It fit. Of course it fit. He knew everything. He probably knew her measurements down to the millimeter.
The black lace hugged her curves, biting gently into her skin. The bra lifted her breasts, exposing the tops of them in a way that was obscene and beautiful. The panties were high-cut, elongating her legs. She pulled on the stockings, snapping the garters into place.
She looked at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn't Lauren Hayes, Attorney at Law. She was something else. She was a creature of the night. She was a substitute.
She took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked back into the library.
Grey was waiting.
He hadn't moved back to his desk. He was leaning against the edge of it, his arms crossed, waiting for her.
When she stepped into the light, he went still.
His gaze started at her feet and traveled up slowly, agonizingly slowly. He lingered on the sheer stockings. He paused at the curve of her hips. He devoured the sight of her exposed cleavage.
By the time his eyes met hers, they were burning.
"Step forward," he commanded. His voice was rougher now.
Lauren walked. The heels she had kept on clicked rhythmically on the hardwood floor. She stopped three feet from him.
"Closer."
She took another step. She was close enough to touch him now.
Grey didn't touch her. Not yet. He just looked. He was eye-fucking her, stripping her down with his gaze alone. It was intense, invasive, and incredibly arousing. Lauren felt her nipples harden painfully against the scratchy lace. She felt a dampness gathering between her thighs that had nothing to do with the wine.
"Turn around," he said.
Lauren turned. She felt exposed, vulnerable, knowing his eyes were tracing the line of her spine, the curve of her bottom.
"Elara had a mole on her left shoulder," Grey murmured. "You don't. Your skin is flawless. Like a blank canvas."
He stepped up behind her. She could feel his body heat radiating against her back.
"Turn back to me."
She turned.
Grey reached out. His hand was large, warm, and heavy. He placed it directly over her left breast. He didn't grab. He cupped it, his thumb brushing over the nipple through the lace.
Lauren gasped, her head falling back slightly.
"Does this feel like murder, Lauren?" he whispered, his thumb moving in a slow, torturous circle.
"No," she breathed.
"Does it feel like fear?"
"No."
"What does it feel like?"
"Fire," she confessed.
Grey smiled. He moved his hand from her breast to her throat. His fingers wrapped around her neck. His grip was firm, testing. He applied a slight pressure, just enough to restrict the airflow for a second, just enough to make her heart stutter.
Lauren's eyes watered. Not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation. Tears welled up and spilled over, tracking hot paths down her cheeks.
Grey watched the tears fall. He looked fascinated. He used his other hand to catch a tear on his thumb, smearing it across her cheekbone.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "You wear your submission so much better than your suits."
He squeezed her throat a fraction harder, tilting her head back, forcing her to look up at him.
"You are mine tonight, Lauren. Not Petra's. Not the court's. Mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, Grey."
"Beautiful. Address me like that from henceforth."
Lauren nodded.
He released her throat abruptly. The rush of air into her lungs made her dizzy.
He turned and walked around the desk, sitting down in his leather chair. He spread his knees wide. He looked like a king issuing a decree.
"Come here," he pointed to the top of his desk. "Sit."
Lauren hesitated. The desk was his workspace. It was the symbol of his power.
"On the desk?" she asked.
"On the desk. Right here in front of me."
Lauren moved. She climbed onto the mahogany surface, pushing aside a stack of files. She sat on the edge, her legs dangling between his, her lingerie-clad body on display under the library lights.
She was higher than him now, looking down, but she had never felt more under his control.
Grey looked up at her. He placed his hands on her knees, spreading them wider, opening her up to his gaze. He looked at the lace crotch of her panties. He leaned in, inhaling her scent.
"You're soaking wet," he noted with satisfaction. "Good."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked calm, expectant, and utterly ruthless.
"Now," Grey said, his voice low and commanding. "Touch yourself."
Lauren froze. "Here? With you watching?"
"That is where Elara and I begun," Grey said. "I want to see you unravel. I want to see you forget that you are a lawyer. I want to see you take what you need. That is the first step."
Lauren's hands trembled. She looked at him, begging silently for a reprieve, but finding none.
"And just to make it interesting," Grey added, a wicked glint in his silver-ringed eye. "We need stakes."
He nodded toward her center.
"If you impress me… if you show me that you can let go completely, that you can lose yourself in this…" He paused, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "I will give you a reward. I will put my mouth on you and I will make you scream my name until the neighbors hear it."
Lauren's core clenched violently at the promise. The image of him between her legs, tasting her, was almost enough to send her over the edge right there.
"And if I don't?" she whispered.
Grey's expression hardened. He reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a hairbrush. It was heavy, wooden, with a flat back. He set it on the desk next to her hip.
"If you hold back," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more terrifying than a shout, "if you try to hide from me, or if you fake it… I will turn you over my knee and I will spank you with this. Twenty times. Hard enough to leave marks that will remind you of me for a week."
He locked eyes with her.
"The choice is yours, Counselor. Impress me."
Lauren sat there, her heart pounding like a trapped bird. She looked at his hungry eyes. She looked at the brush. She looked at his mouth.
Slowly, with a trembling hand, she reached down between her legs.