In the Den (25 page)
Without complaint or argument, she slowly she sank to her knees on the cool, uneven and uncomfortable slate. First point to her. He’d made her kneel often, but never on slate.
Her motions weren’t as seamless as they’d once been and her breathing was a bit ragged. He’d knocked her off balance with his counter to her outrageous request. He intended to keep her guessing.
Seeing her there, knees spread to shoulder-width, the way he liked, he questioned his sanity.
She might still be dressed in a skirt and a silk blouse, but he remembered what lay beneath. He was desperate to have his hands on her.
She looked up at him, and when he raised a brow, she quickly cast her gaze down. “Good girl.”
Slowly, without his coaching, she bent her head.
“You remember a few things.”
“A few.”
So did he; more than he wanted to remember. Like the way she smelled after a bath, of lavender and vanilla, the way she tasted, of femininity and surrender. “Remove your blouse.”
Her head still lowered, she unfastened the last couple of buttons. She parted the shirt then shrugged, allowing the silk to pool on the tiled floor.
“Now your brassiere.”
He noticed that her fingers shook slightly as she released the hook and eye, then drew the straps over her shoulder and dropped the scrap of red lace on the floor. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight of her breasts, tipped by erect brown nipples. “Pinch them.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
At first, she touched her nipples gently, making them harder, more alluring. He wondered if her actions were calculated to torture him. Then she squeezed each of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger before tugging. Finally she pinched them tightly. She leaned back, like she did when facing exquisite pain. And she moaned.
Christ. His cock was throbbing. “Harder!”
She froze for a second, but she didn’t break position. He watched her torment those beautiful little nipples. “I said harder, Jessica.”
She gulped.
He imagined when she planned this little visit that she thought they’d have a polite conversation about her proposal, perhaps picturing them sitting politely in the Queen Anne chairs in front of the fireplace while Mrs Boxley brought in a pot of tea, all very civilized. Had she forgotten how uncivilized he could be? He had ideas for the Queen Anne chairs, all right, but they included punishment and her being bent over. “Shall I show you what I mean?”
He saw her sink her teeth into her bottom lip. She’d often complained his grip was worse than her most vicious clover clamps. She closed her eyes and ardently squeezed tighter on her nipples.
She gave a gentle moan that made his cock even harder.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to touch her.
Moving in closer, he said, “Offer me your breasts.”
“I…” She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
He waited, wondering if she’d protest or at least dally.
With only a moment’s hesitation, she released her grip on her nipples and cupped her breasts, pushing them up slightly, drawing them closer together.
He liked seeing her vulnerable like this. When she’d walked out two years ago he never imagined she’d come back, never conceived of the possibility she’d actually be on her knees in front of him after begging him to push her boundaries. “Ask me to squeeze your nipples.”
She swallowed deeply.
“Please… Please squeeze my nipples…”
They both waited then. He heard the tick of the clock in the parlor. At one time, she’d called him Stephen. Then she’d called him Sir. After he’d collared her, she’d called him Master.
Her leather collar hung from the tie rack in his closet, thrown away like their marriage vows.
She met his eyes, even though he preferred she keep her gaze downcast during a scene. Confusion swam in the depth of her golden eyes; wordlessly she asked him to guide her. This time, he refused. He wanted to see where she would go, how much intimacy she wanted. “Squeeze my nipples…” he prompted.
“Squeeze my nipples, Sir. Please.”
Sir
. That worked for him. For now.
When he took that final step that brought him only inches from her, she lowered her gaze. “Perfect.” He took each of her nipples and gently rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers.
She moaned slightly then apologized breathlessly.
“No apologies,” he said. “I don’t care if everyone in the household hears your moans and screams.” He exerted a tiny bit more pressure.
“I…”
“You’re not thinking of climaxing, are you?”
“I’m getting wet,” she confessed. “Sir.”
That she was still so responsive ripped away his next breath. That had always been something he loved about her, the way she got so damp so quick, the way she orgasmed. It made it fun to punish her, draw out the climaxes until she squirmed. Once she’d even stamped her foot in frustration. “What happens to a sub who comes without permission?”
“It’s a very long time until she’s allowed another one.”
“Good girl.” He twisted her nipple then pinched and squeezed with deliberate, painful intent.
“Sir! Sir, sir, sir!” She gasped. She threw her body forward, trying to lean into the pain. She released her breasts, reaching for his wrists like she had earlier.
“Compose yourself.” He was relentless. “Back into position.” He saw what it cost her to steady her breaths as he continued to compress her nipples.
“It hurts!”
“Does it?”
She fought her way back into position, struggling to cup her breasts. At least he was some help there since he was tugging so hard on her nipples they were nearly next to each other.
He noticed the exact moment she regained control of her body’s reactions. Her breaths were still shallow, but she intentionally drew each breath. She forced her knees apart, and she leaned back slightly, even though it meant her nipples were more distended.
By degrees, he eased up on the pressure. When she totally surrendered, he released his grip and took a step back. God, he loved the sight of her, so responsive and beautiful, blonde hair, longer than it had been, cascading over her trembling shoulders.
He was undone.
He crouched in front of her. She still held her breasts for him. Although her head was tipped forward, he saw she was blinking rapidly, unsure of his next move. Gently he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and laved away the hurt with his tongue. She moaned, a sound he recognized as pure pleasure. After soothing the tip of her other breast, he slowly stood. “If you wish to stay, strip. I will be in the parlor.” Then he said, “Look at me.” As she complied, he took the time to purposefully unfasten his belt and draw it from its loops.
Her gaze was fastened on his motions, not on his face, just as he’d intended.
“If you join me,” he said, “you’ll experience my punishment.”
“You said… You aren’t into revenge.”
“Revenge, no. Punishment that you richly deserve, absolutely. There’s a difference, and you know it.” He waited until she looked at his face. “If you choose to leave, you know where the door is. Your choice, Jessica.”
About the Author
Born in northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens books that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.
She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since.
Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.
Email:
[email protected]
Sierra
loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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Also by Sierra Cartwright
Halloween Heart Throbs: Walk on the Wild Side
Totally Bound Publishing
