He rocked his hips, making it easier for her. She didn’t have to move quite as much, but she still had control over how much of him she took in. She wrapped her fist around his shaft and squeezed, then pumped him up and down. He groaned. She salivated. It was strange to want to taste his cum so much, but it wasn’t the taste, it was him. She moved her hand faster, knowing it was doing most of the work, feeling his cock pulse in response. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive tip and felt him jerk. She did it again, enjoying the power of it, feeling his muscles tense as he struggled with the intensity. Submissives don’t have to be weak. I’m strong. And I can drive him crazy.
If she’d been healthy, she imagined he might have grabbed her head and shoved it down. They’d save that pleasure for another day. This time he seized the blankets in clenched fists and gave a soft, low cry as he erupted inside her, shooting cum across her tongue and down her throat, and she tried to swallow it all. There was too much. Some dribbled out the side. It seemed as if his pulses went on and on. I did this. Me.
She rolled off when he’d finally finished. She was exhausted and satisfied. He wiped the dollop of cum off her cheek and ran his hands through her hair. She was dimly aware of him adjusting the blankets around her naked body. Somehow, despite the welts, it didn’t sting. It felt warm and comfortable and good.
Epilogue
She stood on the balcony of Nick’s house, watching the woods. His place backed up to a nature preserve, and a few hours after twilight she could occasionally catch sight of possums, or once, a wombat. She’d been retreating to the balcony more and more lately, she knew. He’d been wonderfully sweet to her. When she had said she wanted some time off from being a submissive, he had simply told her that he’d figured she’d need that eventually. When she’d started spending her evenings on the balcony alone with her paints, rather than with him, he’d given her the space.
She missed him horribly, and he was only twenty-five feet away, behind the screen that separated the balcony from the living room. She glanced back and saw him looking past the television, watching her. He didn’t turn away or pretend to do anything differently, or act as if he’d been caught. He was the same calm force he’d always been for her. For everyone—she’d watched him with kids and with his colleagues, and he was always a rock. Unflappable.
He hasn’t given up on me. I won’t give up on myself.
She flipped the cover over on top of her watercolor palette box and set her block on top. It was more than him not giving up. He was confident. Stu had stalked her, but Nick simply lay in wait, patiently.
She set her brushes down on the palette box, resting them against the edge of the slightly smaller block to stop them from rolling, and then wiped the bottom of her clean water jar with her T-shirt to make sure it was dry. She did the same with the “dirty” water, although in an hour of staring at the woods she hadn’t gotten any paint in it, and balanced it all on top of the block. She got up and took a step, and he was up, moving as smoothly and gracefully as a panther to get the screen door for her.
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t take the paints up to the little room he’d set aside for her studio, as was her habit, but set them down on the little wicker table near the door instead, on top of some magazines.
“No luck tonight?”
“No beasties, anyway.” Her heart hammered. Am I really up to this?
He took her hand and she wondered if he was going to derail her plan. It might be weeks, months, forever, until she had the courage to offer herself to him again, and yet she wasn’t quite strong enough to make this the moment if he led her in another direction. He was probably going to take her to the kitchen for tea. Or to the bedroom for simple lovemaking. He didn’t need toys or ropes to make her feel heavenly.
He walked back to his chair instead. Did he know? No matter. She pulled the loose dress she wore over her head and knelt down before him. Words were harder than actions after the gap that had been created. That she had made. But she wanted to say at least one. “Master.”
He smiled. “My love. I love you, Zoe.”
She nodded. “I think I knew that.”
He leaned back and waited.
She knew what he wanted. She wanted to say it too. “I love you too, Nick.”
“Well then.” He moved out of his chair and scooped her up into his arms. “You’ll have to stay. Time to play, darlin’.”
About the Author
Sindra van Yssel is a multi-published author of BDSM romance fiction, who likes to explore trust and commitment and pack her stories with plenty of kinky sex. She draws on her own experience within the BDSM community to keep the scenes both hot and realistic, and has a soft spot for happy endings and characters who learn more about themselves. Her love of books has led her to both her professions: librarian and writer.
Sindra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sindra van Yssel
Recipe for Submission
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Master in Melbourne
ISBN 9781419940484
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Master in Melbourne Copyright © 2012 Sindra van Yssel
Edited by Jillian Bell
Cover design by Syneca
Photos: Tuplyashin Anatoly, CURAphotagraphy and Photobank/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication August 2012
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Table of Contents
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Sindra van Yssel, Master in Melbourne
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