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“Get in here,” he ordered, his voice rough. “And get those clothes off.” He brought the prod close to her cheek. “Or I’ll cut them off.”
Her breath caught, waiting for the purple lightning to arc and touch her skin. While she hesitated, heat built in her middle and started to spread down into her thighs.
“Cutting it is,” he said, reaching for the chain around his neck and tugging. The pendent flipped open to reveal a blade.
Patty gasped, dampness filling her panties. The bag she carried slipped from her shoulder to the floor. “No, no sir, I can undress.” He closed the door as she did. Shedding coat and outerwear, her breasts burned as the fabric rubbed over her pert nipples. She stood in undies, goosebumps popping out over her body.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked, gesturing to her panties and bra. His expression was hard, probing.
The inner brat instinctively pushed against the assumption of control. She was about to say something when the goad touched her breast just above the bra’s cup.
She cried out and clutched her chest. Brent swept in and sliced her panties and bra on one side, turning his hand to sever a bra strap as well. Her ruined panties fell, catching on her thigh rather than hitting the floor. Her bra fell open, over the hands pressed to her breast.
“I don’t like dawdling.”