“Or are you whatever I want you to be?” she asked, gray eyes dancing.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

He was not going to say he was pretty.

Her eyes widened with hot anticipation and she practically licked her lips as the hand not currently teasing his cock moved to his chest and she started to—very, very lightly—draw little patterns on his chest with the pads of her fingers. Luke groaned, shoving his hands behind his back and holding onto himself for dear life because it was the only way he was going to be able to keep from reaching up to grab her. And he for damn sure knew she wouldn’t like that.

Those lightly moving fingers brushing over the head of his cock, drawing teasing circles around his nipples, were far more effective than any painful torture could ever be. Luke could feel his resolve weakening.

They were just words after all.

He didn’t have to mean them.

But pretty? Really?

Then she slid down to her knees so she could lean forward and begin following the tracing of her fingers with her tongue and Luke’s head fell back.

Fuck.

Her tongue glided over his skin, making his legs tremble, teasing him even more than her fingers were. For some reason he’d never noticed his chest being so sensitive before, but now it was like the nerve endings had a direct line to his cock, which was begging him to just give her whatever she wanted so she’d play with the throbbing member.

“Okay,” he rasped out.

“Okay what?” she asked, licking close enough to his nipple to make him shut his eyes against the need surging through him. Watching her tongue him wasn’t exactly helping.

“Okay, I’m pretty.”

She closed her mouth over his nipple, the wet heat of her mouth engulfing the sensitive bud and making him feel dizzy.

Yes it was a small thing, but it pleased her to make him say it. Because he hadn’t wanted to.

Besides, he was pretty on his knees, his hair in disarray, shirtless, hands behind his back. She never understood why men thought they couldn’t be both masculine and pretty. Luke was proof it was easy to be both.

Smooth, hard muscles sprinkled with dark hair and the furry little trail down into his jeans, begging her to follow it. His dark brown hair and blue eyes, firm jawline, high cheekbones… Pretty. At least to her.

Pulling back, she smiled with satisfaction at the rising whimper in the back of his throat. He leaned forward towards her as she stood, but not enough to fall over.

“On your feet, cupcake,” she said.

Some dominants who played with men used the endearment ‘boy’ for their sub, but that wasn’t the type of man or submissive Luke was.