He shook his head. “I’m done with teaching you. There are no more lessons. Did you want more?”

“No. I only want you,” she said in a small voice, somehow managing to admit that she was ready to move on. Where they were headed next she had no idea. This might be their last night together, until he cut her loose, adrift in the world as a newly-trained woman who’d learned how to let go of all her tightly held need for control. She shuddered inside at the thought of this ending, but then pushed all the worries out of her mind as he reached the final button on his shirt.

“Good. Because I’m about to do something you’ve wanted. Something you asked me to do. But I’m not doing it as your teacher. I’m doing it tonight as your lover.”

“That’s who I want you to be now,” she said, and the words were easier than she’d expected, so much easier, because they were so damn true.

He swallowed. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Such a vulnerable point on an otherwise hard body. So much of him was hard and fierce, but so much was vulnerable too. He’d begun to show more of those sides to her, and she thrived on knowing all of him—all his passion, all his pain, all his hurt, all his hope.

All of him.

“Take everything off,” he said.

She stepped out of her black lace panties, grateful to be rid of the damp scrap of fabric, then her bra, leaving them in a soft heap on the plush carpet. He groaned at the sight of her, and a ribbon of heat unfurled in her chest—to be this desired was such a rush, such a pure, unmitigated high. She had never felt so sensual as she did under Nate’s heady gaze. The low neon lighting in the room set the mood, though the mood had technically been set long ago. Back in New Orleans one hot steamy night when she’d propositioned her best friend, and he’d said yes. They’d hurdled down this sensual road through the Big Easy, to their hometown of New York, and now, here in London.

Only this time, they were shedding the seduction. They were stripped free of games, and relying solely on themselves.

She didn’t want it any other way.

She didn’t want him any other way.

He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to her, swiveling it around so the slats faced her. “Hands on the chair. Grip it hard.”

She kneeled before him, knotting her fingers through the wooden slats, like she was in church at a pew, praying—praying for release. A quiver sped through her body, chased with a dash of fear. But it was the good fear; the kind that twisted and curled hotly through her blood as he led her down this path. She didn’t know what he planned, but she loved exploring the unknown with him.

Only with him.