“I don’t know that much about mosquitoes, but maybe they sleep in. There aren’t huge clouds of them waiting for us outside the door, at least.”
“They don’t seem to like the cold, so maybe we’re safe in the morning. Besides, I’m covered in forty-two layers of that industrial-strength insect repellent you found in the gift shop, so I have a feeling I’ll be safe at least until their evening dinner rush starts.”
“Maybe that’s the time of day the old owner used to make a ritual sacrifice. They came for their tribute. Hopefully we didn’t make them angry.”
“No offense, Master Grant, but if they come for us again tonight, and it’s a choice between me and you, I’m tripping you and leaving you behind.”
“I’d trip myself so that you could get away,” he said gallantly.
“Wow. So chivalry isn’t dead, but it is pretty clumsy.”
“Sexy, right?” He smiled at her, and although he’d been smiling at her for years now, for some reason this time it made her heart flutter. How he’d gone from being just her buddy to someone who had the power to give her arrhythmia she wasn’t sure—although the bigger question was how on earth had she ever not found him ridiculously, sinfully hot?
The stunt he’d pulled, making her kneel on the table and eat her breakfast without using her hands, should have pissed her off. Instead, she’d found herself very conscious of how she looked while kneeling for him, wanting to look hot, and completely mesmerized by his every imperious gesture and flick of his hands. Some Dominants used similar mannerisms, but they came off looking theatrical and ridiculous, but the whole imperious thing worked for Grant. It was a dangerous power to possess, and of course the bastard used those powers for evil.
If she wasn’t careful she was going to end up head over heels in love with him, and worse—begging for a collar.
For most of the morning they made notes about what kinds of kink equipment, o-rings, eyebolts, and support beams he would need to order and set up. It was pretty minimal, really. The old-growth trees supplied shelter and sturdy branches could be used as suspension and/or impromptu spanking benches.
During their investigations on the far side of the island, they found a stone altar in a secluded clearing. They paused when they saw it and stared.
“What on earth do you think they used that for?” Grant asked.
Like she knew?
“My first guess is human sacrifice.”
Maybe there’d been award ceremonies here at one time, or workshops in the fresh air?
“People could get married or do collaring ceremonies here,” she suggested.
He ran his hand along the stone, and she didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “Knowing our friends, it’s more likely they’ll tie down their willing victims here.”
“Well let’s hope it wasn’t used for religious reasons, then. You’d have to warn people about possible lightning strikes before you even set them free to explore.”
“That might put a damper on things, but then, maybe not. There is a subset of kinksters who love a good taboo.”
“Lightning goes way beyond your average violet wand, Master Grant. Don’t go getting any ideas.” She approached the altar more carefully than he had. The thing gave her the willies.
“Maybe this is where they made their sacrifices to the Demon Queen of Mosquitoes.”
“I think the altar is human-sized. You want to hop up there and check the fit? I brought along some rope, just in case.”
“That is quite possibly the creepiest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she said with a mixture of surprise and admiration.
“It’s a gift.”
“You’re an ass.”
His gaze sharpened alarmingly. “What was that?” he asked quietly. “Did you say you want me to lean you over this pile of rocks and take your ass?”
“No!”
“Pardon me?”
Uhh . . . Dangerous territory.
She dropped to her knees in the grass. “Master Grant, I would be honored to serve you in whatever way you choose. I should have remembered to bring something to use as lube.”
“Yes, you should have.”
He stared her down, and she waited for him to make the next move, feeling her pussy pulse in response to the threat he posed.
When he turned away as though the exchange hadn’t happened, she was strangely disappointed.
“I’m choosing to believe they used this area for doing presentations,” he said. “Why would they have an outdoor chapel at a fishing lodge? There aren’t any crosses around or anything.”
She gazed around the clearing, trying to think of a response that wouldn’t make it sound as if he’d cowed her. “If you sacrifice me to the Demon Queen of Mosquitoes I’m taking you off my Christmas card list.”
He gestured her to her feet, and she got up and brushed off her knees.
“You have a Christmas card list?”
“Not yet, but I’m more than willing to make a list and then erase you. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
“Are they naked Christmas cards?”
“Is that even a thing?”
“If it’s not, it should be.”
She rolled her eyes at him and shoved him, and he caught her around the waist and smacked her ass.
Squealing, she gave him a playful swat.
“Did you just hit me, little girl?”
“Um . . . No? It was more of a friendly smack.”
“Semantics aren’t going to save you.” Considering the fact that his red hair and green eyes were almost angelic in the morning sunlight, he shouldn’t have been able to give her the kind of dark look that made her bones cold.
“You’re not really angry about one little smack, are you?”
“Oh, I’m not angry. You just need to learn where the line is. I have no problem with teasing and joking around, but the only person who gets smacked in this relationship is you. You have a safeword. I don’t need one because you will learn and remember the limits I set or there’ll be hell to pay.”
She bit her lip and frowned, anxious arousal fluttering in her belly. She shifted from foot to foot.
“Do you have to pee?” he asked sardonically.
“No. I’m just not used to you being so stern with me. I know that’s how this works, but it’s still hard to remember that I have to take you seriously when you threaten me now.” She tried grinning at him, but he did not grin back. His brows lowered, his eyes still flinty and dark.
“Apologize.”
“Sorry.”
He blinked at her as though she’d said something incredibly stupid. “You’ve been a submissive long enough to know that was a bullshit apology.”
He wanted an apology for a friendly smack? The man was losing his hold on reality.
She dropped to her knees again, and clasped her hands together in supplication. “Oh, your royal purple Majesty, this slave humbly apologizes for smacking you in the same exact manner this slave has smacked you for these past many years. Won’t you forgive me and not . . . damn mine eyes, or whatever monarchs do.”
His face flushed with anger. “You need to quit fucking around, Arabella Dexter. Either you take me seriously or I’m going to have to teach you to take me seriously.”
He leaned in, probably to grab her arm, but by the time he got to where she’d been, she’d crab walked backward. She flipped over and leapt to her feet, then ran for the trees, shrieking with sheer adrenaline.
“You little shit,” he growled, just loud enough for her to hear over her retreat.
Fuck. Fuck. Why had she done that? She should stop and apologize right now.
Her feet had other ideas.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind her, as though he was stomping his feet on purpose, to scare her. He was making sure she heard him coming. Total mind fuck.
She dodged through the underbrush, threading her way through the trees, crashing and cursing while branches tugged at her leggings and whipped against her face and arms. She really hadn’t thought this through, but it was too late to turn back. Considering how pissed he sounded, she had no intention of letting him catch up until she’d made sure he was good and tired.
No matter how fast she ran, or how agile she thought she was, he was never far behind.
“You’re so fucked,” he growled, so close behind she could swear she felt his breath on her neck.
Goose bumps prickled their way up her spine and spread into her hair. Her nipples were so hard they ached, and every branch that whipped against her arms and neck felt like it was doing his bidding, punishing her for running when she should have stayed and accepted her punishment.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He laughed nastily. “You’re running out of island.”
Sure enough, she reached the shore and veered off to the left, almost falling into a little swamp, but righting herself before she tumbled down the embankment.
He grabbed at her arm, but she yanked away and dodged his next attempted grab, running away from the sadistic laughter that kept catching up with her. The bastard sounded like he was having a good time scaring the hell out of her. She wouldn’t put it past him.
After what seemed like an eternity, she started to tire. Her heart was beating too fast and every breath seared her lungs. She was sweating and dirty, her clothes covered in lichen and leaf mold. Grubby and tired, she tried to find somewhere to hide where she could stop running and catch her breath. The landscape flashed past in a blur and eventually she found herself on the shore again, this time in an area where rocks dropped off to other rocks that were submerged just knee-deep in water. That rock shelf dropped off to something deeper about a hundred feet out.
She kicked off her sneakers and sat on the edge of the dry rock, dangling her feet in the water, reaching down with her toes to see if she could slide down without hurting herself. Her foot touched the submerged rock, which was a bit slippery but not unpleasant. She slid down, then grabbed her shoes and hunkered down, crouching in the hopes Grant would run past her hiding spot. She flattened herself against the smooth stone, trying to quiet her breathing so he wouldn’t hear her over the sound of the water gently lapping the rock. Her leggings wicked the knee-deep water up her legs, the cold feeling good against her overheated skin.
She let herself slide down to a sitting position, holding her shoes slightly over her head so they wouldn’t get wet. Waves lapped around her. Then her shoes were gone from her hand. She looked up into Grant’s grim yet self-satisfied face.
A shriek of terror burst from her lips and she scrambled deeper, away from her predator. When she reached the drop-off she looked back and found him already in the water, approaching her with quiet determination, like the villain in a horror movie.
Without saying a word, she launched herself backward into the drop-off, but her glide through the water was interrupted by the hand that wrapped around her ankle and jerked her back. She flailed in the water, dousing him, but he only transferred his grip to her wrists and towed her back toward land. He directed her steps toward a series of rocks that led back up to higher ground. When she balked, he yanked the back of her leggings down and swatted her ass. Between the cold and the wet, the slap was loud and stung like a son of a bitch.
“No, no!” she shrieked, fighting him as he pulled her up in his wake.
He transferred his grip to her hair, closing his fist in it and pulling her to a nearby tree. There, he stripped her naked. He threw her T-shirt over a low branch.
What the hell was he doing? Drying her clothes?
She was shaking with nerves, trembling from head to foot, her heart still beating too fast. Every breath was gasped and her lungs felt like they’d never stop burning.
“You remember you have a safeword?” he asked, his voice a low snarl, as though his grasp of language was tenuous, at best. The big jerk didn’t even sound out of breath! She had the satisfaction of seeing his jeans were wet to the thighs, at least. He was barefoot, though, his boots having been spared the dunking.
“Yes, Master Grant.”
“I won’t ask you every time, but I thought both of us needed the reminder just now.”
She bit her lip, fascinated by the idea that she might have brought easygoing Grant to the brink of losing control.
Matter-of-factly, he leaned her over the wide branch where he’d spread her shirt. The height of the branch angled her ass nice and high.
This did not bode well.
Grant forced her arms down by her shins then wrapped the thighs of her wet leggings around her wrists and tied the ankles of the leggings around the back of her knees. She thought of the binding as mostly ornamental until she tugged and realized she couldn’t get the wet fabric to release its grip.
God, she was stuck, and he didn’t seem to be firing on all cylinders.
She struggled, but was caught by the branch as though he’d hung her out to dry.
“What are you doing!” From upside down she saw him stripping the bark off of a thin branch with a pocketknife.
“I think someone needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you?”
She considered pointing out that maybe he was the one who needed to be taught a lesson, since he was the one who was taking everything too seriously, but maybe she’d gotten herself in enough trouble for one day.
There was an odd whistling sound. She checked behind her then wished she hadn’t. The branch had been stripped to its greenish white core, and Grant was using it to cut through the air with an alarming snap. He ran his fingers over its surface several times then nodded in satisfaction.
“Master, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m very sorry for bratting and making you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously.”
“You won’t make the same mistake again.”
Oh shit. “Of course I have nothing but the utmost respect for you as a Dominant.” She was babbling, but she was relatively certain he wasn’t listening anyway. His gaze was hard and cold and focused on her backside.
Calmly, he angled himself sideways as though he were a batter at Fenway. Instead of a bat, though, he had an evil-looking, whippy stick.
“If you would have apologized appropriately that would have been the end of it. Do you understand that?”
She whimpered miserably, desperately afraid she was going to hate this and he was going to like it far too much.
“Between each stroke I expect an apology. If you don’t make me believe you’re actually sorry this may go on for a while.”
Her mouth hung open in silent objection, but she shut it when a bug almost flew in. The buzzing thing bounced off her forehead and she blinked just as the first blow landed. A lash of fire bisected her ass, and partially wrapped around her hip. For a long moment her breath stuck in her throat and she wasn’t able to make a sound, then the air escaped in a long, earsplitting scream.
“Mother! Fucker!”
Two more blows landed in rapid succession and she screamed again, digging her fingertips into her legs to counterbalance the streaks of flame he was raining down on her ass.
Belatedly, she remembered the apology he was expecting. Hopefully he’d cut her some slack for forgetting, considering it felt like he was beating her with a flaming stick.
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
Sharp. Hot. Agony.
“You know damned well when you’re stepping over the line.”
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
Wet skin. Exposed. Vulnerable.
“You need to make better choices if you’re ever going to sit down again.”
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
She
screamed, sobbed. Her body was hot, burning.
Thwap.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a bad girl, Master.”
She brought up her knees, trying to curl into a ball around the thick branch he’d leaned her over, but it hurt her hips and belly too much to stay that way for long.
Thwap.
The pain throbbed outward, spiralling down her legs, down her back. She whispered to herself about being sorry, but maybe he couldn’t hear her over the pounding in her ears. The sobbing hurt her chest and throat, and tears dripped up into her hair. Her head throbbed.
Safeword. She needed her safeword.
Thwap.
“Fucking—pomegranate!” she screamed hoarsely. “Fucking avocado goddamned otter beaver motherfucking cunt! Fox? Please, just stop!”
“Moose?” he suggested. He’d barely been out of breath chasing her, but now he was breathing heavily. Even from upside down, she could see the unholy gleam in his eyes. He was shaking with adrenaline, his free hand clenching and unclenching.
“Yes!”
He leaned his horrible stick against the tree then traced the slashes of pain on her ass with curious fingers. Involuntarily, she squirmed, moaning from the pain and the involuntary arousal he’d inspired. As if reading her mind, his touch strayed downward and he toyed between her legs.
“Quit whining like it was a big deal. You didn’t even hit subspace.”
She strained backward, trying to get his fingers to go where she wanted them.
“It hurt too much and I was afraid the switch was going to snap.”
“I was keeping an eye out for splintering. You’re welted up in a few spots, but nothing extreme.”
She snorted, then immediately regretted the sensation it left in her nose in this position. Now that the switching was over, she felt heavy and languid. Her brain was buzzing.
Before she could process what was happening, his mouth was on the damage he’d done, following the welts with his soft lips and stubbled chin. She moaned at the overload of sensation—pleasure, pain, scraping, tickling. His tongue dipped between her legs and she angled herself back, hoping to get it on her clit.
All's Fair in Love and Mastery Page 17
