Chasing Chelsea (Masters of the Castle)

by Maren Smith

  “You have no idea,” he replied without apology. He eyed her appreciatively, the skimpiness of her new costume obviously not bothering him a bit. “How’s your ass? Tender at all?”

  “No.” Which was only half true. By the time she’d crawled into bed last night, there wasn’t anything left of the warmth or sting from his earlier spanking. However, all her nerves still jangled on edge. The very nearness of him was making it feel so much worse. It was irritating. She didn’t want to like this.

  “What a shame. You know, we could head back into your room and start the day off right.” He clapped and then rubbed his hands. “I’ll give you a good warm up and follow it with the kind of roasting you are guaranteed not to want to sass your way through.”

  She came all the way out into the hall with him and firmly closed the door. “No, thank you,” she said primly, or at least as primly as a girl could be in a costume like this.

  “Coward,” he teased just behind her ear. The heat of his breath made her shiver, so did the feel of his hand when he slipped it into hers. He led her down the hall toward the stairs.

  “Dare I ask what you have in store for me?”

  “You can always ask,” he cryptically replied. “I’ll happily tell you the truth, but you’ll have to pay a price.”

  Her heart stumbled in her chest. “What kind of price?”

  “A kiss.”

  It wasn’t just her heart stumbling now; her feet followed suit. Was it healthy for a girl to feel this breathless all the time? When he stopped walking, so did she. Circling to face her, he waited, expectant and smiling, that handsome mouth of his attracting all of her attention.

  “Surely a kiss isn’t too high a price to pay?”

  How did he do that, have her perched instantly on the cusp of agreeing with him?

  “Depends on what you’re kissing.”

  “Me, of course.” His smile was as disarming as it was devastating. “Unless what you’re asking is what part of me you’ll be kissing. Oh, the possibilities. Decisions, decisions.” He reached up to smooth a wisp of her hair back from her cheek. The caress of his fingertip was almost her undoing.

  “I think I’ll pass.” She made no move to back away.

  His smile turned smug. “Coward,” he said again.

  “I’m not a coward.” She was trembling.

  He tapped his smiling lips. “Prove it.”

  Like this was grade school.

  She didn’t have to prove it. She didn’t have to prove anything.

  She edged a little closer anyway. Tall as she was, she still had to arch up on her toes before her lips softly found his. It was a maidenly, closed-mouth acquiescence, and she’d have ended it just as quickly as it had started, but for his hand. He captured the back of her neck, tipping his head and opening his mouth, and Chelsea couldn’t help herself. She followed his lead, tasting the sweet cinnamon of his breath an instant before his tongue entwined with hers. It was last night all over again. He took the strength right out of her knees, but that was all right, because his arm snaked in around her waist, drawing her close.

  The next thing she knew the wall was at her back and Kade was heavy at her front. She wanted to touch him, needed to feel his solidness and strength at the ends of her fingers, but no sooner had she brushed his chest than did he catch her wrists and pin them to the stones above her head.

  “No,” she whimpered, and he shifted his grip, easing without releasing her, pressing his palms to hers and weaving their fingers together.

  “Red,” he growled, “you’re killing me.”

  The murder was mutual. She actually tried to chase his mouth, but he withdrew further than she could follow. She whimpered again and his gaze smoldered.

  He looked at her lips, licked his own and answered the question she’d paid for. “Breakfast. We’re going to breakfast.”

  It was a scary thing to realize, but had he said ‘back to your room to finish this right’ she’d have gone with him. Hell, at this point, she’d have led the way.

  The breakfast buffet wasn’t anywhere near as crowded as it had been the night before, but Kade still took her to the Masters private dining room off to one side. The clatter from the kitchen was louder here, but there was no one else at the table.

  “Ha,” he said, holding the door and shooing her inside. “Take a seat. I’ll grab a plate.” He started to withdraw, but then stopped when it must have occurred to him that she might not still be here when he returned. “Sit,” he told her. “Stay.”

  “I’m not a dog,” she said drily.

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed with a wink. “That’s a different program. One we can explore later if you like.”

  This place was completely crazy.

  Chelsea found a place to sit, subconsciously making her way around the table until she was in the same chair she and Kade had shared for Selena’s nuptial dinner. When Kade returned a short while later, bearing a single plate—piled high with ham and cheese omelet, hash browns, bacon, fruit and toast—and a single coffee cup, she knew how they would be dining. He noticed her choice of chair and the symmetry it represented was not lost on him either.

  “Up,” he said as he came around to her side of the table.

  She stood, obediently sidestepping so he could take her place. When he patted his knee, she was obedient then, too. She could come to like eating this way. It was so intimate. Something lovers should do, not people who had only known one another for three days.

  “How do you like your coffee?” he asked, separating two cream and sugar packets from the plate he’d put together.

  “That depends. Am I going to have to pay for it?”

  “I’ll make it any way you like, but if you want to drink any—” He grinned. “—then yes.”

  “One cream,” she said, already imagining how he would taste with coffee on his lips. “Three sugars.”

  “Ah, you don’t like a little sugar with your coffee, you like a little coffee with your sugar.” He doctored the cup to her preference and gently stirred it in. “All right, the way we’re going to play this is very simple. Anything you want, you may have, but you have to ask for it and you have to pay a price. Sometimes the price will be a kiss, and sometimes you’ll have to answer a question. I promise you won’t have to do anything you’re not ready for and I won’t demand sex for anything on this plate.” His eyes met hers boldly. “When you’re ready for that, you’ll be the one who asks me. ‘Please fuck me, Master Kade.’ Remember those words, because they are the only way you’ll be able to end your suffering later on.”

  A tickle of premonition licked up between her tensing thighs. She squeezed them together, trying to stifle the sensation as Kade lifted the coffee cup and sampled a small sip.

  “Mm.” That sensual mouth of his curled. “Hot and sweet, Red. Just like you. Would you like some?”

  “Yes.” She struggled to keep from squirming. She was getting wet just sitting here and she was terrified any minute now he would be able to feel it through his jeans.

  He held up the cup, but did not yet offer it. “Then what do you have to do to get some?”

  Oh, his arrogance was maddening. Her pulse leapt, his nearness feeding her excitement. “May I have some coffee?”

  His smile was nothing but victory. “Are you enjoying the Royal Program?”

  “Parts of it,” she admitted. “More than I thought I would, frankly.”

  “Good. I want you to be frank, and honest. It’ll save me time.” He brought the cup to her mouth. “Careful. It’s hot.”

  She sipped and the sweetness filled her mouth.

  Setting the cup aside, he looked at her and waited.

  “Bacon, please.”

  He picked up a long crispy strip. “What parts don’t you like?”

  Again, she opted for honesty. “I don’t know if there is anything, really. But it’s all so…unfamiliar.”

  He grunted acknowledgement, tipped his head in a nod and fed her half the bacon fro
m his fingers. He ate the other half, studying her all the while. She liked the taste. The saltiness was the perfect complement to the sweetness of the coffee. “So, your boyfriend never spanked you?”

  Beth’s boyfriend, he meant. Chelsea shifted and reached for the coffee, trying to wash the taste of bacon and deception out of her mouth. She didn’t look at him, but just before she closed her fingers on the coffee cup, he caught her wrist.

  “Ah-ah,” he chastised. Very deliberately, he gave the back of her hand a light two-fingered slap. “From my hand, only when you ask, and only when you pay the price.” He moved the coffee cup out of her reach. “I’ve been very clear about the rules. I’m afraid this will have to earn you a punishment.”

  Her stomach quivered. “Is this where you say, ‘You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl,’ and then you spank me again?” She wanted to sound tough, as if she couldn’t care less, when in fact just the word ‘spank’ made her bottom tense. Worse yet, it made Kade chuckle and it was very hard to feign disinterest when the sound of his amusement made her want to melt all over him.

  “Do you think I can’t punish you?”

  “I’ve long outgrown the effectiveness of corporeal punishments.”

  That amused him even more. “Oh really? Well then, I suppose I’ll need to be creative in order to discipline you effectively. Turn around. Straddle my lap. I want you facing me.”

  Her tiny bib of a skirt wasn’t long enough to cover anything vital when she lowered herself to straddle his lap. She tugged at it, pushing it down between her legs, but even with panties on all she felt when she looked at him—and he, at her—was exposed.

  Then it got worse.

  “Bare your breasts,” he commanded.

  “Wh-what?” A gush of warm contradicting arousal flooded down between her tensing thighs.

  “We’re going to finish our meal with your breasts and nipples on display for me to enjoy, lick, suck…bite…”

  “That’s a punishment?” She tried to scoff, but her voice was trembling. It was very unwelcome excitement that she could feel bubbling up inside her.

  “Oh yes.” Kade wasn’t fooled. “Anything that bothers you can be made into a punishment. I can see it in your eyes just how badly you want me to do something else so you won’t have to sit naked on my lap, with your clothes in a puddle around your waist and your breasts heavy and aching, your nipples thrusting stiffly for my attention.” His dark eyes danced as if he knew her nipples were stiffening with every word he said. “Bare your breasts, Red.” He smiled. “Right now, you naughty…naughty little girl. If I have to count to five, not only will I spank your nipples, but I’ll strip you of your panties too. Thank me for being firm with you.”

  She didn’t know if he was serious about that part or not. “Thank you.” The words tried to stick inside her, particularly when she reached up to slip the shoulder straps of her slave costume off her shoulders. She wanted to shrug, hunching her shoulders as if she could hide herself even as she bared herself to the waist right there on his lap.

  He didn’t look down, but kept his hypnotic gaze locked right on hers. “Thank you, what?” he pressed.

  “Thank you for…for being firm with me,” she tried again.

  “Thank you for being firm with me,” he countered, “what?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. She hadn’t known any two words in existence could cause the embarrassment she felt when she had to utter them, sitting on his lap with her tight, thrusting nipples jutting out for his attention. “Thank you for being firm with me, Master Kade.”

  As decadent as it felt to have to bare her breasts, saying those words, ‘Master Kade’, it made her feel the vulnerability of her nakedness in a whole new way. And he still did not look at her breasts. They ached for his attention, but he continued to hold her gaze, steady, warm and unyielding as he lifted the coffee cup to her lips. Her reward for her obedience.

  She sipped, swallowing the creamy sweetness only when he set the cup aside. Then and only then did he touch her, smoothing his hands over her cheeks first, then down her neck. He rubbed her shoulders, her chest, and her nipples were already so tight and hard that by the time he finally—finally—cupped her breasts, all she could do was close her eyes and sigh.

  “Look at me,” he said, and she did, her shoulders lifting, her back arching when he squeezed, gently at first, then firmly. He plucked, rolled, squeezed again. She loved the way he did that. She straddled his lap, her thighs hugging onto his.

  “I want to bind you.” He alternately tugged and rolled her nipples between his fingers. “Has your boyfriend ever tied you up?”

  She shook her head, needing every molecule of air she had just to keep herself in this moment, where everything felt so unbelievably perfect. He bent his head, opening his mouth and she gasped, clasping his shoulders when the incredible heat engulfed her right nipple.

  “Put your hands on my knees and keep them there.”

  Instant obedience, oh, but it was hard. She wanted so much to touch him, to cling to him and pull him closer while he licked and flicked and scrapped his teeth lightly across the sensitive peak. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but the chair got in the way. He suckled, hot and hard, and she had to twist her fingers in the excess folds of his pants just to keep from grabbing at his shoulders again.

  A slick wet pop accompanied the break of suction when his mouth abandoned her right breast, and then he was on to her left, flicking, nipping, suckling until each breath came in tiny mewling whimpers.

  He caught her hips; she hadn’t realized she was grinding until he did that. He bit her chest, her neck. He reached up to grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back to give him unimpeded access to the tender lobe of her ear. Her hands swept up to catch his arms, and his response was immediate. He swatted her hip. She grabbed his knees again and the torment continued.

  “Oh!” She shivered, feeling the intense wet pull of his mouth tugging all the way down in her pulsing sex. “Oh!”

  “Stand.”

  She didn’t think she could, especially not when she saw the proof of his own arousal. The bulge of his erection stood out against the confines of his jeans. More than anything, she wanted to slide back off his lap, fall to her knees to touch him, worship him, like Greek gods were supposed to be worshipped, with both her hands and her mouth.

  Her knees wobbled, but she stood, backing up against the table when he directed her to. She clung to the edge of it with both hands, breathing heavily and swallowing back her disappointment when he left her there. He exited through the swinging kitchen door, but was gone only a moment before he returned with a set of black cuffs—one end of which was sized right for her wrist, though the other was much larger—and a wooden spatula.

  His dark eyes sparkled. His smile was as seductive as his kiss. Though he set the cuffs on the table and kept the spatula in his hand, she couldn’t find it anywhere in her to be afraid. “What did I tell you to do with your hands?”

  “Put them on your knees and keep them there.”

  “Turn around. Put your hands on the table, bend over and hold that position until I say otherwise.”

  Chelsea turned and bent, almost putting her hand in the middle of their breakfast plate. She got butter from the toast on her thumb before she realized it and pushed the plate away. Bracing her hands on the smooth wood, she waited, knowing what to expect and yet not knowing. Would he bare her? She was practically naked as it was. Maybe he’d pull her panties up between her buttocks, like he’d done yesterday.

  She was so wet. Hot liquid need flooded her pussy, spurred on by the touch of his hand smoothing down her spine to settle in the small of her back. He pushed until she was lying flat against the wood, with her hips arching her bottom out into a nice round target behind her.

  “Five swats,” he told her. “If you can hold still for it, that’s all you’ll get. If you can’t, not only will I strip you naked, but I’ll keep you that way the rest of the
day. I’ll also start the count over again and add an additional five strokes.”

  “Naked?” She felt the smooth coolness of the spatula caress a tiny circle upon her left bottom cheek. Apparently, he didn’t need to bare her after all. There wasn’t enough skirt on this outfit to cover the flesh of her bottom in this position and her panties were high-cut, leaving a good portion of both cheeks vulnerably bare. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “But you will.”

  He sounded so confident. Chelsea snapped around, half laughing, “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will.” He gave her bottom another caress, followed by a soft pat of the spatula right where the curve of her bottom yielded to her thighs. First the right side, and then the left. She jumped both times, but those pats weren’t anywhere near hard enough to hurt. They barely made a sound, but still it felt as if all the nerve endings there were ten times more sensitive than anywhere else inside her. “You’ll do it not because you’re an exhibitionist or because you find it titillating—which I can see you don’t. You’ll do it…” He stroked her again, caressing that spatula back and forth across the tops of her tender thighs. “You'll do it because I tell you to do it and because obeying me satisfies that desperate need within you that cries to be dominated.”

  “I don’t have that need.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She caught her breath, feeling his next soft pat all the way up into her heart and down into her toes. Her pussy wept with heated arousal. She had the most insane urge to spread her legs—to let him see, hoping perhaps he might be tempted to touch. She wanted to be touched so badly. She couldn’t remember when she’d last wanted anything more.

  The flat head of the spatula passed another caress down the back of her right leg, almost to the knee, before passing across to her left leg and rising up again. It got halfway to her bottom before changing course and dipping in between her thighs. It wasn’t the touch of his hand that she craved so much, but it was a touch, and when it settled directly over her wet and quivering folds, applying pressure in the most delicious way, she gripped at the table, buried her face in her arms and sighed.