The leather creaked as I leaned toward him. His lips parted slightly, his eyes caressing down my body as if his gaze alone could peel away my clothes.

“I was looking at your list again the other day,” I said. I trailed my fingers down his arm, watching a smattering of goosebumps break out over his skin. I absolutely loved knowing when I had an effect on people. These men, as dominant and overwhelming as they were, had little weaknesses I was slowly beginning to figure out.

Manson liked a challenge, but I knew what he liked even more.

“Worship,” I said softly, my lips leaving the word like a caress near his ear. “You like it, don’t you? To have someone on their knees for you, worshiping you, pleasuring you, savoring…” My fingers had trailed down to his hand, and he caught my wrist, using it to jerk me even closer.

“I do like that,” he said, his voice having darkened to a growl that made my spine tingle. “An angel should worship her God.”

“Tell me how to worship you,” I said, so close I could kiss him, but I didn’t dare. I waited for permission, for instruction, ignoring the inner voice that wanted so badly to remain in control.

He set aside his coffee and caressed his hand over my face. “Strip for me. I want to see that beautiful body.”

Getting out of the car, I watched his face as I walked around to the front of the vehicle. I faced him, the wooden bridge behind me, as I pulled my shirt over my head. Every movement was slow, sensual, and I revealed every inch of skin like it was a present to be unwrapped. He watched me through the windshield, his fist resting against his mouth, his gaze heavy. My nipples hardened as I took off my bra and the breeze swept over me. I slipped my shoes off, then reached under my skirt to pull my panties down and then dangle them from my finger.

He got out of the car, tension in every step he took toward me. Like he was trying to hold back, as if part of him wanted to rush at me and grab me.

“Bend over the hood,” he said. “And pull your skirt up.”

I obeyed, my eyes lingering on him as I pulled the skirt up over my ass and bent down on the hood. The metal was still warm as I laid my bare tits against it. He stood behind me and squeezed my ass with both hands.

“Worship means letting me use you as I please,” he said. One moment, his touch was soft; the next, it was tight and rough. “If I want you to suffer for me, you suffer. If I want you to endure pain, you endure it. If I want you to pleasure me, touch me, offer your body up for me…then you do it.”