His hands smoothed over the soft skin of her belly, and he smiled at the goose bumps that broke out over her skin. He pulled her flush against him and brushed the hair away from her throat, then kissed the side of her neck. She let out a muffled sound of pain as his teeth pressed into her flesh. He sucked on the skin where he’d bitten to soothe the discomfort away.

Leo reached to the button on her jeans, unbuttoned them, and slid them down her legs. “Step out,” he growled when they were on the floor. Red-polished toes peered out from under the bundle of denim.

He supported her while she did as he asked. Her panties matched the bra. A few moments later, the scrap of lace joined the jeans on the floor, and Faith rushed to cover herself.

“No,” he said, forcing her arms to her sides. When he removed her bra, he felt her struggle as she fought to obey his demands neither to cover herself, nor to look away from her reflection.

For a moment she was hypnotized by the seduction as his fingertips grazed her flesh, like he was memorizing a raised relief map. He massaged her scalp and stroked her neck and shoulders, moving down her arms, then over her stomach, her breasts, and between her legs. For this small window in time he had her, locked inside his spell.

He went to retrieve a rattan cane. She tensed, but he ignored it. She’d have to learn to trust him by his actions. She’d labeled the cane as one of the worst things on her list—a fairly accurate assessment, particularly in his hands, but he wasn’t going to hit her with it every time he picked it up.

He allowed the lightweight wooden rod to trail over her skin, mimicking his fingertips of moments before. He did this until she relaxed again. Then he took a step back and pushed her to her knees.

“Spread your legs.”

She hesitated and he smacked the cane against a nearby piece of bondage furniture. It had the desired effect, and she quickly assumed the position he’d demanded.

“Stay exposed, with your eyes on your reflection until I give you permission to move.”

Leo crossed to an old-fashioned record player and thumbed through several albums until he found a collection of somber classical music that started with the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The round, vinyl disc settled on the turntable like a spinning quarter, finally coming to settle. The needle against the grooves hissed and sputtered as the haunting music groaned to life.

He sat near the leaner mirror, arms crossed over his chest, appraising. His focused observation unnerved even the most experienced sub.

She was a delicate rose petal about to fall off the flower—so graceful and beautiful, even while falling and dying.

Her gaze strayed to him, and a cold smile crept up his cheek. “Did I give you permission to look away?”