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my mind. My heart pounded and my stomach fluttered with nerves. This vulnerability scared and thrilled me as much as his voice compelled me, and after a few seconds of struggling, my bra went slack.
    “Turn around.”
    I did, keeping my eyes down as I faced him. My bra slid down my arms and I caught it with a crooked finger, but I didn’t know if I should drop it or hold it. All I could do was await his command.
    “Give it to me.”
    I extended my hand, all the while wondering where he was looking. At my breasts? At my downturned eyes? At the black satin and lace hanging off my outstretched fingers? When he reached for my bra, I held my breath, hoping he’d grant me just the slightest brush of skin on skin when he took it from my hand.
    And once again, he denied me, taking the strap between two fingers and freeing it from my hand without touching me.
    “You’re doing well.” His whispered approval sent another rush of relief through me.
    “Thank you, Sir.”
    He stepped a little closer. “Unbutton my shirt.”
    My eyes darted up to meet his. His expression invited neither debate nor resistance, only unquestioning obedience. Dropping my gaze, I reached for his shirt.
    I watched my fingers fumble with the buttons. I’d never been so acutely aware of someone’s body heat, my fingers and knuckles registering every fluctuation in temperature as they moved toward and away from him.
    After I’d unfastened the button just above his belt, I paused.
    “Keep going,” he ordered.
    “But it’s—” I hesitated. “May I untuck your shirt, Sir?”
    “Yes.”
    I gulped. As I tugged his shirt free, I couldn’t decide where to look. Intimidation kept me from meeting his eyes. The mouthwatering grooves beneath his tight undershirt kept me from looking straight ahead. The third option meant being unable to ignore the obvious ridge just below his belt. For the same three reasons, closing my eyes was out of the question.
    Somehow, I managed to get his shirt untucked and completely unbuttoned. I let my hands fall to my sides, and waited for his next command.
    “Take it off.”
    I barely kept myself from shivering again. The more he talked this way, the more I had visions of him throwing me down on the bed and fucking me. Pulling my hair, growling filth into my ear, giving—
    “ Kristen .” The sharpness with which he said my name did nothing to lessen my arousal, but it did get my attention.
    “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”
    “My shirt. Take it off. Now .”
    I lifted my hands to do as he’d asked, but hesitated again.
    “Is there a problem?”
    Unable to meet his eyes, I whispered, “No, Sir.” I reached for his shirt.
    “Wait.”
    My hands stopped in midair.
    He gestured over his shoulder. “Go around behind me. Then take it off.”
    As ordered, I stepped behind him. Reaching around him, I hooked my fingers under the lapels and drew them back, sliding it over his shoulders and down his arms. The sleeves caught on his forearms, where he’d rolled them earlier, but with a gentle nudge, came loose.
    “Put it on the bed.”
    “Yes, Sir.” I did as ordered, laying his shirt neatly beside my haphazardly piled clothes.
    Still with his back to me, he said, “Now the other shirt.”
    My breath caught. There was no way to get that snug T-shirt off without touching his skin. He had to know that, so I whispered my already habitual affirmative and reached for his T-shirt.
    I freed it from his belt. He didn’t react when my fingertips grazed his hot skin, but my pulse certainly reacted, rising higher and higher as I pushed up his shirt. His body heat beneath my palms made my head spin. He raised his arms, then took over and pulled his shirt all the way off.
    Oh God. Oh my God . In all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen Scott without his shirt. I’d never seen just how sculpted and powerful his shoulders were. I’d certainly never seen the four black Chinese characters, each about the size of my palm, tattooed along