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her calf. Seeing the well-defined yet feminine muscle had him wanting to take her to his rooms right then. Feeling the warmth of her skin made the trip unnecessary. He would have her here. Now.
    She stepped to the side, just out of his reach.
    Such an unnecessary attempt at asserting ownership of something that no longer belonged to her. He let his hand fall to his knee as he admired her heels. Black patent leather. She would wear them when he had her. “I will generously allow it to pass this time because you are not yet fully accepting of your new role.” He brought his gaze up. “But do not do that again.”
    “My role? And do what?”
    He straightened, noting how he’d heard her accent more since she’d woken than he ever had before. She’d told him during the one meal they’d shared that she’d grown up in the Bronx. He was finally seeing that in the way she was slowly revealing the fighter she must be to have gotten where she was today.
    “I have already explained your role. What you will not do is reject my touch.”
    The play of emotions flitting across her face—especially the affront, which signified pride—was interesting to him in a way he found to be a bother. It was her beauty he should be concentrating on, her physical appearance and the way in which she used the body she’d been blessed with. Because in the end, nothing but that should matter. Skin deep was the safest place for someone like him.
    “And if I do, despite your warning?”
    “Then you will not get away with it for very long. During our brief but satisfying interactions, have I left you with the impression I am a man who will be denied what he wants?”
    She said nothing but continued to look up at him.
    “Right now, I would like an answer from my pet.”
    “If you continue calling me that, all you’re going to get is a hand print on the side of your face.”
    “Ah, to match the one I would then put on your ass. Your insolence will not be tolerated for long, draga , so allow it to run its course now.” He leaned to the side to look at the swell of her buttocks. “Or don’t.” He came back to offer her what he hoped was an accommodating look. “Would you like me to have Sorin prepare your coffee? Maybe the familiarity of a caramel macchiato will help you feel more at home.”
    Her forehead pinched, putting a deeper groove between her subtly arched brows. “If I were to smell my addiction right now, I’d probably bawl my eyes out, so, no, thank you. How do you know about my love affair with Starbucks’ overpriced drink?”
    A pang of resentment struck. Over how she’d reference a hot beverage? He changed the subject without answering. He really was beginning to annoy himself. “Tell me about your parents. I am curious about your heritage.” He stepped into her and stroked her throat after seeing her swallow. There was something about the delicate shape of it that drew him.
    “You and me both.”
    He tipped his head as impatience nipped at him. “That means what?”
    “It means I never knew my parents, so I have no idea where they were from. One of my foster mothers was Filipino, and she swore I was ‘one of them.’”
    She’d air quoted as she looked anywhere but at him. He sensed the beginning of one of the nervous chatter-fests he had so enjoyed listening to the last time they were together. Over dinner, she’d gone on about the most mundane things but had made them amusing with her quirky comments and sarcastic add-ons. He’d found her charming. Entertaining.
    Now, he didn’t want to be entertained. Not unless it was sensory entertainment. Tactile. He didn’t need conversation. He yearned to see her perfection bared and open for him to use. He wanted soft breasts in his face, hard nipples on his tongue, a firm navel to stroke before he devoured it. He needed the tight pussy he remembered so well, the one he would kill to sink his cock into while the long legs of his pet trapped him and her cries of pleasure