He brought her a washcloth.
A bit embarrassed, she reached for it. He shook his head.
“Stand up and spread your legs.”
She already knew better than to argue. The water was warm, and he gently cleaned her. A part of her wanted the floor to swallow her. But a bigger, more pervasive part of her liked being cared for. The entire experience with him had been a dichotomy, from scalding pain to delicious tenderness.
“You did well,” he told her, removing the cloth. He wadded it and tossed it back towards the sink.
“I…uhm… I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do now. Do I say thank you and shake your hand?”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I think I can find my own way, but thanks.”
“Don’t try my patience,” he warned.
She swallowed. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. He might be totally naked, but he commanded the space effortlessly.
He dressed. As he fastened his belt, she wildly wondered what it might feel like on her skin. Shaking her head, she mentally urged him to hurry.
“Problem?”
“No. No, Sir.”
She was anxious to get away…before she was tempted to stay.
“Would you hand me the tawse?”
She could refuse. With him being dressed, she was aware of a subtle power shift. Being nude while he towered above fully clothed unnerved her.
God help her, but the feeling thrilled her as much as it terrified her.
She crossed to the horse and picked up the sturdy strip of leather.
“Keep your gaze focused on the floor as you bring it to me,” he said quietly.
Julia knew she could use a safe word and put a stop to his commands, but she followed the order regardless.
When she reached him, she extended her hand.
“Kneel and offer it to me.”
She wouldn’t really do that, would she? His roughened tone hypnotised her, and she couldn’t refuse. Kneeling, she did as he had said.
“On your palms.”
She extended her hands, palms up, the tawse lying lengthwise across them.
He didn’t move or speak.
She was aware of the sturdiness of the leather. As she continued to wait, she recalled its heat as it had caressed her skin. It had burnt, but that sensation had paled next to the ache it had caused inside.
“Thank you.”
He took the implement, and she bit her lower lip to prevent herself from asking him to use it on her again.
“You may stand.”
Only after he’d clipped the tawse to his belt loop did she rise.
“Come here, Julia.”
Compelled, she did. He cradled her and rubbed her skin. It seemed odd that he would be the one to comfort her after that experience, but she didn’t question it. She just stayed there for a while, inhaling his fresh woods scent, relying on his formidable masculine strength.
She was strangely reluctant to step away, but eventually she did.
“Let’s get your clothes,” he said. He paused long enough to don his leather blazer.
The sight of him, dashing in the western-looking gear, was enough to make her mouth dry. She could hardly believe she’d spent the evening with him, feeling his hand on her ass, experiencing shattering orgasms, being thoroughly dominated.
When he’d closed the door behind them earlier, her heart had missed a beat. Being in the spanking room had been surreal. But now, rejoining the party felt odd.
As she followed him down the hall, she heard the sounds of whips, of subs crying out, of sternly delivered commands, and soothing words.
It still startled her a bit, but now she understood better.
In the main area, servers continued to offer drinks. Doms chatted. Some subs knelt. One was leashed. A Dom patted a sub’s head while he conversed with the bartender.
Nothing had changed.
Except her.
“Stay here,” Marcus told her. He pointed to a spot on the floor.
Shocking herself, she didn’t argue. She didn’t move, but she kept her gaze on him. She jumped a little when someone touched her elbow.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She turned and met the deeply dark brown eyes of Gregorio. Up close, he was more handsome than she’d imagined. His skin was sun-darkened. He had on a black T-shirt with the arms shorn off. His trousers looked as if they’d been tailored. No doubt he could appear in the videos filmed at the house.
“It’s your first time here,” he said. “And, according to Master Damien, your first experience.”
Marcus had told her Gregorio was a switch but, to her, he had the same air of authority as the other Doms she’d met. “Yes,” she said. “Sir.”
“I watched for a few minutes.”
“Seriously?” She hadn’t been aware of anything or anyone other than Marcus.
“While you were tied to the horse. You appeared serene.”
She would have never used that word, but in a strange way it fitted.
“How was your experience?”
“Mind-blowing,” she admitted. She pushed the loose hair back from her face. “At first it was too much, and it stung like hell. I’m not quite sure what to think.”
“That’s understandable and not at all unexpected. Do you have anyone you can speak with?”
“Lana. After she’s back from Mexico.”
“I’ll have Master Marcus give you my contact information. If you need someone to talk to, feel free to get in touch.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t tell him that she had no intention of giving Master Marcus her contact information. She would sort through this on her own.
Marcus returned with a bottle of water from the bar.
The two men greeted each other. Master Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if the touch was meant to be reassuring or possessive.
“Drink this,” he told her, loosening the cap.
He didn’t check to see if she would obey. He simply assumed she would.
The two men talked, and neither of them addressed her. She sipped the water, more because it gave her something to do than anything else.
Under normal circumstances, being ignored might offend her. Right now, it didn’t. In fact, the sooner she could find her clothes and go home, the better.
“Please give Julia my contact information in case she needs someone to talk to,” Gregorio said to Marcus.
Marcus nodded.
After wishing them both a good evening, Gregorio excused himself.
“Ready?” Marcus asked.
“Yes.”
He headed upstairs, and she followed at a respectful distance, the water bottle clutched in her hand. A few couples were chatting, but the sunroom was empty.
“I can see myself out,” she said, feeling nervous now that they were alone again. Her clothes were where he’d left them.
“I’m sure you can.” He made no move to leave.
Resigned, she picked up her plain cotton underwear. She vowed to take a trip to the lingerie store soon. She pulled up her stockings, telling herself she shouldn’t feel self-conscious. He’d seen every part of her.
He watched wordlessly as she fastened the hooks on her bra then wiggled into her skirt. Her fingers shook as she tried to slide the buttons of her blouse through the damnably small holes. It pissed her off that he noticed and moved in to brush her fingers aside.
“Let me.”
Rather than starting at the top, he fastened the bottom one first. She felt his fingers on her skin, and tiny tremors shook her. “Thank you.” Honestly she’d never been this cared for before. Despite her feminist proclivities, she knew she could get accustomed to his treatment.
He adjusted her collar before stepping back.
After straightening her shoulders, she slipped into her shoes. She told herself that she was once again in control, but that was a lie. Having this man close to her undid her completely.
She located her belongings in the foyer.
“Keys?” he asked, extending his hand.
“I—”
“Don’t argue,” he told her.
She fished out her keys from the cavernous depths of her purse.
“Which car is yours?” he asked, opening the big oak doors.
“It’s that one.” She pointed to the street. “It’s that small, black SUV.”
“I’ll bring it around.”
“Marcus—”
“Master Marcus,” he corrected. Green fire sizzled in his eyes. “Question my authority one more time and I’ll have you back over that spanking horse so fast you won’t remember your name. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” The idea of getting into a warm car that had the windshield cleared would be pure luxury. “Thank you.”
“I wondered when you’d remember to use some manners.”
Without another word, he went outside, braving the cold. He levelled a look at her. She remained silent.
She didn’t relish the drive back over Berthoud Pass. The smattering of snow during the ceremony had been beautiful, but it could make the roads treacherous.
While she waited, she put on her coat and leather driving gloves.
A few minutes later, he re-entered the house. Snowflakes clung to his hair, and his hands were red. Her heart melted. He’d gone outside for her.
“Your chariot awaits, madam.”
“Thank you. You didn’t need to, but—”
“You’re welcome.”
She closed her mouth.
He took hold of her elbow, ensuring she didn’t slip as he guided her to the car. Like a gentleman, he held open the driver’s door and handed her inside.
“Contact me any time,” he said, offering her a business card. “My cellphone number is on there, and so is Gregorio’s.”
She dropped it on the console beside her.
The air hung silent and still. He was apparently waiting for her to reciprocate. “I appreciate your bringing the car around.” Heat whispered from the vents, and ice was already melted from the back window. But she knew the cold had to be biting his ears and fingers. “You’d better get back inside,” she said. Her smile felt as brittle as the icicles hanging from the nearby ponderosa pine trees.
He closed the door and gave her a mock salute. As she drove away, she resisted the impulse to look at him in the rear-view mirror.
* * * *
A nice guy. She was determined, at all costs, to not only meet, but actually date a nice guy. After the experience with Jason, she had promised herself she wouldn’t never again spend time with any man who was demanding, dictatorial, or domineering.
So why couldn’t she get thoughts of Marcus—Master Marcus—from her mind?
She sighed.
The roads had been surprisingly easy to navigate. Ploughs had cleared them, and there was no ice despite the fact that snow continued to lazily drift down. Still, she’d gripped the steering wheel tightly for the entire two-hour drive back to her Denver apartment.
At home, she dropped her purse and keys on a small table just inside the door. She fingered Marcus’ business card for a moment. His name was there, along with the name of a company, Silver Eagle Constructors. Did he own the business? Or was it simply a place he worked? The fact that he did physical labour explained a lot about the bronze colour of his skin and the muscles that had rippled his forearms and biceps.
She stared at the card for a full minute before dropping it in the wicker trash can she kept handy to dispose of unwanted mail.
She was d-o-n-e with overwhelming men who thought they knew best.
After hanging up her coat and tucking her gloves in the pockets, she went into the bedroom. She opted for a pair of sleep pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt rather than a sleeveless nightie.
Sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned for several hours. In frustration, she pulled up the covers, shoved them down, punched the pillow in several different shapes, but, no matter what she did, she couldn’t banish the vivid snapshots of Marcus that were flashing through her mind. She saw him in his leather blazer, then wearing his shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And then, heavens, completely naked.
For a moment, she wondered if his cock really was as big as she remembered.
Finally, exhausted from the battle, she climbed back out of bed. The scent of him lingered on her skin, a vivid reminder of the way he’d held her in his arms as she’d snuggled against his chest. She needed a shower. Or, better yet, a hot bath. Her legs hadn’t been spread that far apart since high school gym class. Her calves felt as if she’d run a marathon, and even her arm muscles ached.
She drizzled a relaxing blend of salts into the water then sank up to her chin.
Lying back on the inflatable cushion didn’t help.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled the plug.
As she wrapped a towel around her body, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She dropped the towel and moved closer.
The lines were faint, but she could see the marks on the backs of her thighs. A light handprint was obvious on her right butt cheek.
She waited to feel the rush of mortification, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt aroused.
Since she couldn’t vanquish the thoughts of him, she surrendered to the inevitable. She grabbed her vibrator and climbed on top of her bed.
She selected the slowest speed and placed the pulsing head against her pussy. Thoughts flashed through her mind. She recalled the way his hand had been beneath her skirt and the determined set of his features as he had brought her off in front of the window in Master Damien’s sunroom. She’d never done anything as scandalous as that.
She lifted her hips slightly as she remembered the sound of his voice, like rusty nails on velvet, as he had ordered her to lie across his lap. Her whole body jerked as she recollected the shock of raw energy exploding across her skin when his palm had connected with her buttocks.
An orgasm built deep inside as she thought of the way he’d efficiently and effectively tied her to the horse.
The climax drew closer, and images moved with warp speed. The harsh explosion of leather on her helpless body, the way he had required her to kneel, and, God help her, the way he had held her head while he’d forced her to suck his thick cock.
With her free hand, she pinched her sore nipples, pulling on them, dragging them away from her body.
She shamelessly moved against the vibrator, then, needing more, pulled back the hood of her clit. The tiny bit of flesh already felt abused. The reminder of the way Master Marcus had used her, smacking her pussy hard, drove her.
Panting, she turned the switch to high. She moved the violently quivering vibrator across her swollen clitoris.
Her body jerked and convulsed as if wired by electricity.
Within a few seconds, the sensations were too much.
Without thinking, she screamed out Master Marcus’ name and came hard.
She dropped the still-running bullet next to her. She gulped for air. She had never had an orgasm like this before at her own hand.
Julia wasn’t sure how long she lay there, shaking and shivering as she tried to remember how to breathe normally.
The orgasm alleviated some of the restlessness clawing at her. But no sooner had she got her heart rate under control than frustration replaced it.
She’d endured so much at Master Marcus’ hands. How could she go back to normal, missionary sex?
Marcus Cavendish—who wore a leather spanking implement attached to his clothing—was many things, but he definitely wasn’t a nice guy.
She turned off the vibrator and dragged the blankets back over her.
Worn out, she curled into a tiny ball and fell asleep.
* * * *
Far too early the next morning, the alarm jolted her awake. Figured. It seemed like the minute she’d actually fallen asleep, it was time to get up.
She hit the snooze button twice before realising she was
supposed to meet Harvey for breakfast.
Harvey.
He fitted her definition of nice guy to a tee.
They’d met online, and the first date had been pleasant. He’d insisted on paying for the coffee and scones, and they’d strolled Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall. He’d been solicitous, and he was passably good-looking, if a little thin for her tastes.
He was exactly the type of man she was looking for. He’d said he hoped he wasn’t being too forward in noticing she was cute. She’d tried to keep the wince off her face. That was a description that best fit bunnies and kittens.
She’d hoped the man she would end up with would find her wildly attractive. She yearned to hear she was sexy and responsive and that her ass was made for a tawse. But a solid, predictable partner wouldn’t say that. And, really, there was nothing wrong with being cute. That Harvey had already hinted that he’d like to take her home to meet his family was a bonus.
With a deep sigh, she turned on the coffee-maker and glared impatiently as the machine spat miserly drips into the glass carafe. She didn’t wait for it to finish before pouring a cup and adding a more than generous splash of cream. Deciding that, if a little was good, more was better, she topped off the cup.
Leaning against the counter, she downed the contents of the mug in several long gulps. Feeling somewhat human, she refilled the cup then headed into the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, she tried to tame her hair. After failing, she opted for a ponytail before opening the makeup drawer. A layer of foundation made no noticeable difference. The first coat of mascara did little to help her look more awake.
She all but trowelled on the eye shadow then applied a second coat of mascara. It, too, was a remarkable failure. Her eyes looked extra small and they were slightly puffy. Despite being on her second cup of coffee, she could barely keep her eyes open.
And it was all Master Marcus’ fault.
Until last night, until she’d screamed as she’d come, she’d been looking forward to meeting Harvey in downtown Denver for breakfast.
With This Collar (Mastered) Page 9
