“Come here,” Riley says, taking a seat on a leather bench and forcing me to kneel in front of him, my back to him. He leans forward so that his hands rest on my shoulders and his lips brush my ear, making me shiver. “Tell me what you like about that scene.”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“No?” His fingers tease my collarbone, and I’m hyperaware of his touch, my skin tingling beneath his fingers. “Is it that she’s naked? Does seeing her exposed like that make you hot?”

I swallow. “A little,” I admit.

“Can you imagine that’s you? Bound and helpless for everyone to see, completely at your master’s mercy?” As he speaks, his hand dips lower, caressing the curve of my breast and making my nipples spring to attention. “Is that what turns you on? Is that what you want?”

“No,” I whisper. There’s something erotic about watching her, about knowing and seeing how aroused she is. But I wouldn’t want to be exposed to the world like that. “Not in front of everyone,” I say, and only after I’ve spoken do I realize the full meaning of my words. Because I wouldn’t like that in public. But in private…dear God, just the thought makes me wet.

I can tell my admission is just as unexpected to Riley, because his hand stills, and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat. I expect the next question will be who—who do I imagine is touching and teasing me like that?

That question doesn’t come, and I’m grateful. Because I’m not ready to admit it’s him.

But Riley says nothing. Instead, the fingers of one hand dip under the leather bustier, then roughly pinch my nipple. I cry out, my pussy clenching as sparks shoot through me, making me gasp with surprise. It wasn’t a massive orgasm, but damned if I didn’t just come.

“Oh, Christ, baby,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I turn to face him, the sensation still lingering on me. “Sorry?”

He cups my face. “I promised you’d be safe with me. That everything in here would be consensual. I had no idea you’d come from nipple play. That you were so incredibly responsive.”

“Is that bad?”

He tilts his head back and laughs, then seems to realize that he’s drawn a bit of an audience now, too. “No,” he assures me. “Not at all.”

“Then don’t apologize.” I bite my lower lip, then tell him most of the truth. “It felt incredible.” I keep the full truth to myself—that part of my reaction stemmed not from the touch, but by the fact that it was Riley doing the touching.

He tilts his head, and I see a question in his eyes. But I look away, unwilling to admit any more.