by Kerri Sharpe
Blushing, Alison obeyed, painfully aware of the dampness between them.
He stroked her softness, drawing his fingers across the little slit as though teasing music from it with his bow. He smoothed the moist folds and drew closer to her.
He took away his hand and she tensed. Then she felt his own arousal as he pressed himself against her sore bottom.
Her knees threatened to buckle and he took hold of her wrists and prised her from the doorway. She sank into his arms and he turned her around to face him. She couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t force her to. With a sigh she let herself go as he unbuttoned and unlaced her boy’s clothes and led her to his room. He guided her to the bed and she sat down, wincing at the freshly awakened discomfort in her bottom.
Master Leighton smiled. He pushed her down on her back and she looked up at him for the first time since the caning. In place of his usual temperamental scowl there was a tender expression she had never seen before.
Then he kissed her, pressing his mouth into hers with firm, gentle force. He cupped her small breasts, squeezing them gently, tweaking her nipples until they stiffened.
Her body surrendered as his hands explored her, acquainting him with her femininity. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer, tighter. He moulded her curves to his angles as he took possession, driving himself deeply into her wetness. The roughness of the bed beneath her punished flesh wrenched a muffled yelp from her. But she absorbed the rising notes of pain, grinding her hips into him greedily. Her mentor, her master.
She was unprepared for the sudden spasms of pleasure that consumed her, overlapping like the notes of a swirling symphony. He clutched her tightly, urgently, as he filled her with the hot jets of his own climax.
Satiated and spent, she panted for breath, her head resounding with the music of release.
After a languorous, breathless silence he smoothed a damp lock of hair away from her forehead and kissed her there. He was smiling. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
She flushed. ‘Alison, sir.’
He repeated the name, as though tasting a new wine. ‘Alison. You are as lovely as your playing.’
They were words the long-suffering apprentice had never dreamt she would hear from him. Tears shone in her eyes. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she whispered.
He chuckled. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary for you to call me “sir” any longer.’
Alison turned on her side and reached back to touch her tender bottom, to reawaken the sting. The pleasure was so much sweeter for the harmony with pain. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Sir.’
Fiona Locke’s short stories have appeared in numerous Wicked Words collections. Her first novel, Over the Knee, is published by Nexus Enthusiast.
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9780753524640
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Black Lace books contain sexual fantasies.
In real life, always practise safe sex.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2007 by Black Lace Books
This edition published in 2012 by Black Lace,
an imprint of Ebury Publishing
A Random House Group Company
Academic Attraction © Mandy M. Roth
Butter Fingers © Maddie Mckeown
Doing a Number on Him © Lisa Sedara
Ramraiders © Nuala Deuel
Precipitous Passions © Michelle M Pillow
The Apprentice © Fiona Locke
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9780352341303
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