He made a tsk’ing noise as he approached and placed his fingers under her chin, nudging until she was looking into his eyes again.
“Yes what?”
She drew in her breath, unable to look away from his sensually harsh stare. “Yes, sir.”
“When we spoke the other day, I told you that when it comes to the club, you are to follow my orders to the letter.”
“Yes, sir.” Defying him had been a colossal mistake. She should have taken her hair down and restyled it.
His thumb slowly stroked her chin back and forth, back and forth. “You will learn not to disobey me, Jenna.”
Her knees quaked, her insides quivered, and arousal spiked so powerfully between her legs, she had to resist pressing her thighs together.
“N-now?” she said, barely breathing. She’d only just arrived. Was her punishment to begin so soon?
A slow grin spread over his mouth as he released her chin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She lightly bit the inside of her bottom lip. “I—” She gasped and shivered as the back of his hand brushed gently over her breast.
He stepped closer, rotating his hand and gliding it down the side of her abdomen to her hip.
“You want it, don’t you? You want me to punish you.”
All she could do was gaze into his eyes, her lips parted, the air in the room growing thin as the space closed in around her.
His hand dipped lower and teased the asymmetrical hem of her dress, his fingers tugging casually at the fabric. “You’re already wet for it, aren’t you?” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Aren’t you, Jenna?”
She was almost panting. Just that quickly—in the space of only a few minutes—he had her ready eager for whatever he might want to do to her.
“If I slid my fingers into your pussy right now, what would I find?” The tips of his fingers brushed her thigh. “Would you be wet for me?”
There was no denying it. This man did things to her anatomy no man ever had, and other than a few light caresses, he hadn’t laid a hand on her.
What Warren had mastered was her mind. And just as he’d said at the Met, once a man owned a woman’s mind, he owned her body. It was so true. Warren definitely owned hers.
“Are you already wet for me, Jenna?” he asked again.
She dared to lift her eyes to his, finding intense yearning gazing back at her. “Yes,” she whispered.
He pressed closer, his fingertips grazing her bare thigh as he pulled the hem of her dress higher and reached underneath it. Her whole body felt as though it were melting. Only force of will kept her legs from giving out as his fingers slid over her skin to her inner thigh, then stopped.
Holding her breath, she kept her gaze locked to his.
Waiting . . .
Waiting . . .
“Are you going to touch me?” she whispered. She was so aroused that she feared she might come the moment his fingers parted her labia.
His eyes held hers a moment longer, then a slow, sadistic grin pulled up the corners of his mouth.
He dropped his hand and took a step back. “No, I’m not.”
Jenna nearly deflated on the spot. “W-what?” She’d been so ready to feel his fingers caress the heart of her that she almost toppled to the floor upon his abrupt departure, staggering back a step before getting her legs under her again.
“Consider that your punishment for disobeying me. Next time, do as I say, and maybe I’ll reward you, but I don’t give rewards for disobedience.” He reached for her hand, his demeanor shifting from domineering sex god to gracious host in less than a second. “Now let me show you around.”
For the thirty minutes, it was as if the brief encounter in the front room had never happened as Warren gave her a tour of the property, introducing her to other members of the club. She recognized a couple as prominent figures of New York high society, but most she had never seen before.
She drank expensive champagne from a slender crystal flute and nibbled light hors d’oeuvres plucked from silver platters carried by shirtless “waiters” and scantily clad “waitresses.” Obviously submissives for some of the Doms circulating throughout the residence.
After making the rounds on the main floor, he whisked her up the elevator to the terrace, where she marveled at the view.
“It’s hard to find such beautiful views in the city,” he said, parking next to her beside the railing and gazing at the New York skyline.
“Yes, it is.” She took a sip of champagne as the breeze cooled her skin. “Whose home is this, anyway? Does it belong to a member of the club?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?” He hadn’t introduced her to anyone he’d identified as the home’s owner, so maybe she wasn’t supposed to know. She tried to remember if that was among the long list of club rules he’d sent her. “If it’s okay for me to ask,” she quickly added.
“It’s okay to ask.” From what she could see of his expression, her question didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“Then whose home is it?” she asked, looking back out over the city.
“Mine.”
Her head whirled around. “Yours?”
She knew a little about property values in Manhattan, and this mansion in this part of the city had to have cost in the tens of millions.
He shrugged one shoulder with a deferential tilt of his head. “Well, my company owns it, but for all intents and purposes, it’s mine.”
“So . . . you live here?”
“Sometimes. When I’m in the city.”
He said it as if he lived somewhere else when he wasn’t in the city.
“Do you have more than one home?”
“Yes.”
Jenna blinked and looked past the banister to the city beyond, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was obviously standing next to a multimillionaire, maybe even a billionaire.
“What exactly do you do for a living?” she asked, turning her attention back to him.
“I run a holdings company. You might have heard of it. Donovan Enterprises.”
Her mouth fell open, then snapped
