“Being a good girl,” I reply, “sir.” I hear him take in a heavy breath. He’s going to say something harsh or tell me to get up or to stop. At least I tried. Instead, he takes five deafening steps toward me. When he’s close enough to touch me, I feel his fingers reach for my chin and tilt my head upward. There’s affection in his eyes as he stares down at me, warmth trickling over me. The way that look makes me feel is like gold. If I could bottle it up and sell it, I’d be rich.
