to California, I want it so much it hurts. Scening with him, hearing his friends speak about him, seeing his home, and the tidbits I've picked up over the years through Facebook have all contributed to a fairly clear picture of what kind of man Rio is.
"I never stood a bloody chance against you." Rio closes his eyes and presses his lips to my forehead, lingering. "I knew it ten years ago; I know it now."
"That’s…cryptic." I tug on his silvery gray tie, though I stay in his hold. I love being so close to him. Close enough to smell his aftershave, feel the softness of his black button-down, and hear the gentle rasp of his five-o'clock shadow against my skin whenever he kisses me.
"I suppose it's my turn to be honest." He nuzzles my hairline and brushes his fingers along my collar. "Trust me when I say you're not the only one who recalls every minute—" He pauses and backs away, brows knit together. "What's this?" A finger ghosts over the bandage covering my ink.
Oh, right. So much for not delaying that reveal, as Master Cooper had requested.
Oops .
"It's my SLRN," I answer honestly.
At that, his eyebrows shoot up. "SLRN, as in…?"
I nod him along. He knows the answer, and he's silly for hesitating.
The hesitation in his eyes fades, thankfully, and it dawns on him. Hopefully he now understands that I'm goddamn serious when I say I know what I'm doing.
"You have a slave registry number?" He still phrased it as a question, of course. Domly types, man . And because he might've grown cynical over the years, the doubt comes next. He narrows his eyes. "It's new."
"The tattoo, yes." I don’t miss a beat. "But I registered four years ago. You can check the database if you want."
" Jesus ." He backs away and runs a hand through his hair, his slightly widened eyes finding me quickly. Yes, that’s right. I know what I want, mister .
I place my hands on my hips. "When are you gonna stop looking for obstacles and reasons why we shouldn’t—" I haven't even finished the sentence before he closes the distance between us, cups my cheeks, and leans down to kiss me. Hard.
I let out a muffled umph sound, and it takes a couple seconds for my brain to catch up. But once I do, I throw my arms around his neck and return the kiss with all the passion I can. I moan as he strokes my tongue with his, his fingers digging into my hips possessively.
At the feel of his cock pressing against my lower abdomen, my knees get weak, and a dull throb of lust drops to the center of my body. Wetness dampens my pussy, and I instinctively wrap my legs around him and clench my thighs.
He groans into my mouth and bunches up my dress. "Fuck, baby. Hold on to the rope."
My breathing hitches. I comply. I release his broad shoulders and bring my hands high above my head, getting a good grip on the webbed rope behind me. Then I watch Rio retrieve his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit. God yes, please. Fuck me . He finds a condom, tosses his wallet on the chair in the corner, and inches away just enough to unbuckle his belt, then unzip his pants.
I take the hint and loosen my legs around him, though I try to pull him close the second he's pushed his pants and boxer briefs down his hips. His clothes pool around his knees, already forgotten.
My mouth waters at the sight of his long fingers rolling the rubber onto his thick erection.
"I won't return you to Mark," he tells me, slipping a hand between my thighs. All I can muster is a whimper as he traces my wet slit. He slides two soaked fingers up to my clit, then down again until he circles my hole and slams them inside.
"Fuck!" My head falls back against the rope. My body fucking trembles, and he's barely even begun. "Oh, God…"
"'Oh, Master,'" he corrects. His teeth gnash together when he replaces his fingers with his cock, and I cry out in pleasure at the intrusion. He lets out a panted breath and stills. "I won't be able to fight this anymore." Don’t ask me why he posed it as a threat.
"I never stood a bloody chance against you." Rio closes his eyes and presses his lips to my forehead, lingering. "I knew it ten years ago; I know it now."
"That’s…cryptic." I tug on his silvery gray tie, though I stay in his hold. I love being so close to him. Close enough to smell his aftershave, feel the softness of his black button-down, and hear the gentle rasp of his five-o'clock shadow against my skin whenever he kisses me.
"I suppose it's my turn to be honest." He nuzzles my hairline and brushes his fingers along my collar. "Trust me when I say you're not the only one who recalls every minute—" He pauses and backs away, brows knit together. "What's this?" A finger ghosts over the bandage covering my ink.
Oh, right. So much for not delaying that reveal, as Master Cooper had requested.
Oops .
"It's my SLRN," I answer honestly.
At that, his eyebrows shoot up. "SLRN, as in…?"
I nod him along. He knows the answer, and he's silly for hesitating.
The hesitation in his eyes fades, thankfully, and it dawns on him. Hopefully he now understands that I'm goddamn serious when I say I know what I'm doing.
"You have a slave registry number?" He still phrased it as a question, of course. Domly types, man . And because he might've grown cynical over the years, the doubt comes next. He narrows his eyes. "It's new."
"The tattoo, yes." I don’t miss a beat. "But I registered four years ago. You can check the database if you want."
" Jesus ." He backs away and runs a hand through his hair, his slightly widened eyes finding me quickly. Yes, that’s right. I know what I want, mister .
I place my hands on my hips. "When are you gonna stop looking for obstacles and reasons why we shouldn’t—" I haven't even finished the sentence before he closes the distance between us, cups my cheeks, and leans down to kiss me. Hard.
I let out a muffled umph sound, and it takes a couple seconds for my brain to catch up. But once I do, I throw my arms around his neck and return the kiss with all the passion I can. I moan as he strokes my tongue with his, his fingers digging into my hips possessively.
At the feel of his cock pressing against my lower abdomen, my knees get weak, and a dull throb of lust drops to the center of my body. Wetness dampens my pussy, and I instinctively wrap my legs around him and clench my thighs.
He groans into my mouth and bunches up my dress. "Fuck, baby. Hold on to the rope."
My breathing hitches. I comply. I release his broad shoulders and bring my hands high above my head, getting a good grip on the webbed rope behind me. Then I watch Rio retrieve his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit. God yes, please. Fuck me . He finds a condom, tosses his wallet on the chair in the corner, and inches away just enough to unbuckle his belt, then unzip his pants.
I take the hint and loosen my legs around him, though I try to pull him close the second he's pushed his pants and boxer briefs down his hips. His clothes pool around his knees, already forgotten.
My mouth waters at the sight of his long fingers rolling the rubber onto his thick erection.
"I won't return you to Mark," he tells me, slipping a hand between my thighs. All I can muster is a whimper as he traces my wet slit. He slides two soaked fingers up to my clit, then down again until he circles my hole and slams them inside.
"Fuck!" My head falls back against the rope. My body fucking trembles, and he's barely even begun. "Oh, God…"
"'Oh, Master,'" he corrects. His teeth gnash together when he replaces his fingers with his cock, and I cry out in pleasure at the intrusion. He lets out a panted breath and stills. "I won't be able to fight this anymore." Don’t ask me why he posed it as a threat.
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