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Elijah’s belly, searing the thin ribbon of space between them. “How did you get started with glass art?” He didn’t mind making small talk, if it meant he got to stand close and bask in her heat.
    She eyed him warily, and he could see her pulse, a rapid beat under the line of her jaw.
    “When I was eighteen I had a crush on someone who was a glass artist. I asked for private lessons.” Her voice was breathy, and Elijah watched her lips part slightly beneath his stare. “Soon I was more interested in the glass than in him. It was . . . I found something that I’d always been looking for, even though I didn’t know it—” She hesitated, clearly swallowing back the rest of her words.
    He thought he knew what she was thinking but couldn’t say: that now there was something else she was looking for. A desire she wanted to fulfill.
    He waited for her to continue.
    “You’re involved in . . . You’re a . . .” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and Elijah had to clench his hands into fists to refrain from leaning forward and running his tongue over the place her teeth worked.
    “Are you a . . . a Dom?”
    Elijah cocked his head, studying her intently. She looked so nervous, he wanted to laugh and tell her that no one was going to tie her up and spank her for asking the question. But to laugh would be to diminish her question, so he swallowed the chuckle and instead nodded solemnly.
    The image of her bound, quivering with need, was something he longed to see.
    “Yes. I am.” His voice was even. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she kept her composure. Afraid to discourage her curiosity, Elijah didn’t voice the second half of his answer: that he wasn’t at all sure Samantha was a submissive.
    She ran her tongue over those lips again, and again he felt his cock begin to swell.
    “Is BDSM something you’re interested in?” Since she had paused, her next questions seemingly stuck in her throat, he tried to nudge her with his words.
    Her face reddened, a delicious shade of pink, and he reached out to graze his knuckles over the curve of her cheekbone.
    “I don’t know.” The way she ducked her head as she spoke told him that she was evading. The little kitten was intrigued by the notion—that much was plain—but how far would she go?
    “What I’m feeling right now . . . for you . . . Is it just because you’re a Dom?” Samantha’s eyes were huge as she stared up at him. Elijah suppressed a moan.
    What was this intriguing artist looking for? What would he find if he pushed her?
    “No,” he said finally, bending his head a bit lower. “No, it isn’t because I’m a Dom—or at least, not entirely. This . . . It doesn’t happen between everyone, just like you don’t feel a connection with every person that you date.”
    He waited, trying to appear patient, as she mulled that over.
    Elijah wasn’t often shocked, but when Samantha rose to her toes, clasped his upper arms, and pressed her lips to his, he found himself unable to do anything but react forcefully. He hadn’t been expecting it—and, indeed, he didn’t care for it when a woman took control.
    But he couldn’t deny the fever that surged through his entire body as she tentatively explored his lips with her own. Her nipples grazed his chest as she moaned softly and leaned in closer, and the slight touch made his cock harden to the point of pain.
    Without thinking, he threaded one hand through the length of her ponytail and pressed the other between her shoulder blades, pulling her flush against his body. He rocked his hips forward, pressing his erection into the softness of her belly, asking her without words if this was what she really wanted.
    “Elijah . . .”
    He’d let her draw back enough to speak his name, and rather than hesitation or the innocent nerves that he’d expected to see on her face, he found determination.
    Determination mixed with need—need as hot as the air that was scorching his