So, a thorough bikini wax once a week had become standard protocol.
Speaking of being waxed . . .
After he finished putting on quite the show of examining her fingernails as closely as he had her toenails, he untied the robe, flipped it open, and smoothed his palm over her mound.
It was obvious he was only pretending to be clinical rather than sexual, but Jenna knew better. Warren knew what his touch did to her, which meant he knew damn well what he was doing as he glided his fingers up and down her bare skin, then lower, as if making sure her wax job had been thorough enough to remove even the smallest hairs on her labia.
Forcing herself to remain still and silent, she went liquid inside, licking her lips and swallowing heavily as her body came alive. A bubble of heat bloomed low in her belly and expanded into her thighs.
She had taken great care for weeks to give him no reason to be displeased with her. Had she succeeded? Would he finally take off his mask?
After what felt like eons, he made an approving sound and pulled his hand away from her core, letting it slide down her thigh, over her knee, and along her calf and ankle. He rounded her feet, then dragged his fingers up her other leg, her thigh, and up her stomach to her breast, where he paused to lightly pinch her nipple. It tightened into a hard peak in an instant.
His peppermint-scented breath warmed her ear as he slowly whispered, “I am very pleased with you tonight, Jenna.”
Pleased enough to let her see his face?
“Thank you, sir. I’ve worked hard to be what you want.” It was the kind of response he expected of her as his submissive, but it was also true. She had worked hard to please him.
His lips brushed over hers. “You are what I want.”
She’d known Warren for over two months. She’d been his submissive for only one of those. Now she wanted to know what the man she was sleeping with—the man who had become her Dominant—looked like.
He kissed her again. “You are everything I have ever wanted,” he said, lifting her head off the table with one hand as he used the other to pull off the elastic band holding the blindfold in place before lifting it away from her eyes.
She blinked and winced against the light, eager to see the face of the man her heart had already decided it couldn’t live without. But when he came into focus, he was still wearing his mask. She had thought . . . hoped . . . that tonight would be different.
He grinned wryly. “You look disappointed.”
She tried not to appear frustrated, but she felt understandably discouraged. “I just thought that tonight . . . that you would . . . that I would finally get to see you.”
His green eyes searched hers. “What made you think that?”
She was determined not to show weakness. “Have I not pleased you?”
“You have.” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth like he was enjoying torturing her far too much.
“Have I not followed your rules?”
His grin grew aggravatingly amused. “You have. For the most part.”
She held his gaze, refusing to look away, as if challenging him to give her one reason for continuing to withhold the one thing she wanted more than any other. “Then let me see you.”
“Tsk, tsk.” He slowly shook his head. “There you go topping from the bottom again.”
Disappointment and frustration combined to become aggravation. It had been a month already. She had been good. More than good. She had obeyed, even when she had wanted to defy him. Next Saturday, he planned on performing a scene with her—his first in almost a year, and her first scene ever—for the club. She didn’t want to do that without knowing what he looked like.
“Then untie me. I don’t want to play tonight.”
His head tilted to one side as if he were trying to decide whether she was serious. “If you want me to untie you, use your safeword.” He said it like he was daring her.
“You don’t think I will?”
He held her gaze. “Will you?”
They were in a standoff. Her will against his.
The seconds ticked by, dragging onward, his resolve seemingly made of concrete. But so was hers.
Just as she was about to end the suspense and end their play with her safeword, he huffed out a humored chuff and broke eye contact.
“Yes, my delightfully defiant submissive, I do believe you’ve earned the right to see me unmasked.”
Her heart skipped a beat as her irritation vanished in a blink, replaced by hope and excitement. Was he serious? After all this time and torture, was he finally going to reveal himself?
He turned away and walked to a bureau along the wall. Keeping his back to her, he placed her blindfold on top of it, then took hold of either side of his mask and slowly lifted it off. The elastic band flipped up and off the back of his head, mussing his hair.
He placed his mask on the bureau beside the blindfold, then raked his fingers through his thick, naturally wavy hair, smoothing it down.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to turn around.
Would he be everything she imagined? More? He couldn’t possibly be less. She was already falling in love with him, so seeing his face could only make her feelings for him stronger.
At least that’s what she told herself.
His shoulders lifted, and he angled his body to the right, taking his time to reveal himself. After a short but intentional pause, he finally turned all the way around.
And there he was. Her Warren. Her Dom. Her Master.
The epitome of every alpha-dominant hero she had ever created for her books. Delano and all the rest, in the flesh.
His gray-green eyes and full, firm mouth were still the same, and the dark scruff on his jaw and chin were still uniquely his, but now she could see the full landscape of his face. High, structured cheekbones, dimples that cut into his cheeks when
