collarbones to hold me still, and he lets my wrists go while he runs the other hand over my body. And this is so completely different from any way he’s touched me before, from any way I would have ever expected him to after the rigid harshness of his command that I’ve known since the first moment I saw him.
Is this some dream? Am I alone on my white pallet, eyes closed against the moonlight, imagining the Master wants me? Me , not a nameless, faceless slave—the slave I came here to be, but which I don’t want to be at this moment.
His hand caresses my side, slips down to the curve of my hip, and it’s like being touched by a lover. There is still command there, but oh, his kisses are soft and sweet in between the hurting little nips of his sharp teeth.
He forces my thighs open a bit, his hand demanding, yet sensual. And it’s like some kind of mad mind fuck, being caught in this strange in-between state. Am I the slave girl? Am I myself? Maybe I don’t even know who that is anymore. Which was what I thought I wanted. But now…
Tentatively, I bring my hands up and lace them behind his neck, feel the heat of the tender skin there, burying my palms under the curling hairline. And my heart twists in my chest because he feels so utterly human. Vulnerable .
I can’t stand it. It is everything I never knew I wanted.
He presses his lips harder to mine, as if he silently understands exactly what I’m thinking. His tongue is hot and sweet, tasting the tiniest bit of mint beneath a flavor that is simply him—like leather and strength. Intoxicating. As intoxicating as his hands, which are really exploring me now, sliding over my flesh: my stomach, the small of my back, then up my spine, leaving chills in the wake of his touch. I am covered in goose bumps. Soaking wet. I want to spread my thighs wide for him, welcome him in. Beg him for it. But I am still mostly a good Girl, so I remain quiet, passively accepting his kisses, his touch, except for the little gasping breaths I can’t help.
Soon he’s pressing me down on my back on the soft rug, the weight of his body over mine, the buttons of his shirt pressing into the soft flesh of my breasts. We’re making out like teenagers, except that there is nothing innocent about it—about him as his panting breath fills my mouth, as I breathe it in. He uses his knees to kick my thighs apart and I want to scream at him to fuck me.
Please, please, please…
Shaking all over, my clit is pulsing with a desire that is stunningly sharp. A small sigh escapes me when he lowers his head and takes my aching nipple into his mouth, drawing it in, sucking hard, swirling his tongue over the sensitive tip. Then biting down hard enough to make me cry out.
“Ah!”
“Did that hurt you? You must know I meant it to,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble I can feel in his chest. “You know we both wanted it to. Needed it to. There are certain things we understand about each other, even with so much still to discover.”
He turns his face and rubs his soft hair over my breasts, and it feels unbelievable. So, so good I have to hold my breath in fear that he’ll stop. Finally I dare to take his face in my hands, running my fingers through that thick, lovely hair. But he immediately takes control from me, pinning my wrists over my head with one hand, kissing and sucking at my throat, using his lips and teeth to press, to constrict my breath, which always renders me helpless—it’s the hard surge of desire as much as it is surrendering to his control. It’s everything at once.
Everything.
Him. Me. This House. My surrender to someone not only as a slave, but as something—someone— more, and the two ideas seem to be completely antithetical, to crash together, making a little explosion inside my brain. And as if that isn’t enough, he suddenly raises his head, stormy blue gaze locked on mine, shadows passing like clouds across the sun. There is something tortured in there. But
Is this some dream? Am I alone on my white pallet, eyes closed against the moonlight, imagining the Master wants me? Me , not a nameless, faceless slave—the slave I came here to be, but which I don’t want to be at this moment.
His hand caresses my side, slips down to the curve of my hip, and it’s like being touched by a lover. There is still command there, but oh, his kisses are soft and sweet in between the hurting little nips of his sharp teeth.
He forces my thighs open a bit, his hand demanding, yet sensual. And it’s like some kind of mad mind fuck, being caught in this strange in-between state. Am I the slave girl? Am I myself? Maybe I don’t even know who that is anymore. Which was what I thought I wanted. But now…
Tentatively, I bring my hands up and lace them behind his neck, feel the heat of the tender skin there, burying my palms under the curling hairline. And my heart twists in my chest because he feels so utterly human. Vulnerable .
I can’t stand it. It is everything I never knew I wanted.
He presses his lips harder to mine, as if he silently understands exactly what I’m thinking. His tongue is hot and sweet, tasting the tiniest bit of mint beneath a flavor that is simply him—like leather and strength. Intoxicating. As intoxicating as his hands, which are really exploring me now, sliding over my flesh: my stomach, the small of my back, then up my spine, leaving chills in the wake of his touch. I am covered in goose bumps. Soaking wet. I want to spread my thighs wide for him, welcome him in. Beg him for it. But I am still mostly a good Girl, so I remain quiet, passively accepting his kisses, his touch, except for the little gasping breaths I can’t help.
Soon he’s pressing me down on my back on the soft rug, the weight of his body over mine, the buttons of his shirt pressing into the soft flesh of my breasts. We’re making out like teenagers, except that there is nothing innocent about it—about him as his panting breath fills my mouth, as I breathe it in. He uses his knees to kick my thighs apart and I want to scream at him to fuck me.
Please, please, please…
Shaking all over, my clit is pulsing with a desire that is stunningly sharp. A small sigh escapes me when he lowers his head and takes my aching nipple into his mouth, drawing it in, sucking hard, swirling his tongue over the sensitive tip. Then biting down hard enough to make me cry out.
“Ah!”
“Did that hurt you? You must know I meant it to,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble I can feel in his chest. “You know we both wanted it to. Needed it to. There are certain things we understand about each other, even with so much still to discover.”
He turns his face and rubs his soft hair over my breasts, and it feels unbelievable. So, so good I have to hold my breath in fear that he’ll stop. Finally I dare to take his face in my hands, running my fingers through that thick, lovely hair. But he immediately takes control from me, pinning my wrists over my head with one hand, kissing and sucking at my throat, using his lips and teeth to press, to constrict my breath, which always renders me helpless—it’s the hard surge of desire as much as it is surrendering to his control. It’s everything at once.
Everything.
Him. Me. This House. My surrender to someone not only as a slave, but as something—someone— more, and the two ideas seem to be completely antithetical, to crash together, making a little explosion inside my brain. And as if that isn’t enough, he suddenly raises his head, stormy blue gaze locked on mine, shadows passing like clouds across the sun. There is something tortured in there. But
Similar Books
