“Is that what you really want, Myka? For me to make things easier for you? Or do you want to confess to me that you played with yourself last night while you thought of me?”
Before she could formulate an answer, he spoke again. “How many times did you come, Myka?”
The dialogue in the novel had been one of the things that turned her on most, but now that Phillip Dettmer, the Phillip Dettmer, was being so blunt, she found herself flustered. “Just once,” she said.
“Did you use a toy, or just your hand?”
“Uhm… A toy.” The word sir was on the tip of her tongue, and she almost, almost, used it. She’d never had that kind of inclination with any man before, but then she’d never met a man this powerful, this self-assured, this unyielding.
“Tell me more. Where were you? What were you thinking of?”
Thank God she hadn’t returned his call from the office. “Last night I took a bath.” She paused, but he didn’t fill the silence. She sensed he’d wait her out, no matter how long it took. Nervously she continued, “I had a glass of wine and I read for about an hour in the tub. You know, the book I had in the elevator.”
Again he said nothing.
“Then I went to bed with my vibrator.”
With her free hand she pushed hair back from her face. “I was thinking about scenes I’d just read, but my imagination took over.” Admitting all this was embarrassing. Part of her wondered what she was doing. Myka reminded herself that she’d sought him out. “I was tied up.” Before courage could completely desert her, “I imagined a sharp slap between my legs.”
“On your pussy?”
“I imagined being slapped hard on my pussy.”
“And then you came?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Has anyone ever done that to you?”
“And would you like to have your pussy spanked hard, Myka?”
Oh. God. She could barely breathe. There was something about the tone of his voice—seductive and firm that undid her, seeming to send a bolt of electricity through her.
“Answer the question, Myka.”