“What would that look like?” I ask. My voice is like gravel by now, my throat tight with desire.

“I want a guy to pull my hair, to grip my throat, to spank me. To just totally own my body.”

Fuck, this woman drives me insane without even trying.

My cock is so hard now that it almost hurts, and my mind is full of flashing images of me doing just that. Pulling her hair while I pound her from behind, putting her over my knee to spank her perfect, toned ass until it’s red and marked by my handprint. Or gripping her by the throat while she’s splayed out beneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist. I can almost feel her pulse hammering against my palm, see her eyes dilate with that perfect mixture of adrenaline and arousal.

“It’s not just about the physical sensations,” she continues, gaining courage from my obvious interest. “It’s about the surrender. The freedom that comes with giving control to someone you trust completely.” Her words are tentative but honest, and they strike something profound in me.

“The paradox of submission,” I say quietly. “Finding freedom through surrender.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Yes, exactly. Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” I tell her, my voice low.

It’s intoxicating to think about—just like her—and as our gazes lock across the table, the thread between us feels so fucking tight that it could snap at any second. And the little person I imagine dancing on that tightrope feels like they’re dangerously close to plummeting right off.

I swallow hard. “What else would you want, hummingbird? Tell me more.”

Hannah’s pupils are blown out, darkening her blue and green eyes, but she laughs breathlessly as she shakes her head. “Not so fast. You’ve already asked two questions. It’s my turn.”

I can’t tell if she’s intentionally being bratty by teasing me like this or if that’s just a bonus, but either way, I fucking love it. I lean back against the booth, a hungry smile playing at my lips as I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re right. Shoot.”

Hannah’s heterochromatic eyes shine in the dim light of the bar as she watches me. “Truth or dare?”

There isn’t an ounce of me that believes it’s safe to go the dare route. “Truth.”

The word comes out like a challenge.

Hannah smirks, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “Good, I was hoping you’d say that. Since I shared, tell me one of your fantasies.”

“My number one fantasy is to be the man doing all of those things to you.”