Page 44 of Spin Control

In my haste, I didn’t stop to consider that it’s the middle of the night. Or how presumptuous I’m being. Or how I’ll likely end up walking back to my room unsatisfied.

I knock anyway.

And I hide my surprise when the door opens.

“Elizabeth,” Wes says. He’s bare chested, clad in only a pair of black briefs and a hotel robe that he clearly just threw on. He didn’t even bother tying it. His dark hair is tousled, but he’s not bleary-eyed and his voice isn’t thick with sleep. He must have been tossing and turning, too.

I can feel his eyes on me, and I consider what sort of mess I must look like right now: no makeup, my hair a tangled mess, barefoot and in a black silk nightgown trimmed in lace. But when I meet his gaze, he doesn’t look confused or embarrassed. No, his eyes are wild and hungry in a way that I understand.

I step into the room, crowding Wes until he backs up and lets the door close. “Do you have a condom?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but his voice is calm. “Yes.”

“Get it.” It’s a command, not a request.

Wes’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “Just to clarify. Am I giving you a condom so you can fuck someone else, or are you proposing that we use it together?”

I grit my teeth, annoyed that he didn’t immediately do what he was told. But he’s right to question me. If we’re doing this, it needs to be consensual. He needs to understand what this is. I take a deep breath. “It’s less a proposal and more a demand.”

Wes inhales sharply, nods, and goes into the bathroom, emerging a few moments later with a gold foil packet. He places it in the middle of my outstretched palm.

“Good,” I say. “Now take off your clothes.”

Wes’s mouth twitches but, for once, he keeps the wisecrack to himself. He drops the robe from his shoulders, letting it pool at his feet.

I’ve seen him like this in photos from magazines highlighting his leanly muscular physique, in videos of him climbing into ice baths that prominently display the tattoo made up of the tracks he’s won at on his right thigh. But there is a big difference between looking at photos and videos, and seeing the living, breathing version in front of you. There’s no denying Wes Grant is handsome, just like there’s no denying his body is a masterclass in discipline and hard work. But I don’t let any of that appreciation show on my face and wait for him to continue doing as I asked.

He keeps his eyes on mine as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and smoothly shucks the material down his legs. Seeing just how hard he is when I’ve done nothing but order him to get a condom and disrobe makes my blood thrum.

“Go lay on the bed.” Considering that he is very likely as much a brat in bed as he is in everyday life, I add, “On your back.”

He nods once, then turns around and walks to the bed. I take in the long lines of his body, relishing that he’s following my directions. When he’s on the bed, he looks at me expectantly. Though I suspect he craves this, I can tell that it’s new for him. He’s not used to being submissive.

I move from my spot by the door, taking my time as I make my way to the foot of the bed. Wes opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “Don’t speak.” He closes it and a victorious little thrill shoots through my nervous system.

I know I’m going about this all wrong, skipping over things I normally never would with a partner. I need to slow down. I need to be thorough.

I take a deep breath. “Don’t speak, but nod if you want a safe word other than ‘stop’.”

Wes’s eyes widen and a curious little smile crosses his face before he nods.

“Tell me the word.”

He grins wickedly. “Box.”

I don’t care what word a partner chooses. I’ve heard everything from “pickle” to “gyroscope.” I usually just accept it, no questions asked. But this time, a smile tugs at my lips. “Box? Like ‘my dick in a—’”

“Boxenstopp,” Wes says, clarifying. “It’s the German word for pitstop. It’s why our engineers say ‘box, box’ during a race.”

Well that clears up a question I didn’t even realize I had. It’s also a very clever choice—but he definitely does not need to know I think that.

“Okay,” I say. “You may only speak in the event you need to say ‘box’. Understood?” He nods and my heart thumps harder. “Good. Then I’ll continue.”

I lift the back of my nightgown so that I can take my panties off while ensuring the front of the garment continues to cover me. I move onto the bed, my knees on either side of Wes’s thighs. Though I’ve been with some truly handsome men, none of them have been as physically appealing as Wes.

My sister is right. He very much is my type.

Suddenly, panic grips me.