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wanted.
    This wasn’t his usual everyday persona, but it turned out that taking control of Adrianna was about more than just the personal pleasure he sought. It gave him a rush that made him truly feel like her master tonight and as if that was an achievement to be envied and lauded by all of mankind.
    Not that he was really controlling her all that much. Not yet, not the way he wanted. Wet pussy or not, she was still fighting him mentally—that much was clear. But she hadn’t protested so far, not strongly anyway, and she’d gone along with his demands, so all was proceeding as planned. A guy couldn’t break out the whips and chains with a woman like Adrianna in the first five minutes, after all. If he were truly to gain her submission, it would take finesse, and he was easing her there one slow, deliberate step at a time.
    The steakhouse sported dark, sophisticated wood accented with black leather and subtle animal print fabrics—and seemed to Tristan about as close to setting the mood for domination as an upscale restaurant could come. As he’d requested when making the reservations, they were seated in a one of the round booths, also upholstered in black. Above it, a mural of Egyptian columns towered and he wondered if it might subliminally put his date in mind of the slaves who’d built them, of the concept of slavery and submission in general. Slow. Deliberate. Subtle.
    He selected a pricy Cabernet from the wine list, then took the privilege of ordering Adrianna’s dinner, as well—both because he remembered she had a fondness for filet mignon and because he found it another subtle way to exert his power over her, get her acclimated to it.
    Sitting next to him, she looked like a perfect female confection, everything any red-blooded male could fantasize about in a woman—a gorgeous face and long, wild, flowing hair; great tits, very appealingly on display in the dress he’d selected; and long, slender legs with enough muscle in them to know they’d wrap tight around his waist. The only thing wrong was her attitude—which continued to be obedient but still far from submissive. And she seemed slightly tense, too rigid. Which he remembered being traits of hers, but not when it came to fucking—there, no matter who was in control, she’d eventually relaxed and totally gotten into it. So even as he made moves to get her into that more submissive place, he also needed to get her mind off it, relax her.
    “How’s your mother?” he asked, taking a sip of the rich, oaky red wine.
    Next to him, she blinked, looking nonplussed. “Are you serious?”
    He raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. “Yes, of course. Why?”
    “You dress me up in slave-wear, strap my pussy into a torture device and ask me about my mom ?”
    He laughed. Okay, maybe she had a point—the question didn’t fit the context of the evening. “First of all, it’s only a torture device if you fight it, which I think you know very well. And second, you seem on edge, so I thought some normal conversation might help you relax.”
    She let out what he perceived as a calming breath. “You’re right, I’m on edge—because I’m not comfortable in this arrangement, as you know very well. But I’m doing the best I can.”
    “I know that, and I’m proud of you. So let’s just talk a little. How is your mom?”
    “She’s fine, I suppose. The same.” But Adrianna looked distant, slightly troubled, and now he remembered why. “Still chasing after men, still desperate to find some Prince Charming who doesn’t exist. The only difference since you knew me before is that she has some money, from me, so now I have to worry more about love ’em and leave ’em gold diggers.”
    He winced on her behalf. He’d had to worry about gold diggers a little himself in recent years. “Sorry—that sounds like a burden, especially with her being so far away. She is still in Michigan, I presume.”
    “Yes, Ann Arbor, but my brother and his family are