it completed the look - I was ready. My body responded automatically to the ritual of following his orders, knowing he'd be touching me soon.
But maybe not in a way I liked, considering how our last conversation ended.
Slowly, almost reverently, I walked towards the library. My thighs rubbed torturously against my growing arousal. Without being told, I knew I wasn't supposed to touch myself. I wasn't supposed to do anything except assume the position, and wait for him.
I wondered if I was supposed to be facing out, or facing in. He hadn't told me to move his chair, so I walked around to the front of the desk and stood. Stared. Waited. For what?
There was no reason I had to do this now. There was no reason I had to do this ever. I could go back to my room and change into my pajamas and text him and tell him I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore, it's not you, it's me.
I had all of these choices, but even as I stood there, seemingly suspended in indecision, I knew I wouldn't take any of them.
I would do exactly what he told me to do.
And I did.
The sound of my own breathing was harsh in my ears. The rest of the house was eerily quiet, and I thought about getting up, going to turn on a TV somewhere just to have some background noise. Just so I wouldn't hear my own heartbeats. He'd have no way of knowing that I hadn't simply left it on by accident.
No.
The command was in my head, so clearly, as if he'd murmured it right in my ear. I felt as if his hand were actually pressing me down into the wood, his hips against my ass, immobilizing me.
Already, I could feel some of the guilt unknotting itself in my chest. Knowing he'd be pleased with me, following his orders, lessened some of the agony I'd been putting myself through since I hung up on him.
Since I ran away, again, like I'd promised I wouldn't. I'd asked him to punish me if I did.
This was all for me.
The clock was behind me, and I was thankful there would be no temptation to look. I didn't want to know. I just wanted to wait.
Every nerve was singing, my whole body on high alert. I'd never felt more peaceful and more vibrant at the same time, panting with anticipation based on just a few words on a screen.
I thought back to the first time I'd seen the words domestic discipline, and I almost wanted to laugh.
Almost.
When I heard his key click in the lock, my heart jumped into my throat. Instantly, I was trembling all over, a whimper lodged in my chest, trying to leap out.
All of this without him touching me, without me seeing him or even hearing his voice. His absence was even more powerful than his presence.
I heard him walking in, then I heard him speak - to someone? Was he on his phone?