Masters 01 Master of the Mountain by Cherise Sinclair
Authors: Cherise Sinclair
Tags: Erótica
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off her.
“Hey.” She turned and scowled, an ineffective response, considering how far she had to look up. “You can't—”
His low laugh stopped her, as did his finger tracing her lips. “You realize what a man thinks when a pretty woman kneels like that in front of him?” The crotch of his jeans was level with her face. So was the really thick erection bulging under the material.
Heat flushed her cheeks.
He chuckled and stroked her hair. “God, you're tempting, but I think you've had enough for one night, sugar.” He tossed her shirt to one side. Dropping to one knee, he rubbed his knuckles against her chemise-covered bra and grinned when her nipples jutted out in response. “Can I talk you into wearing something of mine?”
She tried to tell her body to stop. The night had ended, and she'd come God knew how many times, yet just his touch made the burning start again. She shivered. Concentrate, Rebecca . “You're asking, not ordering?”
“I take command in sexual matters, little rebel. And only as long as you let me.” His knuckles moved to her cheek, a gentle brush. “There has to be trust between a Dom and sub. And willingness. He can't take if she's not willing to give.”
“Oh.” Something eased inside her.
“But I'm very good at convincing people to do what I want.” His grin flashed, causing flutters in her stomach. The way he looked when he smiled could cause pileups in the city. “Let me dress you for my pleasure today.”
Yeah, when he looked like that, authoritative and laughing, she'd pretty much cave to whatever he wanted. “I guess so. With a few limitations. I won't wear something—”
“How about a flannel shirt?” he interrupted, chasing away her fears of purple negligees before they could take root.
“Ah, well.” Flannel? Her? “Okay.”
“Good.” He studied her a minute. “Leave that lacy thing on.”
“Flannel shirt, remember?”
“Silence, sub.”
She sighed in relief when he returned with a long-sleeved shirt. The dark green matched the color of her eyes. He'd studied her that closely? A glow flamed to life in her stomach.
He pulled her to her feet and helped her into the shirt. “Oh yes,” he muttered. His fingers tangled in her hair, and her scrunchie slid off, her ponytail falling into loose curls, waving over her shoulders.
“I—” Her protest died under a stern look.
Then he buttoned up the shirt as if she were a baby.
She looked down, and her eyes widened. He'd stopped at least three buttons short of the top, and when she moved, the gap in the front of the oversize shirt displayed not only her lacy chemise but a whole lot of cleavage too. Her mother would be appalled.
He ran his fingers over her collarbone and right down to the chemise, sending a rush of heat through her. “Maybe I should fasten more buttons,” he murmured. “You're going to give me a hard-on every time I look at you.”
Her hands fell back to her sides. With that incentive, damned if she'd button anything.
He grinned. “There's that dimple again. You like knowing you can make me suffer, don't you, sugar?”
“Darned right.” She rolled the dangling sleeves up to her elbows. Flannel. Her mother would be horrified about more than the cleavage.
As she headed down the stairs a few minutes later, she felt as if she were returning to the real world after a night spent in a dream. Actually these whole few days felt like a dream. A strange world. Mountains and log cabins and woodstoves. Flannel shirts and cleavage.
And submission? Her face burned. What he'd done to her…made her do… What she'd enjoyed. Oh God.
Would she want this kind of kinky sex every time she went to bed with someone? Because her time with Logan was finite, ending on Wednesday. They both knew that. She was a city girl; he was a mountain guy. Refined versus rough. Very rough.
Especially his
“Hey.” She turned and scowled, an ineffective response, considering how far she had to look up. “You can't—”
His low laugh stopped her, as did his finger tracing her lips. “You realize what a man thinks when a pretty woman kneels like that in front of him?” The crotch of his jeans was level with her face. So was the really thick erection bulging under the material.
Heat flushed her cheeks.
He chuckled and stroked her hair. “God, you're tempting, but I think you've had enough for one night, sugar.” He tossed her shirt to one side. Dropping to one knee, he rubbed his knuckles against her chemise-covered bra and grinned when her nipples jutted out in response. “Can I talk you into wearing something of mine?”
She tried to tell her body to stop. The night had ended, and she'd come God knew how many times, yet just his touch made the burning start again. She shivered. Concentrate, Rebecca . “You're asking, not ordering?”
“I take command in sexual matters, little rebel. And only as long as you let me.” His knuckles moved to her cheek, a gentle brush. “There has to be trust between a Dom and sub. And willingness. He can't take if she's not willing to give.”
“Oh.” Something eased inside her.
“But I'm very good at convincing people to do what I want.” His grin flashed, causing flutters in her stomach. The way he looked when he smiled could cause pileups in the city. “Let me dress you for my pleasure today.”
Yeah, when he looked like that, authoritative and laughing, she'd pretty much cave to whatever he wanted. “I guess so. With a few limitations. I won't wear something—”
“How about a flannel shirt?” he interrupted, chasing away her fears of purple negligees before they could take root.
“Ah, well.” Flannel? Her? “Okay.”
“Good.” He studied her a minute. “Leave that lacy thing on.”
“Flannel shirt, remember?”
“Silence, sub.”
She sighed in relief when he returned with a long-sleeved shirt. The dark green matched the color of her eyes. He'd studied her that closely? A glow flamed to life in her stomach.
He pulled her to her feet and helped her into the shirt. “Oh yes,” he muttered. His fingers tangled in her hair, and her scrunchie slid off, her ponytail falling into loose curls, waving over her shoulders.
“I—” Her protest died under a stern look.
Then he buttoned up the shirt as if she were a baby.
She looked down, and her eyes widened. He'd stopped at least three buttons short of the top, and when she moved, the gap in the front of the oversize shirt displayed not only her lacy chemise but a whole lot of cleavage too. Her mother would be appalled.
He ran his fingers over her collarbone and right down to the chemise, sending a rush of heat through her. “Maybe I should fasten more buttons,” he murmured. “You're going to give me a hard-on every time I look at you.”
Her hands fell back to her sides. With that incentive, damned if she'd button anything.
He grinned. “There's that dimple again. You like knowing you can make me suffer, don't you, sugar?”
“Darned right.” She rolled the dangling sleeves up to her elbows. Flannel. Her mother would be horrified about more than the cleavage.
As she headed down the stairs a few minutes later, she felt as if she were returning to the real world after a night spent in a dream. Actually these whole few days felt like a dream. A strange world. Mountains and log cabins and woodstoves. Flannel shirts and cleavage.
And submission? Her face burned. What he'd done to her…made her do… What she'd enjoyed. Oh God.
Would she want this kind of kinky sex every time she went to bed with someone? Because her time with Logan was finite, ending on Wednesday. They both knew that. She was a city girl; he was a mountain guy. Refined versus rough. Very rough.
Especially his
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