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drink?”
    She followed him into the kitchen, aware of the staccato sound of her shoes on the rustic floors. “Water is fine, thank you,” she said as she placed her purse on the counter.
    He poured her a glass from a pitcher stored in the stainless steel refrigerator.
    She accepted it with a smile of thanks and slid onto a bar stool tucked beneath a poured concrete island. The kitchen looked like a designer’s dream, with gleaming pots hanging overhead. She rarely cooked, but she appreciated the gas range, the two ovens and miles of countertops.
    “I think, Sydney, we should get a few things straight between us.” He moved in closer, standing on the other side of the island.
    With her hands wrapped around the glass, she looked at him. He folded his arms across his chest. The brim of his hat, as always, cast him in shadows, making it difficult to read his expression.
    “Your feedback, verbally as well as physically, matters to me, so I insist on open and honest communication. I want you to get off, and that’s more likely to happen if you’re interacting with me. I have no interest in just spanking you until you come.”
    That sounded all right with her. She took a sip of water and squirmed in her seat. Because he demanded a response, she said, “I agree, Sir.”
    “When I request something from you, I anticipate you will either let me know it’s problematic or you’ll do as you’re told.” He raised an eyebrow.
    His firm tone brooked no refusal. She took another drink of water to soothe her suddenly dry throat. After releasing the glass, she said, “Yes, Sir.”
    “In that case, strip and kneel. Hands behind your neck, head tipped back, chest thrust towards me. I promised you I’d torture your nipples.”
     

Chapter Three
    Maybe he should have heeded Gregorio’s warning.
    Michael didn’t consider himself much of a risk-taker. He weighed his decisions carefully and he liked having everything in order. Keeping the family’s ranch after his parents had passed had never been a question. Although his sister had voted in favour of selling, he hadn’t been swayed. His roots went deep into the land. The acreage was as important to him as his next breath.
    Yet he couldn’t help his attraction to Sydney’s untamed streak.
    Since his divorce, he’d been careful to play only with women he had met at the Den, and most times he scened with subs who wore the house’s purple wrist band and therefore had no expectations of a continuing relationship. They were professionals who knew all the protocols and expectations and could be counted on to behave perfectly.
    Sydney, on the other hand, seemed focused on herself. It was all about her, not him, and definitely not about submission.
    But he was honest enough to admit that he’d loved the way she’d behaved when he’d had her draped over the fence. Her responses had been real with no artifice. When he’d brought her to orgasm for the first time, he’d known he’d rather spend the evening with her than anyone else, no matter how well trained they were.
    He shouldn’t see her as a challenge, but he did.
    Slowly, she slid from the bar stool.
    The dress hugged her curves, showing off her body. She looked so sexy it was almost a shame to have her remove the garment. Almost.
    Michael stayed where he was while she pulled up the leather, revealing her skin a beautiful inch at a time.
    He’d seen her naked from the waist down, so he knew her pussy had no hair. Her legs were shapely and, if luck held, her buttocks might still be pink from his belt.
    But as she shimmied about, pulling the dress over her head, he took in the whole of her. She had an athletic build, not overly thin, and she had definite curves, along with a waist made for his hands. Her breasts were perfect, not too big, with nipples that were already hard.
    She laid the dress over the stool then bent to remove her shoes.
    “Leave them on,” he said.
    “Of course, Sir.”
    For a moment, she stood there