Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella

by Cherise Sinclair

  Gin tipped her head back to study the blue sky and enjoy the quiet.

  Somewhere near dawn, Atticus had kissed her good-bye, tucked the covers around her, and let himself out. He was on call and his beeper had gone off.

  Without any guilty feelings whatsoever, she’d fallen back to sleep. And slept late.

  Gin grinned. She’d been pretty exhausted, after all, and even after a long hot shower this morning, she had some sore muscles. Atticus was a very inventive—and demanding—lover.

  Although, he didn’t seem to require much from her outside of the bedroom. Wasn’t a Dominant supposed to want more?

  But, he didn’t, and they’d achieved a nice balance of give and take. Of course, a couple of times she’d had to remind herself that housecleaning and cooking weren’t her job. Darn it, she liked doing things for him. She took a sip of her tea, feeling the warmth slipping down her throat.

  However, since she’d been able to stem her need to serve, maybe her worries about turning herself inside out for a man were excessive. Maybe. Darn it, she still wanted some counseling, but aside from the prison staff, there were no mental health professionals in the area.

  She gnawed on her lip for a minute.

  I want to be with him. If she was doing all right, perhaps she might relax her self-imposed rules and enjoy what they were creating. Now that she was vigilant about her tendency to lose herself in a relationship, surely she could keep from turning into a doormat, from trying too hard to please him.

  Because Atticus was worth fighting for, even if her opponent was herself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Atticus rode his horse out of the forest and across the pasture. Festus’s hooves thudded softly in the lush grass, and his ears were forward. He’d obviously enjoyed the winding mountain trail.

  A shame the ride hadn’t eased Atticus. His gut felt hollow. Hell, he couldn’t even feel the warmth of the horse beneath him. Red splotches kept hazing his vision, obscuring the spring-green fields. Staring at the sun might cause lingering white circles; staring at a murder left bloody ones.

  And there had been so fucking much blood...

  The murderer hadn’t gotten far, but shutting him behind bars wouldn’t restore life to the young wife. Dammit. Hopped-up on meth and steroids, the bastard had become enraged with his woman’s worrying about their finances—and silenced her with a knife.

  She couldn’t have been over twenty-one.

  Atticus realized he’d brought Festus to a stop and was blindly staring at the mountains. Deep breaths didn’t erase the stench of released bowels and blood, of hate and violence. With a sigh, he stroked the horse’s neck. “Sorry, buddy, I’m—”

  “Are you all right, Atticus?”

  He clapped his hand to his sidearm before recognizing the voice.

  In a soft blue sweater and tan jeans, Gin stood on the Masterson side of the wooden rail fence.

  “Hey.” His voice came out like gravel.

  Her brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She sniffed in exasperation and climbed up to sit on the top of the fence. She lowered her voice to an imitation of his. “‘First lesson for tonight: be honest.’”

  His lips refused to curve in a smile. “You got me, darlin’.” He guided Festus closer and plopped Gin sideways onto the horse’s bare back in front of him.

  Nice squeak. She grabbed his shirt.

  As he pulled her soft, wonderfully warm body closer, he kissed her shoulder and inhaled the fragrance of lavender and vanilla. The world did still hold sweet and clean. Jesus, he’d needed to know that. “Gin, I—”

  To his surprise, she twisted and hugged him tightly. “Shhh. Whatever happened, we can fix it. Shhh.”

  His mouth flattened. There was no fix for what had happened to the victim. Yet Gin’s sympathy and determination to help loosened the knot in his gut. His next breath was deeper. The tendrils of blackness receded. He could hear the horses in the next pasture, the wind rippling through the conifers, snippets of the Masterson men arguing in their stable.

  Life surrounded him. Was in his arms. He lifted his head, kissed her curved cheek, then her lips.

  Her fingers curled around his nape. She prolonged the kiss, giving him everything, like an unexpectedly generous harvest.

  Lifting his head, he looked down at her, seeing concern etched in the tiny line between her brows. She cared. “Thank you, Gin.”

  Her smile transformed her from lovely to a heart-stopping beauty. “My pleasure, I’d say. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Noth—” Almost blurting out the same lie, he caught himself and gave her a rueful glance. “A murder. In town. It was bad.”

  She winced. “Aren’t they all?”

  “Truth.” To his own surprise, he added, “The victim was a young woman. Her man lost his temper.” The goddamn bastard. “We apprehended him, but she was…” The clipped words stopped as his jaw turned rigid. The hell with talking.

  Leaning forward, he grabbed Gin’s left leg and swung it over the horse’s neck so she straddled Festus. As he loosened the reins and nudged the horse into a walk, she made a faint worried noise. City girl hadn’t ridden bareback before.

  After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Didn’t you say your stepfather was an angry man?” Her question was as on target as if she’d shot an arrow into the bull’s-eye.

  His hands must have pulled back since Festus halted, and, after a second, lipped at the new grass.

  My goddamned stepfather. Atticus stared over Gin’s head at the thick evergreens climbing the valley slopes. There had been blood on his mother too often. Every day after school, he’d been terrified at what he’d find.

  With an effort, he cleared his throat and gave the counselor the truth. “Yeah, maybe that’s why this homicide got to me.” He clicked and eased Festus into a slow walk toward his house.

  “Um, Atticus?” Gin waved her hand toward the Mastersons’ spread. “I came down with Kallie to feed the horses and visit Summer, and then we’re going back to Serenity Lodge to finish our visit.”

  “Guess you’re visiting me instead.” At her disgruntled look, he found an unexpected smile. “Call her when we get to my house.”

  “Listen...” She scowled over her shoulder at him, hesitated, and said gently, “All right. If you’ll eat what I make for you.”

  “I don’t need a cook. I want—”

  She crossed her arms over her beautiful, full breasts. “This is the only deal you’re offered, Ware.”

  “Aren’t you a tough one?” And fucking cute too. With his free hand, he slid his palm under her arms to cup one of her breasts. Maybe he could work out a better deal.

  Atticus Ware was a stubborn man, Gin thought. She’d called Summer and Kallie to tell them she’d been kidnapped. Summer’s voice held a wealth of satisfaction when she’d told Gin to have fun. Her girlfriends approved of Atticus.

  For a man who’d only lived in this town a year, he’d made awfully good friends.

  She turned back to her job. The pork chops had been browned, and cream of mushroom soup bubbled around them at a low simmer. The oiled and salted baking potatoes went into an oven turned high enough to make crispy skins.

  When Atticus had tried to help, she’d noticed he was still in his work clothes, which were stained with… No, she didn’t want to think about such things. She’d sent him to take a shower.

  The water upstairs was still running. Had removing his bloody clothing reminded him of the crime? Twisted him up again?

  Her heart ached. Did all strong men have the misconception they should be able to protect everyone under their care?

  Maybe so, since she felt the same way about people she allowed close. They were hers to nurture. She wanted to give them peace, and if possible––joy.

  At the thought, she ran up the stairs to Atticus’s bedroom. She pulled off her sweater, tossed it on the bed, and then stripped off her pants and underwear
.

  His bedside table held condoms.

  With a hand on the bathroom door, she hesitated. If he didn’t want her, the knowledge would hurt. Nonetheless… Shoulders back, she stepped in. Clear glass doors showed the black marble shower was filled with fog—no, he had a steam shower.

  Fingers crossed that she was doing the right thing, she pulled open the door and entered. Blurring the air, steam curled over her bare skin in a sensuous brush of heat.

  A wooden shower bench took up space to her right. The far end held a U-shaped marble shower bench where Atticus reclined with his back against the wall. His face was drawn, mouth compressed in a thin line.

  He saw her. Frowned. He saw what she held and a sensuous hunger darkened his features. “I get an appetizer?”

  She blinked. “Well, no, I didn’t bring—”

  His growling laugh ran along her nerve endings. “Sweetness, you definitely brought my appetizer.” He rose to loom over her, smelling of clean, wet male. After plucking the condom from her hand, he tore the wrapper open and sheathed his very erect dick.

  “Stand right there, sweetling.” He pumped a handful of suds from one of the dispensers and stroked over her shoulders, massaging lightly, before moving to the front of her neck. Her collarbone.

  The scent of pine wafted into the air. She’d smell like him; it was disconcerting how much she liked the idea. “Aren’t you a nice man to help me get all clean,” she said in a teasing voice.

  And then that nice man reached her breasts and rolled her nipples mercilessly.

  Her knees buckled with the sudden arousal.

  He anchored her with a steely arm around her waist, her back against his rock-hard chest, before reaching around to soap—thoroughly—her pussy. She had a moment to be grateful she’d shaved…down there… before his clever fingers drove every thought from her head.

  “Oh my lord,” she whispered, gripping his forearm. “Atticus.”

  “Shh.” Ruthlessly, he teased her.

  Her clit swelled, tingled. The pressure grew. She was close…

  Before she could come, he stopped.

  “Noooo…”

  “Patience, little subbie. Now give me your wrist.” The look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, sent an anxious thrill through her as she placed her hand in his big palm.

  Turning toward the wall, he lifted her arm to a white peg, head height. Using the Velcro wristband dangling from it, he secured her to the peg. When he fastened her other wrist to another peg, her arms were outstretched slightly wider than her shoulders, and she was leaning forward. He drew a wooden bench across the shower stall and set her left foot on top of it and secured her ankle there, forcing her to stand with her weight on her right leg.

  “I cannot believe I’m letting you do this to me.” Her mind was coming up with all sorts of dreadful scenarios.

  He chuckled. “I think I mentioned what happens if your mind wanders from the here and now?”

  “I don’t rem—”

  “I do something to drag it back.” His callused hand hit her butt, and the smack of bare flesh on flesh echoed in the steamy shower.

  “Ow!” Her body jerked and tried to move away. Arms restrained. One leg. She wasn’t going anywhere. The knowledge was terrifying—hot—terrifying.

  He spanked her, over and over, five more times, hard stinging slaps. Wet skin hurt worse.

  Her body was shaking but somehow the pain in her skin was sending sizzling currents of heat to her pussy until she couldn’t tell which was throbbing worse.

  “I think your mind is focused now,” he murmured and pressed against her back. Her bottom burned when his cock rubbed against the abused area, and she inhaled sharply at the surge of arousal.

  His powerful hand curled over her hip, securing her as he set his shaft at her slick entrance and slowly, determinedly penetrated her. As she stretched around the solid, thick intrusion, her body shook with shivers of need.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he growled.

  Her head was spinning. He was rougher this time—securing her where he wanted her—taking her as he wanted. And the sensation filled her soul as thoroughly as his cock was filling her body. This—this was what she wanted. Her hands closed into fists as he thrust in harder.

  His chest slid against her back as he reached to one side and flipped on the controls. Body sprays came on. One upper spray hit her in her chest, another her low stomach. He leaned forward, his shaft surging in deeper as he shut down the upper spray and adjusted the lower to a fine fierce spray…and pointed it downward right at her widely spread pussy. When it struck her exposed clit, she jerked.

  His chuckle was a subterranean rumble in her ear. “There’s a good spot.”

  “Atticus, no.” She struggled to free her hands, to cover herself. The water pounded at her flesh, tingling and biting in a hundred droplets, and then he gripped her hips, withdrew his cock, and slammed into her.

  “Oh. God.” Sensations assailed her, inside and outside.

  “And she does swear, after all.” He was laughing as he hammered her hard and fast, and the water teased her clit unmercifully. Her body gathered, pressure building. And then unstoppable as the ocean, the orgasm rolled through her, incredible spasm after spasm, shaking her violently. Too, too much pleasure. Her leg buckled; Atticus tightened the arm around her waist.

  “Very nice, darlin’,” he said in her ear in his deep, sexy voice. “You almost sent me over with that one.”

  But she hadn’t, and he was still long and thick inside her as he slowed to a gentle thrusting. His hand curved over her clit, protecting her from the spray.

  Why hadn’t he turned the water off?

  But he unhurriedly slid in and out, nibbled on her neck, using one hand to play with her breasts. Taking his time and openly enjoying her.

  She loved it, both that he’d taken the time to make her come, but to know that he’d use her for his own enjoyment was so, so satisfying.

  As he played and as his dick made slow circular motions, her arousal kicked in again. Her nipples puckered; her insides clenched around him. As the exquisite torment continued, she whined in protest.

  He nipped her neck in warning.

  When she didn’t speak, he murmured, “There’s a good girl.” Holding her steady, he reached forward to rotate the spray head to a brutal pounding pulse…and removed his hand from her clit.

  The thrumming jets hit right on the spot, sending her to her tiptoes. “Nooo.”

  He gripped her hips and held her right there. Holding her implacably, he started thrusting harder, deeper, not slowing as she tightened, as her clit engorged, as she hovered on the precipice.

  “No, no, no—” Her neck arched back as her muscles drew taut, driving her over the crest. Her whole body spasmed with the relentless pleasure. On and on…

  His powerful hands squeezed her hips, and he growled his pleasure as he came. The pulsing sensation so deep inside her was devastatingly intimate, as if they had been joined in every level possible.

  As her heart rate slowed, her muscles seemed to be melting. She sagged in his grip.

  “Easy, sweetling.” He nuzzled her cheek, anchoring her with an arm around her waist. She could feel the thud of his heart against her back, the heat of his body against hers as he ripped open the Velcro to free her restraints.

  Pulling free, he turned her and wrapped her in his arms. As he ran his hands over her ever so gently, he kissed her, deep and long. “Now that was what I call an appetizer.”

  An hour later, at his wide kitchen table, Atticus smiled over at Gin. The little submissive had dressed again after their…shower…but her long hair still lay in tangles, the red glints reappearing as it dried. The dazed expression she’d worn through most of the meal had given him an inordinate sense of gratification.

  Damn, he loved the way she reacted to bondage. To him. His dick gave a twitch of agreement.

  “What are you looking at?” She gave him a quizzical glance.

  You.
“This was great,” Atticus said as he set his plate to one side. He’d somehow plowed his way through the chops, baked potato, salad, as well as a glass of wine. And he felt back to normal. “Thank you for cooking.”

  “My pleasure.”

  When he picked up his dishes, he realized she’d also emptied the sink, done the dishes, and scoured the kitchen to a gleaming brightness. “And for cleaning. You must have worked your ass off.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her lips turned up in her quirky smile. “You may call me a full-service guest.”

  “Cleaning and fucking and cooking? I’d say so.”

  “I hadn’t realized I’d done so much.” A line creased her forehead, and she looked around the clean kitchen as if she didn’t recognize it. Her expression turned almost frightened before becoming unreadable. “I should get home.”

  “Why?” Now what had set her off? He hated to admit he didn’t totally understand her yet. Hadn’t had the chance to get to know her past, and she wasn’t exactly spilling all her deets to him. Wary woman. He rotated the wine glass in his hand and considered her. “Does it bother you that we fucked?”

  She looked startled. Then again, the little Southerner didn’t throw the fuck word around a lot. Or talk about the act itself.

  “Um. No. Actually, no.”

  “Well, then.” She couldn’t possibly think he was using her for sex. Surely he’d made clear he wanted more.

  He watched as her gaze flitted over the table, the room, anywhere but him. Something contracted in his gut. “Gin, I’d like you to spend the night. Is that a problem?”

  “I… No. Yes.” She gave him a frustrated look and buried her face in her hands with a muffled, “Ack.”

  Well, damn, wasn’t she a mess of contradictions? He walked around the table.

  Before he reached her, she rose. “I think it’s time I got back.”

  “I think it’s time we talked.” He held his hand out to her, but she backed away as if he’d threatened her. What the hell? “Gin…”

  “I’m so sorry, Atticus. I need to go home.” She wrapped her arms around herself.