The genuine confusion on her face was cute, and it told him that this very basic, very common D/s rule had not been part of her relationship with Kyle. “Because,” he replied simply.

Her shock was rapidly fading, replaced with a narrow-eyed stare and a charming flush of color on her cheeks. “Oh,” she breathed. “You are mean.”

He leaned forward, shoving his way into her personal space, and waited to see what she’d do. She jolted, but her eyes narrowed even further, delighting him. “Darling girl,” he purred, putting as much menace into the soft words as he could manage. “You have no idea.”

She swallowed hard. At this distance he could see her eyes, the gold flecks bright against the melded green and brown. Her pulse pounded under the soft curve of her jaw, in the hollow of her throat. Her breath came just a little bit faster than normal, fear and lust making her pant.

“But,” he drawled softly, “if you want one for the road, so to speak, you can have it.”

Wariness crept into her gaze. She was a fast learner. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” he mused, and scanned her body openly. He took his time, letting her feel the weight and the heat of his gaze, before lifting his eyes to her face once more. “The catch is that you have to do it here, and now. Or not at all.”

“You mean—” She broke off, her voice thin and tight. She swallowed, then tried again. “You want me to masturbate in front of you?”

He smiled into her eyes, pleased that the word masturbate hadn’t given her any trouble. She wasn’t shy or prudish, but the dynamic between them had changed, and she was nervous.

Which he liked just fine.

“That’s what I want,” he said, and eased back to relax on his stool, one arm resting casually on the counter. “Lose the dress.”

She stared at him for so long he thought she was going to say no. “Is this a test?” she finally asked.

“In a way,” he acknowledged calmly. “But it’s not one you can fail. If you don’t take your dress off and make yourself come for me now, the only consequence is that you don’t get to come. If you do, then you get one last orgasm to hold you over. It’s always up to you, fofa.”

She blinked at the use of the nickname. He hadn’t meant to use it—it had slipped free out of habit—and some of the tension seemed to flow out of her.

He made a note to be careful not to use it when they played. Something like that—a nickname, or habitual term of endearment—could dull the edges of an otherwise harsh and fearful scene. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless harsh and fearful was the point.