In the Zone (14 page)

“You’ll be the death of me,” he said.

“I hope so.”

“Impertinent sub.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled out slowly and removed her cuffs.

When she would have collapsed, he said, “Stay there.”

“Sir?”

“Do I need to repeat my command?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, Sir.”

She heard the sound of running water. Maybe the sink faucet?

All of a sudden she felt a little vulnerable in that position, her pussy wet, her asshole stretched wide by a glass plug. She looked like a submissive slut.

Part of her wanted to curl into a small ball and hide beneath the covers or better yet run for home.

The man clearly knew her as well as she knew herself. He’d made sure they’d left her car at the club. There was no escape, nothing to do but brazen out the situation.

She heard a more powerful rush of water. The shower? Was he seriously going to make her stay here, with her butt thrust up, her muscles cramping, and her breasts pressed against the bedspread while he cleaned up?

She gritted her teeth against the indignation.

She was a sub, but she was still a human. Her body was tense, and now that the perspiration was drying, she felt a little chilled.

This was what she’d asked for, though. She’d wanted a man strong enough to force her capitulation.

Now that she had him, what the hell was she supposed to do with him?

The feeling of something warm and damp against her pussy made her screech and break position.

“Shh,” he said. “And get your luscious body back where it was.”

She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts and feeling sorry for herself that she hadn’t heard him return.

“It’s just a washcloth,” he said.

Gently, his touch so different from when he’d screwed her, he picked her up and placed her where he wanted her.

This man and his unexpected tenderness was so far removed from anything she’d experienced either in the vanilla or the BDSM worlds. “Master Nathaniel?”

“We’ll talk, Alani. Later.”

Having no other choice, she surrendered to his ministrations.

He took hold of her labia and wiped her pussy lips. Why did this seem so much more intimate than anything else they’d done?

“I’m going to remove the plug.”

His words horrified her. “I…I’m sure I can manage that, Sir.”

“I’m sure you can.”

He grasped the glass hilt and tugged.

She clenched her sphincter involuntarily.

“It’ll be easier if you bear down. It’s coming out, and it’s coming out now. How difficult you want it to be is up to you.”

Could there be anything more humiliating?

He tugged again. “Relax.”

If only she could.

He pulled much harder.

“Damn, Sir!”

“Stop being difficult, Alani. We will do it this way, or you can squat on the floor and I’ll take it out that way.”

So her two choices were awful and more awful.

She bore down.

“Good girl.” He removed the plug.

She began to sweat. She knew her hole was gaping open, and her pussy was still exposed. She’d never been more aware of her femininity or what it meant to submit.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her.

Then he slapped her right butt cheek.

“Lie down.”

Did he ever stop being bossy?

He worked his hands up her, starting with her ankles and moving up her calves and hamstrings. He worked out the cramps until her muscles felt supple.

She closed her eyes and surrendered.

Being pampered had never been part of her scenes, but maybe she could get used to it.

Before she realized what he was about, he’d taken hold of her, turned her over, and lifted her into his arms.

She told herself to keep her distance, but she was helpless to resist him. She relaxed against his body.

He carried her into the bathroom.

He’d left the water running, and steam fogged the mirrors and the glass shower stall.

Without pausing, he moved toward the shower, opened the door, and stepped inside with her.

He slid her down his body, but he held on to her until she gained her balance.

She’d never shared a bathroom with a man. Of course, she’d never seen a shower like this before. This oversize unit had a built-in bench, and it was deep enough to hold another two people.

The stall was beautifully tiled. Dispensers for shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shaving cream kept it virtually clutter free. Two detachable showerheads were on adjustable metal slides. He’d tossed two white fluffy towels over the top of the glass door, so they wouldn’t get chilled after they were finished. Did he think of everything?

“Turn around,” he told her. “Put your hands on the wall above your head.”

He turned a few dials and made a few adjustments so water wouldn’t run in her eyes. She knew that couldn’t be fabulous for him since the spray was hitting him midback, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Alani wasn’t sure what she’d expected after he’d taken her so completely, filling her, demanding her surrender.

She reminded herself again that she wanted a man who truly knew how to be a dom.

The other men she’d been with adopted a more vanilla relationship after a scene. She’d shower alone, even locking the door behind her. She doubted he would permit that.

“Hands on the wall,” he repeated.

Nathaniel—
Master Nathaniel
—made it clear he was a dom all the way to his core. If she were honest, it unnerved her.

What the hell had she been thinking in not bringing her own car?

She suddenly wanted time alone.

He moved her hair to one side.

She felt his big, soap-slick hands on her shoulders, then her back. He moved lower, lathering her buttocks.

“Relax, little sub.”

Even though her body felt tense, she found herself giving in to his tenderness.

The juxtaposition between his tough masculinity and gentle care was difficult to sort out in her mind. Which was real?

He left her for a moment. She looked over her shoulder to see him remove the handheld showerhead from its bracket.

He rinsed the lather from her body.

The heat combined with his touch relaxed her. He was decimating her defenses.

“Face me,” he instructed. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

She did, and she closed her eyes as he soaped her front.

“Are your nipples tender?” He feathered his fingertips across the tight nubs.

“They’re more than tender, Sir. They’re sore,” she said. “From when you clamped them at the club.”

He brutally pinched them.

She yelped, but almost instantly she felt the first tendrils of arousal. “Yes,” she whispered.

He cupped her breasts and squeezed them.

She tipped her head back. She loved the way he touched her. Sure. Firm.

He dispensed a handful of soap and lathered it as he moved down her rib cage, then her belly. He moved next to her legs, skipping her pubic area.
Maddening.
He was totally maddening.

When he reached her ankles, he grabbed the showerhead and rinsed away the soap.

“Spread your legs.”

Finally.

He handled her so masterfully that she felt no sense of embarrassment as he directed the spray toward her pussy.

Her cunt was tender, and she appreciated the gentle way he touched her. He spread her labia and rinsed the area with warm water.

She locked her knees when he inserted a finger in her ass and used the water to wash that too.

“I won’t permit you to hide from me,” he said.

“Sir, I…”

“Unless you want to spend the next twenty-four hours crawling around my house naked with a pony-play plug sticking out your ass, I suggest you relax.”

Good God. He would too.

She’d seen those types of butt plugs at Zones. The plug itself was red and medium size. It had about a foot of nylon to resemble horsehair.

She unlocked her knees, allowing him access.

“You’re much more into pain than humiliation,” he observed. “I’ll keep that in mind for future punishments.”

Which meant he had been serious earlier when he said he wanted to see her outside of the club.

“Look at me,” he told her.

She met his gaze. He crouched so they were at eye level.

He cleaned her anus with the water and his fingers. Having no secrets was strangely liberating.

“You should always follow my directions so perfectly.”

He finger-fucked her ass for a few seconds. Maybe because the area was tender, she found it totally erotic.

“I like your reactions, Alani. With your eyes so wide and your mouth parted like that, you show how much you appreciate this.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, remembering her manners. As she’d learned, he was strict about that. “I appreciate your attention.” That last bit was a lie. She really wanted to sort things out on her own.

“I was wondering if you’d thank me.”

Finally he removed his hand. He turned the dial on the showerhead, making the water pulse.

“No,” she said softly, pleadingly. She wasn’t sure how much more she could endure.

He grinned.

The bursts of water against her clit and her anus aroused her more than she imagined.

Involuntarily she curled her hands against his shoulders and jerked convulsively.

“Shall I let you come?”

“Oh, God. Please. Please, Sir.”

He spread her labia and pulled back the hood of her clit, exposing the tiny bit of flesh to the water.

Despite his earlier order, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

It was torture.

It was bliss.

She wanted him to release her clitoris; she wanted him to continue the torment.

He moved the water closer, and when the pain was a bit much, he pulled back. He created a sexual dance she was helpless to resist.

“I’m feeling… I want to… Please, Sir, may I come?”

“Hold on another minute.”

She rose onto her toes, seeking the spray, avoiding the spray. “Sir!” She was lost in the sensations. He held her clit exposed with his thumb and forefinger, and he inserted another finger in her pussy.

“Now?” she begged. “May I? Please, Master Nathaniel?”

“Come,” he commanded.

She cried out as the orgasm swamped her.

She rode wave after wave, rising onto her tiptoes and then rocking back on her heels. Deep in her mind, she was aware her fingernails were digging into his skin, but he continued the assault.

Finally, sated, she collapsed forward. He dropped the showerhead. He caught her in his strong arms and cradled her against his chest.

“Perfect,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

She wasn’t sure how long he held her, and when she finally pulled away and tipped her head back, he was looking down at her.

His green eyes seemed darker than usual. Smoky rather than icy.

His cock was half hard, and she wondered if he wanted sex again. In case, she reached for him.

He curled his hand over hers. “Later,” he said.

Now that he’d told her, she wanted him more.

He turned off the faucet. He brushed droplets of water from his arms and chest, ran his palm over his face, then he finger-combed his hair.

The look, slicked back, exposing his forehead, showing off his scar, made him look rugged, even more like the warrior he was.

She could hardly believe this man had chosen her.

Master Nathaniel pulled down a towel. She reached for the other, but stopped, surprised, when he wrapped the first one around her hair and squeezed the moisture from the thick strands.

“I think one of us is confused, Sir.”

He raised his brow.

“I should be waiting on you. I should have washed your body. I should have offered you the first towel.”

“You’re right,” he said. “One of us is confused.”

He removed the towel from her hair, then caressed her with the cotton, dabbing the droplets from her neck, drying her back, making her feel exquisitely cared for.

She was too exhausted to argue further. If he wanted her to be a princess for an evening, so be it.

“You’ll sleep naked,” he said, looking up from where he crouched in front of her.

“Sir, I prefer to sleep in a T-shirt.”

“Would you like to sleep chained to the foot of the bed?”

She wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. So far, however, he’d done exactly what he said he would. She decided to take no chances. “Naked is fine, Sir.”

He wrapped the towel around her and then grabbed the other towel to wrap around his waist. He left his hair and torso damp, and she stared, mesmerized by a drop of water that ran from his chest, down his belly, and disappeared into the towel.

The starkness of the white cotton emphasized his tan and his taut body.

He pulled the towel from her body, and she gasped.

“I like to look at your ass when you walk,” he said. Reaching past her, he pushed open the shower door. “I like it even better when you crawl.”

She looked over her shoulder, waiting for his order.

“Walk,” he said. “This time.”

She didn’t walk, she sashayed, exaggerating the sway of her hips, and the flounce of her hair.

He whistled.

She grinned, suddenly feeling as if an oppressive weight had been lifted. She appreciated the levity. “I’m afraid I will need to borrow a brush, Sir. Otherwise I’ll never be able to work with my hair again.”

“Pull out that chair and have a seat.”

She knew better than to argue.

He was back a minute later. He lifted her hair and wrapped it in a towel. He squeezed as much water from her hair as possible and then began to work a brush through the thick strands. Just like she would have, he started from the bottom and worked his way up.

This man perplexed her.

He was kind and gentle at times but always uncompromising.

He said nothing as he worked out the tangles.

This was a unique experience. This powerful man, more than six feet tall, capable of handling himself and a weapon in a terrorist-filled country, was brushing her hair, patiently, methodically. Those traits made him good at everything he did, she suspected. And they also, at times, infuriated her.