She lifted her pretty brown eyes and brushed her bangs away from her thick, full lashes. “Eric and I broke up almost a year ago.”
He felt like an ass, and not just because he welcomed the news.
How had he not known?
“Because you work for me?”
“That was the final nail in the coffin.” She shrugged. “We wanted different things out of the relationship. It wasn’t going to last, no matter what.”
“What different things?” Though he knew damn well it wasn’t his business, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. She knew every detail of his personal life, but she’d engineered it so that he knew only select things about her. And he’d let her. Oh, he had rationalized it by telling himself he respected her privacy. Facing the truth meant admitting cowardice. He hadn’t wanted to hear her talk about her boyfriend.
“He wanted a full-time sex slave, and that’s just not me. I don’t mind kneeling naked at my master’s feet during a scene, but expecting me to cook and clean the house naked is too much. Hell, expecting me to do all the cooking and cleaning is too much. Plus he didn’t seem to care about me, only my obedience. He punished me for the smallest infractions.”
She trailed off and shrugged as if she hadn’t said something that opened up a vast list of questions. Her pen flew over the lines in her notebook.
“Marcella, is Eric the reason you don’t like the whip?”
Her momentum faltered. She tapped the pen against her teeth. “Maybe a little, but I’ve always had a low threshold for pain. He preferred to deny me attention and affection. I’d rather be whipped than be hurt emotionally.”
Sean hated doms who disciplined their subs emotionally. The whole point of having a D/s relationship was for mutual pleasure and to deepen the emotional bond between the couple. Nothing good could result from insisting on emotional control over another person. Everyone had a right to feel what they felt. “That’s abusive.”
Her shoulders lifted and fell again. “I don’t think he meant to be mean. He wanted me to beg for his time and attention, but I’m just not that kind of pushy, needy sub. I’m sure he’ll find some woman with daddy issues and they’ll get along just fine.”
He let her have the evasion. She’d obviously moved on. Briefly, he wondered who she’d been dating if not Eric. He knew she’d spent several of her days off with a man, and he’d gone out of his way to not be around when her date had picked her up. He hadn’t needed visual confirmation that he didn’t stand a chance in hell with her. Before the demons of doubt could dig their talons in too deep, he ditched those thoughts. She was here with him now, and she had just promised to be his for the next three days.
“Round three.”
He stood and held out his hand to her—the first time he’d ever instigated contact. Now that she’d agreed to be his submissive, even if it was only temporary, he could let down his guard a bit. As soon as he had her in his dungeon, he’d be touching her all over. “I’ll bring you to orgasm twice. You’ll have no input into the choreography. Enough talk, Cella. We need to practice if I’m going to know your limits.”
She looked at his hand and shook her head. “I’m not ready, Sean. Give me thirty minutes. I need to shave.”
He blinked. “Shave?”
“Well, yes. I didn’t anticipate being naked in front of anyone today, so I didn’t shave.”
He dropped his hand, a little stung by her efficient, businesslike rejection. However, the image of her naked body tied to his cross more than made up for it. He checked the time on his cell. “Thirty minutes. Come to the dungeon wearing only a robe.”
Marcella knew from paying the bills that Sean preferred his submissives to be hairless. Though she’d engaged in a few scenes with her dates in the time since she’d ended her relationship with Eric, she hadn’t bothered to shave her pussy in a very long time. It hadn’t mattered before. Now that Sean would be her master, albeit only for a few days, she wanted to groom herself in ways that would please him.
She arranged her hair in a sexy, sloppy upsweep. No matter how classy she made it look, it would end up a mess by the end of the scene. She preferred to enter a scene with some control over her personal disarray. Knowing Sean, it would be the only thing she would control.
The deep rose robe he’d given her as a birthday gift lay at the foot of her bed. Not a day passed that she didn’t snuggle into the soft, silky feel of the fabric. As she donned it now, it slid over her skin, caressing her hips and the tips of her breasts. She tied the belt and headed down two flights of stairs to the dungeon.
She entered his domain, immediately feeling an electric charge at being there to do more than set up. Having worked so closely with Sean for over a year, she’d seen him at his best and at his worst. She trusted him completely.
A sound to her right drew her attention to that corner of the room. Sean leaned against a high table. He lifted a glass to his lips and sipped. Ice cubes clinked as they shifted, and she recognized the sound that had caught her attention.
He watched her silently. She dropped her gaze to the floor, fastening it demurely to a point halfway between them. If he wanted her to kneel, he would tell her to kneel. This moment, this starting point, was a test of her submissiveness. It would tell him so much about her level of responsiveness. She emptied her mind of everything except Sean.
The glass thudded against the wood. He closed the distance between them, coming to a halt inches in front of her. She focused on the thin line of hair that trailed from his navel and disappeared into his jeans. He had removed his shirt.
Though she had seen him shirtless before, the sight sent a tremor up her spine.
He placed his fingers on her neck, spanning them just below her ear. Residual cold from the glass penetrated her skin, and a second tremor followed the first. “Choose a safe word.”
“Oasis.”
She would forever revere the name of the wish-fulfillment service that had delivered Sean to her. She didn’t know how they’d gotten rid of Gretchen, but they had, and she was thankful for that.
Sean slid his fingers forward to grip her chin.
“Oasis.
Your favorite band.”
A slight pressure tilted her face, and she peered into his eyes. “If you ask me to stop or you say no at any time, those words will also work. I don’t play protest games. That’s one of my limits.”
She bit back her amazement over the fact that he knew her favorite band and nodded to acknowledge his limit. “What should I call you?”
“Master.
For the next three days, I am your master.”
She couldn’t stop the pleased smile or the excitement unfurling in her chest. As usually happened, her profound sense of duty managed to take the lead. “Master, you should know that I’m on birth control and that my last tests came back clean.”
His mouth
twitched,
the beginnings of a smile or a reprimand that never manifested. She hadn’t asked for permission to speak. “And I’m sure you know all about my tests.” At her nod—she handled all his mail and appointments—he continued. “Untie your robe.”
An auditory response wasn’t necessary. She complied with his order, loosening the sash and letting it dangle at her sides. The robe remained stuck to her body.
With one finger, Sean traced a path between her breasts and urged her robe apart. The warmth of the silk fell away. For the first time, Marcella stood exposed to his view. She held her breath and hoped he liked what he saw.
His gaze roamed every inch of her skin. Heat bloomed in the trails he left, though he no longer touched her. With agonizing slowness, he rounded her body. She felt his hands at her shoulders. The robe whispered a caress down her arms and pooled at her bare feet.
Sean’s breath tickled behind her ear just below her hairline. He inhaled deeply, confirming that he had been enjoying her scent all along. Marcella’s heart leaped and floated at this evidence of his interest.
His teeth grazed along the base of her neck. “Are you sure about this, my sweet slave? A hundred people will watch me tease and torture you. They’ll watch your luscious body writhe and arch. They’ll listen as you whimper with need. They’ll watch your juices run down your thighs. You think I’m the draw, but you’re wrong. They’re coming to see you, Marcella. Are you really an exhibitionist?”
She wanted to shake her head, but she didn’t want to move away from the teeth and lips that played over her shoulder and up her neck. “No, Master. I mean, yes, Master, I’m sure about this. No, Master, I’m not an exhibitionist.”
His fingertips etched trails parallel to her spine. “I thought not. I will allow you a blindfold.”
She exhaled, and tension drained from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tightly her nerves were wound. “Thank you, Master.”
He pressed his lips to her shoulder, a brief acknowledgment of her thanks. “I’m going to bind you several ways tonight. I might use the flogger, but I mostly want to see how you respond to different stimuli.”
Light, feathery touches played up and down her arms. She wanted to sag backward to rest against his chest, but she knew that would not please him. Then his touch disappeared. She resisted the urge to turn her head and follow him with her eyes.
Darkness stole her vision. He adjusted the strap, securing it under where she’d piled her hair. Using only the soft pressure of his fingertips, he nudged the small of her back. “Walk forward until I tell you to stop.”
With her vision compromised, her sense of balance wasn’t the same. She took small steps, counting six when Sean told her to stop.
“Raise your arms above your head.”
She felt her breasts rise as she lifted her arms. Wide leather cuffs encircled her wrists, and he tightened the buckles one at a time. Anticipation coiled just above her pussy. Bondage was definitely one of her triggers.
A motor whirred to life. The bar to which the cuffs were attached rose, forcing her almost to her toes. Cool leather closed around her ankles, and the tug and pull on the cuffs indicated a spreader bar held her legs apart.
Long silence filled the air, and her pussy grew moist because she knew he was looking at her, checking out every inch of her body. She waited patiently while her master looked his fill, which was his due.
“Beautiful.
So fucking beautiful.
I’ve never seen a sexier woman in my entire life.” She felt the heat and smooth skin of his chest as he brushed against the pebbled tips of her breasts. She jumped in surprise. “And you’re mine, Cella. All mine.”
“Yes, Master. I’m yours.” She understood the psychology of why he said the things he said. He had staked his claim and established the emotional atmosphere that permeated the dark of her blindfold. The vehemence underlying his tone lent a truth to his statement that couldn’t be faked. She very badly wanted to be his.
Cupping her face, he urged her head back the tiniest bit. At five-eight, Marcella was only three inches shorter than her dream man. The way he’d stretched her most likely put them almost eye to eye. If he removed her blindfold, she would find herself gazing right into his golden eyes. Or might they be edged in green now?
He brushed his thumb over her lips. She parted them ever so slightly, offering but not demanding. The kiss, unexpected and completely welcomed, startled a gasp from her. She thought he would tease for a long, long time before he allowed her the taste of his kiss. Instead he devoured her lips and swept his tongue into her mouth. She quivered and melted under his onslaught, grateful for the cuffs and chains holding her upright.
He gripped her head and pushed his chest against hers. She had no leverage to balance his forcefulness, and his kiss literally knocked her off her feet. She ignored the increased stress on her shoulder and wrist joints, but he did not. He broke the kiss, leaving her breathless and wanting. She felt his hands on her hips as he moved her back into place so that her feet bore the brunt of her weight.
He massaged her shoulders. “How are you doing?
Wrists okay?”
As he held her, his thumbs pressed just under her arms, where she was dangerously ticklish. She jumped at the sensation and swallowed an unwanted laugh. “They’re fine, Master.”
“Shoulders?”
She felt his frown. If she didn’t know him better, she would have thought she had displeased him. His tight tone seemed to foretell the end of their game, but she knew his tone resulted from the depth of his concern. He had to trust her to tell him when he went too far. No master could read minds.