But around the pie was a black leather collar, an inch wide with a trail of small clear stones all around it, except for the buckle in the back and an o-ring in the front. The leather was a shade darker than the chocolate. He set the plate in front of her and sat down in his seat.
She picked up her dessert fork. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
“No. Collared French silk pie is only for you, my love, and no one else will ever have any.”
She blinked and her heart started pounding again. “You want me to put the collar on, Sir?”
His gaze was intense. “Only if you want to be mine forever.”
Yours. Forever. Doesn’t one normally do that sort of thing with a ring, on bended knee? Then again, he never has followed the recipe.
She set down the fork and lifted the collar, careful to move it straight up so that it didn’t get any chocolate or cream on it. She knew she was stalling. “It’s beautiful,” she said. His. Forever. His slave. “Would I call you Master, then?”
“You’d be permitted,” he said, still watching her. She wondered if his heart was thumping as hard as hers was. “But we can do our own thing. Always. I’ve never aspired to be called Milord before I heard it from your lips.”
The leather was stiff in her hands. Like the plates, it hadn’t seen any use before tonight. Wanting to avoid his gaze, she was transfixed by the glittery stones. She couldn’t see the collar through the glass. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled. For a moment, the metal on the steel ring clouded over, but not the glass stones.
She’d had Garrett Chandler chase down a jewel thief once, and remembered the research she’d done for that book. Diamonds didn’t get misty when breathed on, or the mist dissipated so fast there was hardly had a chance to notice it. They dissipated heat too fast. Almost everything else that looked like a diamond would stay misty for at least a couple of seconds. There had to be thirty or more diamonds on the collar. Oh my god.
She hesitated. She didn’t want the diamonds to sway her decision. But the fact that he’d had something like that specially made for her—it had to be a custom order, didn’t it?—made her eyes water. She stared at it, not trusting herself to look at him, but it didn’t help. Tears started streaming down her face.
“What’s wrong?” She heard his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back, felt his strong hand on her shoulder.
“Nothing, Milord,” she managed to get out. She unbuckled the collar. It didn’t matter if they were diamonds or not, her answer was still the same.
“I don’t mean to pressure you. I thought—well, you’re perfect for me, and I want to make this evening perfect for you. And I want you in my life, Kyra, not just for a few romps in the bedroom. But the pie can just be pie, love, if you would prefer.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks with a soft touch of his fingers.
“Shush, Milord.” She opened the collar up and held it against her neck. The leather was cool enough to make her shiver, probably from proximity to the chilled pie, but it would warm up quickly enough. She breathed in the smell of new leather. “Would you be so kind as to buckle it on your most obedient wench?”
“God, yes.” His fingers were only about it for a moment, and then it was on.
It felt strange to have something snug around her neck. Strange but good. “I’ll never take it off, Milord.” She turned her head up to smile at him.
He moved back to his chair before he replied. “Most slaves have something a little more discreet to wear at work and in other public places, love. We can find a chain or something that will still symbolize our relationship.”
“That’s a lovely, very considerate thought, Milord. But I don’t work with other people, and we don’t have to follow the recipe, do we?”
He grinned. “No, we don’t. It still might be practical to take it off in the bathtub, love.”
She laughed. “Yeah, leather doesn’t like being soaked, does it?”
“Nope.”
She looked again at the pie, and at him. “You’re going to watch me eat this, and not have any yourself?”
“Oh, I have the ingredients. I’ll have mine later, my way.” The smug look on his face was good to see. He was himself again, fully in charge.
Whatever that meant, she had the feeling she wasn’t going to like it. No, that was wrong, she always liked what he planned, she just found some of it challenging. But he always made sure the payoff was more than worth it. “Yes, Milord.” She dipped her fork in for a dainty bit and raised it to her mouth. He was right. It was to die for.
The collar made her even more aware of her nakedness. The cool chocolate and cream of the pie melted on her tongue. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations. She was vaguely aware of his chair moving again, but that didn’t seem very important to her next to the taste of chocolate, the smell of the leather, and the embrace of the collar. Her whole body felt good, especially her tongue and deep in her core. She spread her legs wider, enjoying the freedom she had to be a sexual woman—a wench—no prim and proper lady.
Something wet and soft stroked against her pussy. She opened her eyes and Drew wasn’t sitting in his chair. Strong hands held her thighs open when she reflexively tried to close them. She slipped her hand beneath the table and buried it in Drew’s soft hair. It was all she could do not to press down on it, to mash his face against her pussy and rub her clit against his nose.
“Keep eating, my wench.” His voice was muffled but not so much that she could pretend not to hear. She picked up the fork she hadn’t remembered putting down and stabbed at the pie. She closed her eyes again and licked the creamy chocolate slowly, languorously, the same way he was licking her pussy. Her core muscles contracted, rolling her hips forward to improve his access to her most intimate parts. She put a leg on the chair he had been sitting on and sprawled the other on the floor.
His tongue pushed at her as if he were trying to stick it all the way inside, then flicked her clit with wet delicacy. She moaned around a dollop of whipped cream. Her hips ached with the desire to undulate, to match thrusts that he wasn’t making. It didn’t matter. His tongue felt so good. He’d fuck her when he wanted to, and right now he wanted to do this. All she had to do was enjoy.
She crunched down a thick curl of chocolate, then let it melt in her mouth. His tongue licked around her clit and made her burn with desire. Suddenly the fork seemed out of place, and it fell out of her limp fingers to the floor. I’ll pick that up later. She dipped her finger into the pie and then licked it off. The sweetness flooded her mouth as his tongue stroked upward to send her nerves into a frenzy. She moaned as her release rippled through her body, and then opened her mouth wider as if to scream, but only a series of short breaths came out, almost like laughter. She loved it. She wanted more.
She dipped two fingers into the pie, making a mess of chocolate and creamy white topping. A moment later, as if he knew what she was doing, she felt his fingers enter her pussy. At least two, she thought. Maybe three. They slid right in so smoothly she felt as if she must have melted down there the way the chocolate melted in her mouth. She pushed her fingers into her mouth, thrusting in time with his fingers, licking all the soft sweetness off them. He pushed faster, harder, almost filling her with his fingers. Every nerve between her thighs felt overloaded. This time she did scream, grabbing the edge of the table for balance. Waves of pleasure crashed over her.
She wasn’t sure when he pushed her chair back, exactly, but she felt him pick her up in his big strong arms. She looked at him. Mine. She supposed it wasn’t the most submissive thought ever, but that was fine. We write our own recipe. He carried her into the kitchen and laid her down on a long counter there, with a bath towel rolled out on it to stop the cold counter from touching her back. She noticed a bowl full of chocolate mousse and another full of whipped cream on the part of the counter the towel didn’t cover. His dessert, she imagined. He’d planned everything. She grinned. He was so organized. He was so wonderfully
, masterfully in control.
Her nipples, already tingling from sex, tightened further as he spread chocolate with his finger around each one. A line of whipped cream went down from the center of her chest to her navel. It was cold, but she didn’t care. Each bit of sweetness promised that a warm tongue would follow. A few goose bumps were worth that.
She wasn’t disappointed. His tongue licked chocolate from her breasts, tracing circles around the hardened peaks. He licked whipped cream from her navel, swirling his tongue inside, then licked up the line he had drawn.
“Maybe you’d like to lick some from my pussy?” she offered and bit her lip. After two orgasms she felt she ought to have been sated, but he had her warming again.
“I’d love to.” He smiled. “But sugar and pussies don’t mix well.”
Oh. Right.
“I have another idea that I think you’ll like. Sit up.”
She did as directed, which put her in the perfect position to watch him as he unlaced the shirt enough to pull it over his head. Well-defined pecs and six-pack abs greeted her. “Oooh la la,” she said.
He grinned, pulled off his shoes and socks, and then his tight jeans. His cock sprang free, its full, thick length jutting out in her direction. Yeah, that could be at least as good as having whipped cream and chocolate licked out from her pussy.
She dipped her fingers in the chocolate and smeared it across her breasts and stomach. She didn’t figure she’d have time to do art, and besides, she didn’t want to take her eyes off his body. A chocolate mess would create the same effect, anyway. He walked toward her, nudging her knees farther apart. He was at the perfect height. His cock nudged against her pussy, seeking entrance.
She picked up the bowl containing the whipped cream, held it up against her chest, pressing her breast into it, and then did the same on the other side. He watched, seeming mesmerized. When she put the bowl down, he pushed forward, filling her in one easy thrust.
“Yesss,” she hissed. “Oh yeah.”
He pumped a couple of times inside her, pulling her toward him. Dessert made a sticky mess between them, but it didn’t matter. He licked her shoulder where a little had escaped.
“Use me, Milord,” she whispered.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. Breathing hard, he increased the pace, his cock pistoning in and out of her. She wasn’t really interested in subtlety right then anyway. She grabbed his taut ass and moved her hips in rhythm, driving him deeper inside her. Her pussy stretched to accommodate him. She licked his neck, tasting the trace of salt in his sweat. She reached down between them, cupping his balls, and squeezed. She wanted to feel him coming inside her.
She didn’t have to wait long. His hot seed jetted hard deep into her pussy. A couple of jerks later and she joined him, her pussy squeezing and milking the last drops out of him.
His lips met hers. She opened her mouth and their tongues fumbled with each other. She kissed him hungrily, despite being out of breath. Her breasts slipped and caught against his chest, lubricated and sticky from chocolate and cream.
His lips parted from hers. “I love you.”
She smiled. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn’t felt like she dared say them until he said it first. “I love you too, Milord.”
“Will you move in with me?”
She hadn’t been ready for that. She wanted to say yes but she hesitated. “I’d love to, but…”
“But what?”
“This thing we have—it’s kind of like a fantasy, you know? You being in control, me being under your command. Am I going to be able to get my work done that way? What happens when we fight over how the toothpaste gets squeezed, or towels, or whose turn it is to do the dishes, or cook?” She paused, breathless. “Well, I guess you’ll cook.”
He grinned. “I’d guess so. The answer is that we’ll resolve it. As equals, if we have to. That’s part of what a safe word is for, to let us step out of our fantasy when we need to. But I’ll listen to you, Kyra, and try to answer your needs. I’ve cleared out a room upstairs. It’s entirely empty and yours to decorate, furnish, whatever you need to do. If you go in that room to work, I’ll leave you be until you’re ready to come out again.”
“You’ve got this all planned.” She smiled, torn between being flattered and being miffed that he’d gone so far without consulting her.
“Yes.” He had that smug look on his face. So lovable. So tempting to wipe off his face, but it would take a hurtful word to do it. She looked away. She didn’t want to be influenced by his face. Could it work? He said the room was empty. He hadn’t made any assumptions about what she wanted or needed. He’d left as much up to her as he could, she supposed, while still making the whole thing a surprise. She had the feeling her life would be full of surprises if she moved in with him.
He said she could use her safe word to make sure that they could talk as man and woman rather than Master and slave. Or Milord and wench. “I’d feel like I let you down if I used my safe word.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why.”
“Maybe you need some practice.”
“And how am I going to get that? Anyway, I think we both need a shower. Or a lot of licking. Or both.”
He kissed her below the throat and licked up some brown and white goodness in the process. “I agree. Let’s just shower.”
She blinked, disappointed. His tongue felt good and she was looking forward to licking his chest clean, or as clean as she could. It wasn’t just the sweet taste she was looking forward to. Besides, she hadn’t had a chance to get any on his cock yet. Still, he’s in charge. “Um, okay.”
“A cold shower, no hot water at all. Let’s go.” He hooked his finger into the ring on her collar and tugged. She got off the counter in a hurry, but then stopped. He could probably drag her that way if he wanted to, but he seemed to want to give her a chance to get her feet planted.
“What the hell?” she asked.
“That’s what the hell, Milord.” He pulled and started walking toward the stairs.
“No way am I getting in a cold shower when we could be—”
“You have a better idea?”
If he was going to be such a jerk about it she wasn’t sure she cared to be licking him clean. And the collar wasn’t seeming like such a great idea, either. “A hot shower,” she said.
He chuckled. “Nope.”
She was thinking furiously. She didn’t want to say no and bolt. Anyway, he’d grab her and toss her in the tub, probably. And while that had a certain appeal, it lost all its charm with cold water at the end of it. “Please not cold water.”
“It’s good for you.”
“Let me rephrase that. No. Not only no, but hell no. Milord.”
“Yes.”
She shivered. No way was she jumping in some cold water right now. She hated to say it, but she was going to have to. “Banana.”
To her surprise he let her go and smiled. “Good girl,” he said. “Well done. You’re no mouse, to submit to just anyone, or to anything I say when I’m heading in what is obviously the wrong direction. We can, and we will, work things out when they need to be worked out.”
“Oh.” Once again, he was several steps ahead of her, it seemed. From the look on his face, he’d planned on her saying her safe word the whole time. She stood up on her toes so she could get some semblance of standing eye to eye with him and said, “Banana, banana, banana.” By the last time she said it she felt so ridiculous that she was about to laugh.
He nodded approvingly. “You rock. When you’re ready to let me have control again, I have a plastic sheet on the bed and I was thinking we’d finish off dessert there, and then, perhaps, take a warm bath together in my nice oversized tub.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.”
“You had to rub it in that you had it all planned, didn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t want my wench to think her Lor
d was unprepared.” His eyes glittered.
“Well. Fine.” She took a breath. “This wench will be happy to surrender, Milord. Will you help me move? That truck of yours would be mighty handy.”
He grinned. “I will most definitely help you move.” And as if to show her how helpful he could be, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
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 address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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