Knowing that all she had to do was turn around and he would be there made her feel like she had achieved a milestone. Kind of like graduating from high school or getting a promotion. She had paid her dues, done the work, and now she was receiving her reward.
“Y-yes,” she answered.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good, because you’re more beautiful than I imagined, and it’s hard not to touch you.” The fingers of one hand trailed down her spine, sending pleasant sensations throughout her body.
“Then don’t stop.” She was more than fine with his hands traveling over her skin.
“Tsk, tsk . . .” He sighed as if he disapproved, letting his palm slide lower. He tapped the upper swell of her bottom with his fingers. “You do what I say, Jenna, not the other way around. And I will stop touching you when and if I want.”
God, he was using his Dom voice. She almost swooned.
She unconsciously bowed her head. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” It felt natural to fall into a more submissive role, like she’d been doing it for years instead of only weeks. And only over the phone.
“Very good.” He wrapped one hand around her wrist and pressed a soft kiss against the back of her neck, making every hair on her body stand on end. “Much better.”
The kiss felt like a reward. A gift for pleasing him. Or maybe he’d just wanted a reason to kiss her and her acquiescence was as good an excuse as any.
He leaned closer, and she felt his breath on her ear when he said, “Why am I not surprised to find you staring at a statue of a naked man?”
Her gaze leaped to Perseus’s disproportionately small and flaccid penis. The sculptor really should have been more generous for a hero like Perseus and given him a bigger shlong.
“I guess I just have a thing for small penises.”
Warren chuckled in her ear, and the sound created the same arousing storm in her core as it did on the phone. If only she could bottle the effect his voice had on her so she could enjoy it anytime she wanted.
He made a noise, like I didn’t see that coming. “Well, you came to the right place.” His hand came up in her peripheral vision as he gestured toward Perseus’s miniature penis.
“I bet Perseus was actually very well endowed,” she said. How couldn’t he have been? He was a mythological hero. Heroes didn’t have tiny dicks. “I’m sure the sculptor was just being polite.”
The chuffing noise Warren made read like do I ever have a story to tell you. “Don’t be so sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because ancient Greek sculptors used the size of a man’s genitalia to reveal what kind of man he was. Whether he was friend or foe, wise or reckless, leader or slave, the smaller the penis, the more powerful the man.”
Her eyes narrowed dubiously on Perseus’s small member. “Is that true?”
“Mm-hmm.” He drew closer and slid his hand halfway around her waist.
Her gaze remained fixed on the comparatively tiny penito of the mighty son of Zeus. Surely a demigod who had killed Medusa before using her snake-covered head to slay the kraken deserved to be portrayed with an imposing phallus. Warren had to be pulling her leg.
She scoffed. “Bullshit.”
“No, it’s true. The ancient Greeks regarded a small flaccid penis as the ideal in male beauty. In fact, it was a badge of honor.” The front of his body pressed lightly against the back of hers, allowing her to feel his badge of honor quite nicely. And his wasn’t small or flaccid.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“To us, it is. We think bigger is better, because that’s what we’ve been programmed to believe. But the ancient Greeks saw bigger as inferior. They depicted their enemies, not their heroes, with excessively large and erect genitals, sometimes grotesquely big.” He laughed softly, letting his hand span farther around her waist, then lower, over her hip. “Ironic, isn’t it? They sculpted their heroes with full, ample muscles, robust bodies, and powerful statures, then gave them tiny genitals. Then they turned around and sculpted their enemies with huge cocks, which they considered vulgar, depraved, and barbaric.”
She still wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but what he’d said would certainly explain why Greek statues—and even Renaissance paintings—all showed naked men with the equivalent of a cocktail wiener and a pair of marbles between their legs. “Did you just make that up?”
He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. “No.”
“You do know that as soon as I get home, I’m going to research all this.”
“Go ahead. You’ll find that in ancient Greece, a man’s virility and value came from his intellectual prowess, not that of his dick.” He stepped slightly to the left but stayed behind her, placing his palm on her back. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“What is?” All she had to do was turn her head, and she would be able to see him out of her peripheral vision.
“That our perception of a man’s power has become the exact opposite of what it once was. Back then”—he raised his free hand, gesturing toward Perseus, revealing the black sleeve of his tuxedo over a bright-white cuff accented by a black onyx cuff link—“that was the symbol of an upstanding, authoritative man. Now . . . this is.” He took her hand and placed it between his legs as if they were in the privacy of her apartment rather than surrounded by more than a thousand guests at the Met.
She sucked in her breath and started to pull her hand away, then stopped. He had to be at least ten times bigger than Perseus’s puny penis.
He angled his body toward hers, careful to stay behind her so she couldn’t see his face while obscuring her hand from prying eyes. To casual passersby, they looked like nothing more than a couple having an intimate conversation about a statue.
However, a more observant onlooker would have seen just how stunned she was by what lay beneath her
