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I don’t think you want to.”
    He was only partly right. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I felt as if I couldn’t.
    “Lift your arms,” he instructed, and clearly, that line of questioning was over. Whatever he had in mind, he was ready to begin.
    “Gage—” I broke off, cringing as I lifted my arms above my head. Had I slipped up on purpose? Did I want to test the new perimeters of our agreement?
    He chuckled . . . the bastard actually chuckled. He dragged the zipper of my dress down, his fingers lighting a fire down my back. My breath hitched when he bent and placed his hands on my thighs. His fingers were close to the wetness between my legs, tantalizingly close, and I bit back a moan as the ache spread. I couldn’t hold it in when his hands glided upward, palms caressing my stomach and breasts as he pushed the dress up my body and over my head. Gooseflesh broke out on my arms and traveled down my legs, and as he walked me forward a few more feet, I couldn’t stop shaking.
    “Cold?”
    “A little.”
    “Brace yourself,” he said, and I was clueless about what he meant until he pushed me against the cold, hard surface of what I assumed was a window. I gasped at the contact, and my nipples pebbled against the glass. I was probably visible to God knew who, naked except for a thong and heels, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the next moment . . . and whether he planned to unleash his sadistic or sensual side.
    He grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the glass, and something soft and silky encircled my wrists. “I’m going to whip you,” he said, voice gentle as the bindings tightened.
    His words elicited a deep freeze in my bones, much colder than the chill on my skin, and I replayed the agony of being struck for hours in my head. I tried to jerk away from the glass, but he’d tethered my hands to something. “Master . . .” The name tumbled out, a plea for mercy I knew didn’t exist within him. “Please, I can’t take another beating like that.”
    “Shhh . . .” He swept my hair aside and placed the heat of his mouth on my neck. “I’m not going to hurt you . . . much.” He left a wet trail down my back, and by the time he cupped my mound and slipped his fingers inside, I was dripping wet. He owned me there, with the simplicity of his touch, with the way he made my insides pulse around his fingers. Forgetting that I should be scared, I opened up for him and moaned.
    “I won’t lose control like I did last time.” He increased his strokes. In and out . . . in again, slowly caressing, dipping deeper until I started humming. Sweet tension spread from my belly to my limbs, and my breasts heated against the glass, no longer cold.
    I was on fire.
    Holy hell . . .
    I held my breath, knowing I was about to come, but he stopped.
    “Master—”
    Without warning, he shoved a gag into my mouth. “Quiet.” That single word, spoken calmly but with enough warning to let me know he meant business, silenced me more effectively than the gag. I wanted to beg and plead, but I didn’t dare, even though one important question screamed in my head; how could I say no if he wouldn’t allow it?
    “I want you to trust me,” he said, as if he heard the turmoil of my thoughts. “I know I’ve given you no reason to, but I’m going to change that. I won’t hurt you like I did last time, but I am going to punish you, and if you make a sound I’ll extend the punishment.” He ran his hands over my bottom. “Can you behave yourself?”
    I nodded.
    “Can you remain quiet?”
    I nodded again but doubted my ability to obey.
    “I’m giving you the chance to say no now, but once this moment passes, you’re mine.” He squeezed my ass, and I bit back another moan. “Shake your head if you want to say no.”
    Part of me pleaded with me to do it—the more logical, level-headed, self-respecting part. Just a simple shake of my head would stop this. I had power now. But what if I did . . . and he