To Command and Collar

by Cherise Sinclair

  Keep arm over head, she told herself. Legs open. Her hips—the one wiggle that escaped her was rewarded with a nasty nip on the underside of her breast and made her gasp, increasing the feeling of being washed away in need.

  His finger pressed into her entrance, a small stretch, then slid over her clit, repeating the motions. Her labia swelled and throbbed. Her clit tightened. Each time became more intense. The teasing hint of his finger in her vagina made her remember being filled completely, made her need… She wiggled again.

  He lifted his head and gave her that unyielding dom look that melted her insides into a puddle. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you having problems, gatita?”

  Her glare should have burned his eyelashes to stubby ash. “Would you just fuck me already?”

  His dark sexy laugh burst out, so infectious, she couldn’t keep a giggle back.

  After pulling himself from her grip, he lowered his hips. His cock pressed on her open pussy; his pelvis touched hers; his chest touched her breasts. Fear slammed into her like someone had broken down a door, pushing all the—

  “Look at me, Kimberly,” he said ruthlessly.

  She realized her eyes had shut. She opened them to meet his indomitable gaze.

  “Keep your eyes open and on mine. And both hands on the headboard.”

  She realized she was pushing him away. Oh. She lifted her arm and grabbed another wire on the headboard. The position arched her breasts up and rubbed her nipples across the hair on his chest, making her toes curl with the sensation.

  He positioned his cock and pressed into her, the metal piercing like a blunt finger inside on the front of her vagina, the sensation so intense her vision blurred.

  “Open. Your. Eyes.”

  Oh God. He held her gaze as he was sliding in, stretching her, every inch setting new nerves into a clamor of need. Her hips gave the slightest wiggle.

  “If you move again”—his whisper made the threat even more potent—“I will tie you up and leave you alone to suffer.”

  “Sorry. I’m trying. Masterrrr.” The whine horrified her and made him smile. Drown him.

  “So you are.” He paused to lick her nipples, then rubbed his chest against her sideways, the abrasive feeling on her hard wet peaks mesmerizing.

  He held his hips still, moving only his upper torso, and her insides throbbed with the need for more. She wanted to rub against him, all over, to push her hips up and… Don’t move.

  She forced her muscles to relax, to stillness, even as everything burned, demanding action. The need to keep a portion of her mind separate to command her body distracted her, increased her arousal. Her clit felt the size of her fist, screaming for him to touch it.

  He watched her, then smiled, easing out of her slowly. The metal ball rubbed against something sensitive inside her with an exquisite, almost painful pressure.

  A slow push back in, and a shudder ran through her. Don’t move, don’t move. Oh God, I’m going to die. “Oh, please.”

  “Please is a nice word,” he said agreeably. And he pushed in again, faster—just a little faster, his eyes intent on her, then flickering over her face, her arms and hands. More, more, more. She wanted to lift her hips, make him go deeper, go faster.

  “Speak to me, gatita. You need to work on communicating your emotions, and this is a good place to start.” He slid out, tilting his hips so that damned ball scraped across something inside her, and the waves of her arousal turned into a heavy surf.

  Boiling and churning. “Harder. More. God…”

  The flash of his smile made her heart skip, and then he slammed into her.

  Oh wonderful hardness. “More, more, more.”

  He laughed. “Very expressive.” But he complied, hammering into her, and she knew somewhere it should be frightening, only she was so, so close that the driving rhythm only spiraled her up. Up. His big hand slid under her butt to lift her so every withdrawal rubbed his pelvis over her clit.

  “Oh, oh—” Her breathing stopped. More, please, more. His cock slammed in, penetrating far inside her and scraping that damned piercing over her G-spot, and his groin rubbed her clit. He was so big, and everything she felt, everything he did expanded into pure sensation, and a depth charge of pleasure exploded, brilliant and hot, the fiery waves expanding everywhere.

  She gasped for breath as another intense wave hit. Sparkles danced in front of her eyes. Her fingers and toes tingled.

  Laughing slightly, he nuzzled her neck and shoved into her, deep, deep, hard, and his erection thickened, then was jerking inside her.

  He was over her, surrounding her, filling her, his heat, his breath, his scent, drowning her in him.

  Her heart turned over. “God, I love you.”

  Silence. Oh, a bad silence, growing worse the longer it lengthened. He lifted his head, and the languorous expression of satiation disappeared with his concern. Leaning on one arm, letting his hips pin her down, he pushed her hair from her damp face. “This is not…wise, gatita.” He sighed, stroking her cheek with one finger. Not evading her eyes, not trying to pretend he hadn’t heard her—not Master R.

  “Why not?” she whispered, even knowing the answer. Some of it.

  “You are not…healed, not ready to know your heart.” His fleeting smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “It would be wrong of me to permit this.”

  Could the master command her heart?

  But he didn’t want her. She heard that clearly. How could her body shimmer with satisfaction even as her emotions were disappearing into a hole of blackness? Her brief smile reflected his. “It’s okay. Just the heat of the moment, you know.”

  “Of course.” He kissed her lips gently, then rolled them both over, his hand curved over her bottom keeping them together with him still inside her. He settled her on top of him, guiding her head down into the curve of his shoulder. “Sleep. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

  No. No, I don’t think we will. His skin was warm and damp under her cheek, and she inhaled the fragrance of him and sex. She’d survived kidnapping and slavery and the loss of friends. She’d survive this as well—but damned if she’d talk about it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I love you.” Remembering Kimberly’s soft avowal, Raoul abandoned the brewing coffee and walked outside to stare at the water. The brisk morning air ruffled his hair but didn’t bring him any clarity of thought. How could he have let her get emotionally involved with him? This wasn’t—she shouldn’t love him. Dios, she should be running the other direction.

  Only he knew better. She was tough, brave, and resilient. He’d known women who reacted with hysterics to a fender bender. Had her father taught her to be so durable? Or her mother? Had Kimberly lived with an example of how to survive abuse?

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth. She was confusing emotional dependence and need with love. How should he handle this? Carefully, Sandoval. Like walking a girder with no safety line.

  The problem was he cared for her, and he had no excuse that he’d been mistreated. No, his mistake was to have let her into his house, his life. His heart. He’d grown so fond of her that he had trouble imagining his home without her bubbly presence.

  Don’t go there, Sandoval. She’d leave as soon as the auction was over, and according to the Overseer, that might occur in a week or so.

  The realization was like a gut shot from a steel rivet. He’d miss their showers. The workouts in the weight room. The fighting as he taught her to cripple and maim, and the unholy light in her eyes when she’d mastered a technique. The evenings watching television, arguing over movies. Her snippy backtalk, and how she tried to hide her pleasure at serving him.

  The way she softened under his hands when he kissed her. He felt himself harden. Good job, Sandoval.

  Well, he’d see this through. And try to keep them both from being stupid.

  As he turned to go back in, he wondered if she’d want to stay with him when this was over. No. She truly was submissive, but she’d
made it clear, over and over, that she didn’t want to live the lifestyle. And she needed to heal. Once her head was on straight, she wouldn’t want a master. Not soon, probably never.

  Even if miracles occurred, he wasn’t ready for a relationship either. It was far too soon. And this time, he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a full-time Dominant/submissive relationship with someone who wanted it as much as he did.

  Over the waves, a gull gave a long screech as another stole its fish. He headed into the house. He’d need a massive amount of caffeine to figure out a way to pull back before he hurt her further.

  Kim frowned at the sunlight streaming in the balcony window, then glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Noon? No wonder Master R had already gotten up.

  The empty space beside her in bed sent a pang through her. She’d come to like waking up with Master R’s solid body next to hers, or for him to awaken her as he had almost every morning since they’d had real sex. His hands would caress her breasts, and his cock would ease between her legs from behind. He’d hold her in place, gently, firmly, and push into her. She’d start off groggy, but when his clever fingers would slide over her clit, she’d be right onboard with early morning sex. Who knew it could be so much fun?

  Not this morning. She sighed and climbed out of bed,

  But last night, she’d said she loved him, and he hadn’t exactly looked thrilled to hear she cared.

  With a frown, she stepped into the shower, missing his presence there too. The teasing, his laughter. The one morning he hadn’t taken her in bed, he’d made up for it a few minutes later.

  Her lips curved. That time she’d told him she wasn’t interested in shower sex. “Not today.” God, so not the thing to tell a dom.

  “Really,” he’d said with that amused—stern—look in his eyes. “Does a submissive have that choice?”

  Before she’d realized how much trouble she was in, he’d grasped her around the waist, walked out of the shower, and laid her on the cold counter. He pinned her legs to his shoulders, put his mouth on her pussy, and forced her to have an orgasm, waited a second, then did it again. She was dizzy when he pulled her back into the shower. And then, being the dom he was, he’d firmly bent her over and taken her from behind. Hard.

  Why did she get off on that control? She soaped her body, snorting at how her nipples had bunched up. Yep, just thinking of him did it for her.

  But he doesn’t want my love.

  Was he right about her? Did she imagine love when it was really only need? Maybe. She dried off. She didn’t feel needy. Well, perhaps a little.

  A pair of her jeans, underwear, and a tank top lay on the towel bar. Apparently Master R had decided she could wear clothes today. Her hand hesitated over the clothing. Today—or every day now? Her job was done, wasn’t it? The entire charade had been to get Sam referred during the Overseer’s follow-up visit.

  Even if Sam failed and Master R had to attend the auction, he’d use an FBI agent as his submissive. Not me.

  Her relief was balanced by the ugly vision of Master R with another woman. Would he spank the submissive? Make her come? Of course he would. The flood of sheer jealousy appalled her. God, I need to get out of here.

  When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Master R sat on a bar stool at the island, newspapers and coffee before him. She started to speak, then saw the phone he held to his ear.

  “That’s right,” he was saying. “Sam said Dahmer called a few minutes ago. His background check passed, and he should get an invitation to the auction sometime this week.”

  That meant the job was done. Kim hugged herself, trying to process her emotions. After her first scuba dive, she’d hauled herself up the boat’s steps, shucked off the heavy air tank, and dropped the belt with twenty pounds of lead weights. She’d felt as if she might float away. Very much like now. My part is over.

  Master R listened and then grinned. “Yes, he put on quite a show. Had one of the better screamers.” He glanced at her, his eyes shadowed but approving. “Kimberly did her job perfectly.”

  A glow sparked to life and was snuffed out with his next words. “Since Sam is accepted, I think she should move to Gabi’s house.”

  Kim stared at him. A slap in the face wouldn’t have hurt as much. What had she done wrong?

  “No, she didn’t do anything wrong. But keeping her in a Master/slave relationship as she recovers from being kidnapped would be foolish. She’s getting dependent on me, Kouros.” He met her eyes squarely, not trying to hide anything.

  Anger started to overtake the pain. Yes, she could hate him.

  “No, she doesn’t need to stay here. Her job is finished. Even if Sam’s invitation falls through, I’d use one of your people for the demo, not Kimberly. I would never take her to a slave auction. We discussed this already.” His eyes turned cold. “Send her to Gabi’s. She’s done enough.”

  Good to know. Trying not to scowl, Kim poured herself some coffee.

  Master R straightened suddenly. “When was this?”

  The sharpness in his voice made Kim jump, and she hissed as coffee scalded her fingers. She set the cup down hastily, shaking her hand. Ouch.

  “Kimberly!” Master R pointed to the faucet.

  She hesitated. But I want to hear. Caving in, she ran the cold water over her reddened fingers. Over the noise of the water, she heard him say, “I’m putting you on speaker. She has a right to know.” He set the phone on the island.

  Know what?

  “You’re a stubborn bastard, Sandoval,” came a man’s sonorous voice with the broadened A sound of someone from Maine. “Miss Moore, I was telling your master why I don’t want you to return to Gabi’s house.”

  She swallowed. I don’t know this man. “Why?”

  “I don’t know if Raoul ever told you, but we planted surveillance devices around the neighborhood. A simple precaution to keep you safe.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she stared at the walls. What had they seen?

  “No, gatita,” Master R said. “They’re only outside—the front and sides of the house, and one on the patio pointing toward the beach.”

  The FBI agent snorted. “He wouldn’t permit anything else. We’ve spotted a few people watching your house since Raoul bought you. Very casual. But earlier today, a private investigator checked you out and took pictures.”

  Kim wrapped her arms around herself, a chill running through her. The outside world wasn’t safe. She already knew that.

  “With the prior surveillance they did, they’d know you spend a lot of time outside. If you suddenly disappear, but Raoul is still in the house, they’d wonder why.”

  Watching the house. Ice crawled up her spine. “What if they try to take me back?” God, that was stupid. They wouldn’t steal from their own buyer.

  “Kidnapping a slave they’d sold wouldn’t be good for business.” The FBI agent paused. “If it helps your worries, though, the neighborhood is well policed and has a neighborhood watch. Raoul has a hell of a security system on both the house and grounds, much better than the one at Marcus’s place. Nobody in their right minds would try to breech it.”

  Master R gave her a small smile and whispered, “I grew up on the streets, remember?”

  Huh. She’d seen him making the rounds before bed, checking on stuff, and hadn’t bothered to ask why. So she was safe here. But to stay?

  Master R remained silent, obviously giving her the choice. I hate making decisions. She wanted to go to Gabi’s…yet even if he didn’t care for her, she wanted to be with him.

  With an effort, she pushed her personal baggage to the side. Her wishes were irrelevant. No matter what she felt, she mustn’t do anything to cause suspicions and blow the investigation. “I guess I’ll be here for another few days.”

  “Thank you, Miss Moore. I look forward to meeting you later this week.”

  With a low curse, Master R slid the phone shut; then his eyes narrowed on her. “Will you be all right with this?”

&
nbsp; I might never be right again. “Of course.” She winced when his brows drew together. Telling the complete truth surely sucked at times. “All right, it’s difficult, being so unsettled. I want to go home and get on with my life. See my mom.” Stay with you. Run from you. Love you.

  “Of course.” He took a sip of his coffee, and the release of his intent gaze was like escaping a riptide. “You must miss your mamá very much.”

  His voice held a wealth of understanding, and the tenderness with which he’d said “mamá” told her a lot. And left more unexplained. She frowned. “I thought your family lived in Tampa. Did you tell them not to visit?”

  His mouth tightened. “We do not…speak.”

  “How come?”

  “They don’t approve of my BDSM lifestyle. At all. When they found out… They’d probably have reacted better if I’d been gay.” He rubbed his face. He might have thought his expression unreadable, but it wasn’t. Being alienated from his family hurt him.

  “I’m sorry.” He was so loving. To have his family push him away must have been terrible.

  “It’s not your problem, gatita.”

  “I s’pose not.” She watched the coffee in her cup, making the black liquid swirl in circles. Like my life. He said she shouldn’t be in a Master/slave relationship, and that she’d become dependent on him. Maybe he was right. “Master R?”

  He tilted his head. “Yes?”

  “Can we live together as…as friends? No more of the master—sumisita stuff?

  His frown cleared. “We can. It’s a good plan.” He tapped his fingers on his papers and then looked at her again. “You may have the guest bedroom as before.”

  No more being wrapped in his arms at night? The kitchen seemed to darken. “Great. I’ll go move my stuff.”