Playing Hard to Master (16 page)

The heat from it brought her attention to the fact that he’d turned it on. Probably for her. At least he cared enough to do that. Maybe she wasn’t in too much trouble.

He appeared a few moments later, holding a wooden hairbrush at his side.

Fuck.
She hated wooden implements. Floggers and crops and canes were so much more fun. Her gaze stayed on the brush, and she whined.

Moving toward her, he lifted it up. “Don’t like this, huh?”

Gaze on the rug now, trying to look contrite, she shook her head.

“Good. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson, then.” He sat down on the couch then didn’t say anything for a minute.

Too afraid to look at him, she stared at the blue carpet and counted the circles that made up the modern pattern.

“Come here,” he ordered.

She knew enough about Doms by now to win brownie points, so instead of walking, she crawled to him.

When she reached his feet, she looked up at him. There was interest in his gaze, but he seemed to have it firmly under control.

“Who are you now, Sir? The Sultan again? Or are you my professor?”

He frowned. “We’re just me and you. There’s something you should know, Everly. I’m not just the bedroom-only playful Dom. I love bratty subs, but that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with everything. Especially not running away.”

“I panicked.”

“Then I expect you to talk to me about it. You can always safeword. You should know I’m willing to discuss things, that I won’t force you into things you’re afraid of.”

Shame filled her, and she dropped her gaze to the ground again.

“Look at me.”

Ugh.
Did she have to?

A finger came under her chin and he forced her head up. She let her eyes meet his, saw the disappointment there. For all her bratty ways, she didn’t
really
want to upset him. Her eyes started to water.

“You have to trust your Master.”

She nodded.

“We don’t run away from each other. We talk.”

“Okay.” Her voice trembled. He was right. She should’ve just told him her nipples were sore and she was afraid of the clamps today. Running away was stupid, but it’d been an impulse. She wasn’t used to having a Dom who cared about her feelings so much.

“I’m going to punish you sometimes if I feel like you need it. Do you understand that?”

She nodded.

“I expect you to accept your punishment. If you don’t think you deserve it, we can talk about it. But today, you need to be punished before you get your orgasms.”

Unable to look at him, she stared at the ground again.

“Do you agree you need to be punished?”

Nodding again, she grimaced.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Master.”

Gently, he pulled her over his lap. She braced herself for the pain the hairbrush would bring, especially on her already sore ass from the hot tub spanking.

He must have noticed her tense, because he smoothed a hand over her sensitive skin and said, “Relax. We’re just going to talk for now.”

Oh God.
Here? Over his knee? She wasn’t feeling very conversational. “Again? Just get my punishment over with, Master.”

“I decide those things, Everly. Do you really want to be getting yourself into more trouble right now?”

“No, Master.” She sounded sulky, even to her own ears.

“Then shut your bratty mouth.”

Sighing heavily earned her a stinging swat. Then he smoothed his hand over it. “Who do you belong to?”

Ugh.
So he was going to embarrass her with questions. “You, Master.”

“Who does this ass belong to?”

“You, Master.”

“And your nipples?”

She hesitated, not liking where this was going. Was he going to force the clamps on as part of her punishment? “You, Master.”

“Why didn’t you want me to use the clamps? You seemed to like them the first time.”

“I . . . I don’t know really. My nipples are really sore right after my period, and I was afraid you’d force me.”

“You were afraid of anal before. Did I force you and hurt you, or did I ease you into it so you liked it?”

He had a point. “The second one, Master.”

While he spoke, he stroked her ass and thighs. Was he trying to relax her or turn her on? Or just keep her from getting bored, face shoved into the couch, answering his silly questions?

“So next time you’re afraid or uncomfortable with something, what are you going to do?”

God, the lecturing was worse than any pain he could give her. Couldn’t he just spank her and get it over with? “Talk to you, Master.”

“Good girl.”

His approval felt good, despite the trepidation the hairbrush was causing. The wood glided across her skin, making her flinch.

“I want you to count,” he said. “‘One, I will not run from Master.’ Like that, okay?”

“Yes, Master.” But what if she couldn’t breathe? “How many?”

He paused, making her wonder if he hadn’t thought it through and if that meant worse for her. “Until I think you’re really sorry.”

But I am now!

Whack.

“Ouch!” She flailed, unprepared for the first hit to be so hard. “Don’t I get a warm-up?”

“Not for a punishment,” he answered then tightened his grip on her waist. “Besides, wasn’t the hot tub warm enough?”

Ugh. Dom sarcasm.

Smack
.

She grunted.

“Start at one,” he said.

Oh yeah. She was supposed to be counting. “One, I will not run from Master.”

The next one hit right on her sit spot. “Ow! Two, I will not run from Master.”

He hit harder with each one, and her voice went up at least an octave by ten. The pain wasn’t so bad—she’d had worse with the strap and with canes. But for some reason, the counting and the lecturing and the fact that she’d upset him made it a hundred times worse. It felt like real punishment. When other Doms had “punished” her it was in fun or in role-play, not a real, deep down authentic punishment because she’d done something her Dom had disapproved of.

This felt real. With every hard smack, it sank in deeper. She’d hurt him and their relationship by running.

“Twelve, I will not run from Master.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her voice quavered, and her ass felt like it was on fire.

Whack.

A deep sob escaped her and her whole body shook. “I’m sorry,” she blurted in a small voice.

The brush dropped to the ground. “Good girl.” He smoothed a hand over her sore ass and whispered
shush
ing sounds while she sobbed into the pillow.

It hurt, but not as much as she’d expected. The sobs were more about regret than pain.

He let her cry for a few minutes as he rubbed his hand down her thighs, over her ass, and even on her back. Then he lifted her so she was sitting upright on his lap. Unable to face him, she buried her head in his neck. His arms came around her, squeezing her against him.

“You took that very well,” he crooned in her ear. Stroking her hair, he whispered sweet things to her, and eventually her sobbing slowed to the occasional hiccup.

“A-are you . . .” She steadied her voice. “Are you still going to use the nipple clamps, Master?”

“No. You have a legitimate reason for me not to.” He chuckled and pulled her back so he could see her face. “I’m not cruel.”

She snorted. Her ass begged to differ.

“I never want to scare you or traumatize you. You’re too important to me for that.”

He hugged her again and an overwhelming feeling of warmth flooded her.

“How important?” she mumbled into his neck.

He sighed deeply before answering. “Very important.”

“Why?”

“Why? What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one.” She cuddled her face more into his neck, enjoying how his scent calmed her, even after he’d lit her ass on fire. But for some reason, punishment felt like love. What a weird, fucked-up relationship they had.

“Well . . . you’re important because . . .” He hesitated, making her whole body tense with anxiety.

Did he feel as strongly for her as she did for him? Was her puppy-dog infatuation one-sided?

“Because . . . I love you.”

She straightened then grinned at him. “I knew it!”

His brow creased. “Did you just manipulate me?”

“I had to know for sure.”

“Bad girl,” he said, chuckling.

“You can’t be mad at me.” She bit her lip, a knot forming in her gut.

“I can’t?”

“No. Because . . .” With a deep breath, she said it. “I love you too.”

Ambrose grinned, his eyes shining, and so blue she felt like she could dive into them. He watched her like she was the most amazing thing in the world. It was the most wonderful feeling—like she was the most important person in the world to another person. She’d had men say they loved her before, but with Ambrose she could see the adoration on his face. People said that real Dominants often worshiped their submissives, but she’d never seen it for herself. The link that was being forged between them made the other D/s relationships she’d been in seem like pale imitations of the real thing.

He traced his finger over her bottom lip, his gaze never leaving her face. How could it be that his soft touches aroused her as much as the spankings and the sex?

Before she had time to seriously contemplate that, he was brushing his lips against hers, taking her mouth as though it belonged to him. For a long while he did nothing but kiss her, and it was somehow as magical as she always thought a kiss should be.

“You already knew I loved you?” he whispered against her mouth, sounding amused.

“Only because you’ve been showing me that you do for weeks. You make me
feel
like you love me, which is more important than pretty words.”

Ambrose smiled and stroked her hair. “That’s because it’s true, and sometimes true things are easier to show than say.” He kissed her again, briefly, then set her on her feet. “Now, I need you to hang on to all of those warm, fuzzy feelings, and try your best to remember I love you.” He got to his feet and started to lead her down the hall, back toward the pool area. When they got to the stairs they descended.

“What are you going to do to me?” This didn’t bode well. His words had almost sounded like a threat.

“Well, some mouthy little girl wounded my pride. So now we’re going to spend some time proving her wrong.”

“But . . . I don’t think I like the sound of this.” She thought about trying to lag behind, but he had a firm grip on her wrist and seemed quite determined. “Aren’t you finished punishing me?”

“Did I give you that impression? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you, slave.” He had turned to look at her, and his expression was sinister.

Everly would have come in her panties, if she were still wearing any. No one could look as truly evil as Ambrose did when he had a plan.

She thought about whining, but the bastard would probably like that. Maybe giving him some satisfaction would make him feel more charitable toward her?

He walked her to one of the support columns in the lounge area and backed her against it. “Stay,” he commanded.

Oh God, why did it turn her on so much when he issued commands like she was his pet dog? Probably because she could tell by his expression and the way he held himself that he fully expected her to be an obedient little pet. She waited while he rooted around in his bag, pressing her thighs together to try to give her poor, aching clit some relief.

How did she get herself into this? With a vanilla guy, she just could have said, “Dude, it’s fucking time,” and the guy would do a back handspring then do pretty much anything she asked if it meant he was getting laid. She had a feeling even if she begged Ambrose for relief right now, it wouldn’t divert him from his plan. Masters were so damned stubborn.

Ambrose returned with several silky-looking scarves.

“No, Master, not scarves!” she begged in a mocking tone. “What’s my safeword again? I’m so scared.”

He grumbled something about bratty slaves needing to be taught when to keep their mouths shut, but she stood on her toes and kissed his jaw, then down the side of his neck. He gave an un-Domly purr, and didn’t object when her hand groped at his hard-on. He bit her hard on the neck, and dry humped her against the column, frustrating the hell out of her. She felt a certain amount of satisfaction over the fact that he seemed to be suffering as much as she was.

Desire spiked, and she wondered if she could convince him to forget about fancy bondage shit and just bang her already.

Ambrose spread a staying hand across her upper chest and pulled away from her. “Bad girl. Quit tempting me.”

“But, Master, what kind of slave would I be if I didn’t tempt you?” she simpered up at him, batting her lashes. “I live only to please you.”

He chuckled in spite of himself and shook his head in exasperation. He tied one end of a scarf around her wrist, put it through something above her head, then pulled. Her arm was hauled upward, and he tied the free end to her other wrist. She felt like a sacrifice left for the minotaur. When she looked up to see what he’d looped the scarf through, there was a suspicious-looking O-ring conveniently anchored there. It didn’t seem to serve any other practical purpose.

“You like that? I put that there just for you, for this.” He stepped back and thoroughly eye-fucked her.

She quivered, frowning, ready to start begging.

“Shh. Not much longer, sweet girl.”

He gagged her with the next scarf, tying it behind her head, and used another long one to tie her ribcage against the column, so she was well and truly stuck.

The last length of fabric he shook out and showed to her. “Do you trust me? Can I blindfold you?”

She nodded.

“Can you safeword? Try.”

Her safeword came out garbled but understandable. Ambrose’s wicked grin was the last thing she saw before he covered her eyes and tied the scarf securely.

“Look at what we have here.” He chuckled. “A present! Look at all the pretty ribbons.” Here and there, gentle touches came. Fingers, tongue, the tug of teeth, hands sliding over her skin, small pinches on the ass, plucking at her nipples, tickling the piercing between her legs. It was almost as though he’d hired a team of hands to help out. She widened her stance, silently begging for something more. “Mmm. What a pretty little gift.” His hand went around her throat. “Is this toy mine to play with?”