52

“Where do you want me?”

“In front of the confessional. Show me my sins.”

“Show you? I thought I was supposed to tell you.”

“Your body will speak for you. It reveals all you’re too ashamed to say out loud. Now do as you’re told, Miss Fallon.”

My legs shook as I approached the window, my gaze never leaving the silhouette of the man who’d haunted my fantasies without permission. I shouldn’t want him, but clearly, my subconscious was a horny bitch. And I secretly loved her for it. Even as I tried to deny myself, I couldn’t help but tremble with anticipation. I was finally going to experience what I’d been dreaming about.

I moved the chair from the center of the room to right in front of the window. Then I sat, knees together, ankles crossed. He might be my imagination, but he still had to work for it.

“Spread your knees.”

“Yes, sir.” My voice was tight and thin; need coiled in my belly as I complied.

He shifted, his shadow moving just enough I noticed, then he growled, “Wider.”