Page 164 of Terms of Exposure
"And wait."
He stepped back, sliding his hands into his pockets.
I reached for the hem of my dress.
My fingers trembled. Every other time we'd been together, there had been urgency. Heat. A frantic need to touch and be touched.
This was different.
This was deliberate.
I pulled the dress over my head and let it fall to the floor.
Cool air kissed my skin. I resisted the urge to cover myself, to hunch my shoulders, to make myself smaller.
Damien didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched—expression intent, drinking in every inch of exposed skin.
My panties slid down my hips. Pooled at my ankles. I stepped out of them.
I unclasped my bra. Let it fall.
Naked.
Completely bare.
Standing in the amber glow of this room, in front of a man who'd seen every part of me—body and soul—and wanted me anyway.
"Beautiful," Damien breathed—the word rough. Reverent. "Now kneel."
I moved to the pillow.
My pillow.
The leather was cool against my knees as I lowered myself. Smooth. Supple. Perfectly positioned to cradle my weight.
Palms on my thighs.
Eyes down.
Wait.
The world narrowed.
The memories of the day blurred into soft smears of gold. The thoughts faded. Even my own heartbeat seemed to slow.
I heard Damien move—footsteps soft against the carpet—but I didn't look up.
Eyes down.
He circled me once. Twice. I tracked his movements by sound alone—the whisper of his shoes on the plush carpet.
He stopped behind me.
The warmth of him radiated against my bare back.
"How do you feel?"
"Quiet," I whispered. Honestly. "My head feels... quiet."
