Ana Adored: Mistress of the Castle (Masters of the Castle)

by Anastasia Vitsky

  Ana ventured a few steps further in. The very back wall was lined with rows of implements hung on neat hooks. Crops, canes, paddles, and, to her dismay, a strap-on harness. Apparently, Miranda and Peyton had something in common after all.

  Ana shrank from that awful thought even as she shrank from the harness. She bumped into a plastic storage bin on the floor just inside the door, and when she glanced down into it, she got her second unpleasant surprise. It was filled with sex aids—vibrators, dildos, interchangeable strap-on accessories, all brand new and in their original packaging, with an entire case of individually wrapped condoms resting right on top.

  Not a box, a case.

  Why would Miranda have condoms in her bedroom? Why would she need that many of them? This is what I get for snooping.

  Unsettled, Ana went back to the living room. She tried to tell herself that everything she had just seen was being glimpsed out of context. Miranda could probably explain every single one of those things away and have it be a very plausible excuse. Just because Miranda had a strap-on, didn't mean she used it. She worked in a sex resort; of course she would have a closet full of sex aids. And maybe she—Ana's stomach churned at the thought—dominated men on occasion, or she might even be bi. That would explain the condoms. It made her sick to her stomach to think about having to share Miranda—her touches, kisses, the tender way she had made Ana feel so… wanted just by making love to her—with other women, much less other men. And how many 'visitors' did Miranda bring back to her apartment, anyway? Surely she didn't have sex with all of them!

  No longer feeling special, Ana sank into her chair at the table. She looked at her waiting application, but the last thing she was in the mood to do right now was paperwork. She shoved it as far away from her as the small dining table would allow.

  In that desk across the room, her cell phone continued to hum, rattling against the bottom of the wooden drawer. Was it ringing again, or still?

  Why the hell couldn't Peyton leave her alone?

  A burst of sudden anger launched Ana out of her chair and across the room. Yanking the drawer open, she grabbed her phone. Forty-seven missed calls, and more text messages than her memory could hold. The little icon box read 'full'.

  Ana swiped her finger across the screen, and as soon as she heard the call engage, snapped out, "Stop calling me!"

  "Baby, where are you?"

  Ana blinked, taken aback by Peyton's tone. She'd been expecting anger or recrimination, not worry. "Stop calling me 'baby,' too. You don't have that right anymore."

  "Where are you?" Peyton said again, this time with a touch of exasperation. "The mail's piling up in the box. Your suitcase is missing from the closet. All my stuff is piled up by the door. What's going on?"

  It was that touch of exasperation that helped Ana find her anger again. "You know exactly what's going on, Peyton! And how did you get in my apartment? I changed the locks the day after I threw you out!"

  "This is my apartment too, remember? I pay half the rent—more than half when you had to get your car fixed last month. Since my name's still on the lease, the manager let me make a copy of the new key. I told him I'd lost mine."

  Ana's jaw dropped. "You had no right!"

  "Baby, we had a fight. You can't just run away and not give me a chance to make everything right again between us."

  "You hit me," Ana spat into the phone, her voice beginning to rise alongside the pulse of furious distress that was filling up her head.

  "I know," Peyton said, and for just a second, Ana could have sworn there was nothing in her tone but genuine regret. "I have a lot to make up for, honey, I do."

  "Stop calling me honey, too," Ana tried, but she didn't sound half as angry as she wanted to.

  "I checked your laptop."

  And just like that, the anger came flooding back again. "You checked my laptop?"

  "You've got a new bookmark. The Castle in Ohio. Is that where you are?"

  "Get out of my apartment, or I'm calling the police!" Ana hung up the call and quickly threw the phone back into the drawer. It would have been so satisfying to slam it shut, but Ana was afraid she might damage the antique mahogany. She closed it carefully, and no sooner had she done that, than did the phone begin to vibrate all over again.

  Ana covered her ears, half-laughing and completely furious at Peyton's intrusion and her own inability to just walk away. She paced tense circles in front of the desk. She wanted to kick something, but Miranda's beautiful plants and possessions left nowhere for her to vent her frustration.

  The phone buzzed again, and suddenly something inside Ana snapped. Not caring half as much about the mahogany as she knew she should, she yanked open the drawer, grabbed her phone and shut it off. Liberated, she dropped it back inside the desk and quietly shut the drawer.

  Apart from the pounding in her head, she felt better almost instantly.

  Rubbing her hands on her thighs, she started to return to the application on the table, but abruptly changed her mind. She went into the kitchen instead. 'Make yourself at home,' Miranda had said, and she certainly had done that in Miranda's bedroom. If anything, snooping through the cabinets in search of a glass and the fridge in search of something cold to drink felt like an even bigger invasion of privacy. And yet, after pouring herself half a glass of water from the pitcher on the top shelf, Ana stood in the open door for some time, sipping and studying the rest of the refrigerator's contents.

  A lot could be learned about a person from how they kept their fridge. Miranda's fridge was immaculate, and either she had just cleaned it before Ana arrived, or she wasn't big on cooking. She was, however, big on cheese. She had an entire bin dedicated to over a dozen different kinds: cheddar, Swiss, Harvarti, Brie and even goat cheeses, each individually wrapped and painstakingly labelled.

  As far as actual cooking supplies went, there weren't many. An onion and part of a zucchini were rattling about in the crisper. Other than that, there were a few bottled herbs and other minor cooking staples, along with a row of jars on the counter, filled to varying levels with grains and pasta.

  Ana shut the fridge door, glanced at the oven and gleaming knife block, and made up her mind. Invasive and bold, maybe, but she'd whip up something for Miranda to eat when she came back. It was the least she could do to repay her for the cost of the vacation, not to mention giving her a place to stay.

  She opened one jar and beamed. Quinoa! That, plus the cheese and zucchini in the fridge, gave her an idea. Did Miranda have beans? Yes, she did! Either Miranda was a vegetarian also, or she'd remembered Ana's avoidance of meat. Either way, Ana was inordinately pleased.

  Drawing from memory, she settled on an old favorite recipe. Cooking it in someone else's kitchen made her extremely conscious of making a mess so she cleaned as she went, boiling beans, cooking quinoa, slicing and dicing the vegetables. She found a box of bread crumbs in the cupboard and an entire shelf devoted to spices. By the time she was ready to mash the beans into a moist, well-seasoned dough and pat them out into patties, she was actually feeling happy again. Well, maybe not happy, but she was feeling victorious. She'd filled in roughly half of her all-too personal application, she'd hung up on Peyton, and she'd turned her phone off.

  She couldn't wait for Miranda to get back home again so she could share—

  "Wow, you're industrious."

  Ana shrieked, she was so startled. She also jumped, grabbed her chest and, when she turned to stare wide-eyed at an equally startled Miranda in the doorway, her elbow bumped the bowl of leftover quinoa cake mixture and knocked it onto the floor. It landed right side up, splattering flecks of dough across all the nearest cabinets, and leaving an inch-long mark on the floor where the edge of the bowl had cracked into it.

  "Oh my jellybeans, I'm so sorry!" Ana gasped. She flung the bowl onto the counter, wincing as it crashed into the jar of open pesto. She fumbled for the dishcloth that, up until now, she had been using to clean up as she'd gone along, only now there was no sign of i
t. Nor were there paper towels. In desperation, she wet her fingers under the faucet and dropped to her knees to rub out the mark on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, and if anything's damaged, I'll pay for it. I can't believe I did this. I destroy everything I touch! I—" She suddenly spotted the dishcloth, draped over her own shoulder where she'd left it after drying her hands. "Oh, for the love of…"

  "Please, my lovely, get up off the floor." Closing the door Ana hadn't heard her open, Miranda came into the kitchen.

  "I made a mess," Ana protested when Miranda pulled her to her feet.

  "The floor will survive, I promise. I'm only sorry I startled you. Please don't scream like that again." Miranda pressed a hand to her chest. "I think you took three years off my life."

  Her own heart still beating hard, Ana looked at her, and then they both started laughing. "I didn't hear you come in."

  "Next time I promise I'll wear a cow bell around my neck." Miranda came in to wrap her arms around Ana and drop a kiss upon her cheek. "Jellybeans? Oh my jellybeans?"

  "I work with preschoolers," Ana protested, flushing with heated embarrassment. "Swear any harder than jellybeans, and you either destroy fragile childhoods or get fired. Sometimes both."

  Miranda tsked. "Say jellybeans all you like, then. In fact, say anything hard and I'll spank you for real. Let it not be said that I took a schoolmarm and turned her into a sailor."

  Rolling her eyes, Ana took that threat for exactly what it was. She rapped Miranda on the arm with the backs of two fingers. "Ha ha," she deadpanned.

  "I hope I haven't ruined dinner." Miranda glanced over the patties Ana had been making. "Do I have time to change before we eat?"

  "Sure. I still have to cook them." A blush of happy warmth unfurled in her stomach when Miranda leaned in to kiss her cheek again, only to hesitate, then change direction, to press a tender caress upon Ana's lips with her own.

  "Think about whether you'd prefer wine or tea with your supper," she said fondly. "I'll be right back."

  Miranda was out of the kitchen and partway down the hall before Ana remembered her guilt.

  "I went into your room," she called over the breakfast bar, and then bit her bottom lip when she heard Miranda abruptly change directions.

  Poking her head around the side of the wall, Miranda gave her another smile. "I know. You left the door wide open."

  "Are you mad?" Ana wrung the dishcloth between her hands, but Miranda's smile only softened.

  "No. I told you to make yourself at home." Patting the wall twice, Miranda disappeared down the hall again. "Although I suppose I should be upset. The least you can do while snooping is put your bag away."

  That chiding tease was the last nail in the coffin of Ana's guilt. Grinning, she turned her attention back to dinner and once the patties began to cook, she finished cleaning up the mess she'd made of the floor and cabinets.

  "Tea," she said, once Miranda came back to the kitchen. She had indeed changed her clothes. The civilian attire of jeans and button-up shirt had been abandoned. Once more, she looked like a Castle employee.

  Miranda had no trouble following her conversation. "No wine?"

  "Not tonight, if that's okay."

  "It's more than fine for me, lovely."

  The two women worked side by side, Ana over the stove and Miranda over the sink while she filled the kettle with water and then dug through her cabinets to prepare a blend of dried leaves to steep. There was silence between them, but it felt companionable. Comfortable. Right up until Ana ruined it with conversation.

  "Was it bad?" she asked, and when Miranda glanced at her with eyebrows arching in question, specified, "The emergency?"

  Without a sound, an invisible curtain fell across the taller woman's features. Miranda abruptly turned away. She pretended to be absorbed by the intricacies of brewing tea.

  "It is what it is," she eventually replied, although it took so long in coming that by the time she did say it, Ana was regretting having said anything at all. "Let's just say, it's been a hard day for everybody and leave it at that."

  "Do… do you want to talk about it?" Ana could have bitten her tongue. Miranda had all but said she did not want to talk about it, but instead of snapping at her, the taller woman simply smiled again.

  "No," she said, soft but firm. "I don't. Let's talk about you instead. Did you finish your application?"

  It was as good a distraction as any, and Ana took it. "Nope, but I did work on it."

  "We'll finish it up together after dinner, then." Miranda put the kettle on a back burner of the stove. Leaning against the sink, she made herself comfortable and watched Ana finish up the quinoa cakes. "You've surprised me, lovely. I honestly didn't expect to come home and find you cooking for me."

  Putting them in the oven to bake, Ana wiped her hands on the dishtowel. "Do you mind?"

  "Not at all. I'm rather fond of quinoa, so this is a wonderful return-home surprise." A lick of cautious pleasure moved through Ana, amplified by the wink Miranda cast as she leaned over the stove to adjust the temperature of the back burner. "Frankly, my lovely, when I first saw you in here, I expected to find you doing something naughty with Hershey's syrup."

  "I didn't know you had any," Ana teased back. "But now that I know you do, I think I'll save that for later. Just in case I, you know…" she flushed, the teasing dissolving into heated embarrassment at having to verbalize what she hoped might happen between them later on, "need to give you some reason."

  Miranda arched her eyebrow. "A reason for what?"

  "To spank me," Ana specified, then stopped. "Or is that wrong?"

  "In some relationships, perhaps, but not for us. We're just beginning, lovely. We have a lot of learning to do about one another, about what we like and don't like, what makes us comfortable. I am your Dominant, for the next few days at least. And for the next few days, you are my submissive. I want you to be relaxed with me. I want to watch you sass your way in and out of spankings. Playful ones, mind you, rather than punishments. What do you want?"

  Ana melted at the unexpected beauty of those words: her Dominant, my submissive. "I want that, too," she admitted.

  "How long before supper is ready?" Miranda asked, her long fingers walking their way across the counter as she sidled in closer to Ana.

  "Another fifteen minutes, maybe. Why?"

  "Because earlier we were interrupted in the middle of something important." Miranda's free arm crept around Ana's side, pulling her in until they were belly to hot belly and hip to alluring hip. "I do believe I'd like to pick up where we left off."

  "Oh, well," Ana said, strangely breathless, more than willing to provide all the playful sassiness Miranda desired. "I took care of my part while you were gone."

  "Oh ho," Miranda chuckled. She moved, turning Ana without letting go until she faced the cabinets. "Naughty girl. Do you know what happens to sassy submissives in your Mistress's household?"

  "They get lots of chocolate cake and ice cream?" Ana guessed, her hands resting on the countertop.

  A husky laugh preceded the tender kiss that brushed the nape of Ana's neck, sending delightful shivers dancing through her. "Good guess. Wrong, but good nonetheless."

  Ana giggled as Miranda bent her over the edge of the counter.

  "In this house," Miranda said, one idle hand stroking down Ana's spine to play across the rounded surface of her bottom, "naughty girls get spanked. And after dinner, they get sent straight to bed so I can hold them all night long."

  Ana let out a sigh, closing her eyes just as the first light slap of Miranda's hand made contact. It sounded heavenly.

  "Such a sweet girl," Miranda cooed, pinning her to the counter even as she pushed her shirt up her back to expose her soft skin to tongue-flicking kisses. From her shoulders all the way to the small of her back where the curve of her spine joined the rising hills of her buttocks, Miranda caressed and kissed. She also hooked her fingers into the waist of her pants, skinning both her jeans and her u
nderwear all the way down to Ana's knees. "My sweet, sweet girl."

  Ana gripped the counter, her breath escaping in a sigh when Miranda cupped her bottom, squeezing the fleshy globes one at a time.

  "There's my good girl. Moan for me, lovely. Tell me how much you like this."

  She began to spank, soft and sexy swats that were barely hard enough to pinken her skin, a gentle warm-up interspersed with heady pauses that held no purpose beyond indulging Miranda's desire to touch and kiss. The tickling brush of Miranda's hair, followed by her wandering lips and yet another breathtaking swat, made Ana moan and writhe.

  "Harder," she gasped, her flesh bouncing under the soft application of Miranda's palm.

  "Careful what you ask for," Miranda said huskily, brushing her teasing lips across each blushing nether cheek in turn, and then drawing her hand back to deliver a resounding slap.

  The sting sank in under her palm, imparting its scintillating burn straight through her flesh and into the pulsing canal between her clenching thighs. "More," she begged, her legs parting of their own accord when she felt Miranda's hands steal into the moist shadow between them.

  "Greedy," she laughed, throaty and low. Her fingers searched Ana's folds, parting them, dipping in to test the heat and wetness until Ana's legs began to shake from the rising need to rock her hips and ride upon her questing hand.

  Drawing back her hand, Miranda began again, spanking now in brisk, measured strokes until Ana's soft gasps and wiggles dissolved into moaning, grinding wantonness. Heat overwhelmed her bottom, growing through her flanks and spreading inward on pulses of fire that were anything but painful. She tried to reach back, needing to touch that heat with her fingers more in that moment than she had ever needed anything in her life. She barely managed it, cupping her own right cheek, digging in with her fingertips in a way that could only have flashed Miranda the most wanton view of her most secret places.