Her palm slid slowly down, then back up, trying to gauge just how big he was.
His cock twitched, and he sucked in a ragged inhale.
“Careful,” he said, his voice a low warning.
“Hey, you’re the one who put my hand there.”
“Yes, but maybe you should save your inspection for another time.” He gently removed her hand as if to say that was all she got. “My point is, it isn’t a large cock that ensnares, captivates, and persuades a woman into submission. A woman can’t be owned by a generous phallus. A man has to own her mind before he can claim ownership of her body.”
She could still feel the outline of his erection against her hand. The adrenaline of that brief exploration still heated her blood.
But he was right. It wasn’t his cock, his body, or even his face that excited her. It was the way he affected her thoughts . . . her mind. Masterful, seductive, sensual. He made her feel things beyond the physical. After a month of increasingly intimate phone conversations, she didn’t need to see him or even touch him to know she would let him do anything he wanted to her.
He pressed closer. “And once a man owns a woman’s mind and body, he doesn’t need his dick to keep her satisfied. His finger pressed against her clit”—his hand slid dangerously low on her abdomen—“rubbing slow, firm circles is sufficient. Or his tongue, a dildo, or vibrator. Or, as you and I have found quite copiously, his words.”
She nodded, imagining him doing everything he’d mentioned to her. Fingering her. Licking her. Playing with her. Talking her to yet another climax the way he had so many times already.
He brought his mouth around to her other ear. “But it all starts with the mind.”
She nodded again, breathing so hard that her breasts nearly burst through the snug bodice of her dress with each inhale.
“And how does a man own a woman’s mind?” he said, his voice a low, seductive purr. “By gaining her trust. And how does he gain her trust?” He inched away, giving her space. “By being trustworthy. By being honest and respectful. By treating her with dignity and honor. By asking for permission and listening to what she wants. By trusting her as much as he wants her to trust him.”
He rested his confident hands on her shoulders. “Do you trust me, Jenna?”
In all their phone calls, Warren had never once given her any reason to doubt him. He made her feel irrationally comfortable and safe. But she still didn’t know him. Really know him.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he added, as if reading her mind. “I know there’s still a lot you don’t know about me. That we don’t know about each other.”
She took a shaky breath. “I want to.”
“And I want you to. And it’s okay to make me earn it.” His hands drifted down her upper arms to her elbows. “Do you want me to?” he asked. “Do you want me to earn your trust?”
“Yes.” The word whispered out of her, and she almost gave in to the temptation to turn around and look at him. “What about you? Do you trust me?”
He squeezed her elbows. “I’m getting there. I certainly want to, especially now that I’ve seen you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I like what I see almost as much as I like the woman I’ve come to know over the phone.”
Good answer.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
He could start earning her trust right now by telling her how he’d found her.
He made a sound like, that’s easy. “You didn’t exactly make it hard for me. All I had to do was follow your posts.”
“My posts?” She glanced down at her phone.
He skimmed his fingers back up to her shoulders. “When I saw Lillian Bangs posting pictures from inside the Met tonight, I thought, ‘Could my defiant Jenna really be here? Could she and I really be in the same place at the same time?’”
He slid his fingertips under the fabric of her dress at her waist. Just the tips, but the simple intrusion deepened her arousal as if he’d caressed the inside of her upper thigh.
“So I started following your trail, finding each sculpture you posted. Each installation of pottery, ancient weapon, or painting. I caught up to you in the wing for Medieval Art, then followed you here, admiring the way you moved in this beautiful dress and these lovely shoes. It was surprisingly erotic watching you stroll from one display to the next, casually taking pictures and posting them. Almost poetic really. Innocently seductive . . . and so provocative that I found myself needing something I haven’t needed in a long, long time.”
Her breaths came in shallow beats. “And what was that?”
In a voice that simmered like water on the verge of boiling, he replied, “The need to play. And play hard.”
She swallowed thickly and pressed her lips together, feeling a little unsteady on her feet.
His voice dropped even lower as he drew his mouth back down to her ear and said, “So . . . Ms. Bangs . . . I have just one question for you.”
Jenna’s heart was about to beat out of her chest.
He brushed his lips over the side of her neck, making her knees go weak, then whispered slowly, “How far are you willing to go?”
There it was. The question she’d spent a month pondering.
She wanted to say that she still didn’t know how far she wanted to take things, but the truth was she had been on board with going all in from that very first phone call. Bumping into him tonight had only confirmed her feelings.
He kissed her nape once, twice, letting his lips linger. “This is the last time I’ll ask, Jenna. How far do you want to take this? Do we move forward and see where things go”—he pulled her against him so she could feel the full power of his erection
