Playing Hard to Master

by Sparrow Beckett

  “So what were you planning to do? You were just going to house-sit for your imaginary buddy for the rest of our lives? You were never going to tell me where you worked? You would have just kept paying for your bogus apartment?” She frowned and shook her head like he was the biggest damn idiot she’d ever met. When it came to her, maybe he was. Sometimes love made people stupid.

  “I don’t know. I thought of selling the house. It’s too big anyway. And I don’t need so much money. I could just donate most of it and live off a normal wage. Other people could put it to better use.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “So you would have sold your house and lived like a regular person, just to keep me?”

  “What’s the point of having money if it means I can’t be with the person I love? Besides, you’ve shown me I don’t need all this shit to make me happy. I was happier in my crappy fake apartment, because I was with you.”

  Everly didn’t say anything, but seemed to be mulling over his words. Fuck. He should say something romantic, but he wasn’t good at smooth-talking.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I saw an envelope on your counter, from the new East End Shelter. What’s that about?”

  Busted.

  Mentally he scrambled, trying to figure out what to say.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “No more lies, Ambrose. Just tell me.”

  “You said we needed one in that area.” He grimaced. When he was setting everything up, he’d wanted to consult with her, but it would have meant outing himself.

  “We needed . . . ? You paid for a shelter?” Her eyes went round. “Like, the whole fucking shelter?”

  “And the staff. I also arranged to have the downtown shelter renovated.” Did it sound like he was a rich guy bragging about his philanthropy? Ugh. Could he do anything right today?

  She fell silent and eventually shook her head. “You know, when most guys fall in love, they just buy the girl a flower or something.”

  He smiled at her tentatively. Taking a chance, he reached out and tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. She didn’t recoil.

  “Everly Weston isn’t like most girls.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moment Ambrose touched her hair so tenderly, like he was petting a little lamb, the torrent of emotion she’d been holding back for weeks poured over.

  She burst into tears. Not a cute little trembling lip and a few teardrops. This was a full-on ugly cry with deep sobs from the pit of her soul.

  Ambrose flinched back. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

  Unable to make herself stop, she shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault,” she said, half-hysterical. “I’m just . . . tired.”

  Through her blurry vision she spotted his hands shaking in his lap, like he was trying so hard to keep from touching her. “You can take a nap in the bedroom.”

  “I’m tired!” she yelled, more at herself than him. “I’m tired of being sad and angry and confused. I’m tired of staying awake at night, thinking about you. I’m tired of missing you. I’m tired of poring over what happened in my head, doubting my feelings about it . . .” She had to pause to catch her breath.

  When she opened her mouth to rail some more, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay to be tired.”

  She’d missed this—missed him so much more than she’d even realized. The past few days, she’d thought maybe she was finally ready to get over him. But she’d been kidding herself. As soon as his scent hit her when she’d walked back into the police department lobby, any thoughts about getting over him had vanished.

  Then he’d taken care of her—cooked her dinner, picked her up out of the bath, cared for her like he . . . like he still loved her. She’d expected him to be angry that she’d been ignoring him, not sweet and gentle and loving.

  That brought a surge of rage and she yanked herself away and glared. “Why do you have to be so nice?” she shouted. “Why couldn’t you be an asshole and make this easier for me?” She punctuated it by pounding her fist on his chest.

  He had the nerve to chuckle. “I could never be an asshole to you, love. Not even if you broke my heart a million times over. I’d still be here, waiting for you to do it again.” Hesitantly, he took her hand, looking like he was waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t. “Every moment we spent together was worth the suffering. Even knowing the ending, I’d choose to do it again.”

  She cocked her head to the side, trying to read his face.

  “I would tell you the truth, of course,” he rushed to add. “No lying. Ever.”

  His gaze pierced her, opening her eyes and heart again, making her see him—beyond the money and the mansion and the lies.

  Now that some of her knee-jerk emotion had drained away, it became clearer. Their relationship had been real. There was no denying that. Whatever his wealth changed about him, or them, it had nothing to do with his feelings for her. It had nothing to do with love.

  And just like that, she believed him.

  But how did she express that? Did she deserve another chance after ignoring him all this time? Was there room for forgiveness between them?

  Doing her best to compose herself, she straightened. “Ambrose, can we . . . Can we give this another shot?”

  His eyes widened like he didn’t believe her. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes! Yes, of course we can.” Laughing, he grabbed her into his arms and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe.

  Then he kissed all over her face and neck. In between kisses, he hugged her again, like he was so excited to have her he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

  She half-laughed, half-cried through it. After slobbering all over her, he pulled her onto his lap and she buried her face in his neck.

  “I missed you,” she whispered against him.

  Stroking her hair, he replied, “I missed you so much. Everyone’s been complaining I’ve turned into a total jackass.”

  “Like that’s new,” she teased.

  “Worse than usual.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and she realized how relieved she was that he hadn’t moved on, even though she’d grumbled it at her phone often enough when his messages came. His blond hair was getting shaggy, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well.

  His eyes . . . She watched them, marveling at the depth of feeling there.

  “Do you . . .” Tears welled in her eyes again. That choking fear of rejection was still there, lurking in the back of her mind. “Still love me?”

  He smiled then ran his fingers across her cheek, collecting her tears. “Yes. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

  They sat quietly for a while, Everly crying new tears and Ambrose wiping them away. He hummed in contentment, and she felt like she’d drawn a breath for the first time in weeks. That heavy pressure in her chest had disappeared when she’d taken her place in her Master’s lap.

  “Everly,” Ambrose said, breaking the silence.

  “Hmm?”

  “Just so you know, I own an international shipping company. I’m rich, but I try not to be an ass about it. I like fancy foods and useless oversized mansions, apparently. But I can fund shelters and other charities, and also take you on vacations anywhere you want to go.” He exaggerated a relieved sigh. “There. Got that out.”

  Chuckling, she sat up so she could look him in the eye. “Anywhere?”

  He kissed her nose. “Anywhere.”

  Sighing deeply, she snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of being in his arms. It felt like it’d been so long since she’d been warm. Life had gone cold while they’d been apart. But now it was so very alive.

  Their breathing synced, and she was pretty sure their heartbeats did, too, or maybe it was just a romantic notion. Either way, she was glad to be back in his arms.

  “We need to have a talk eventually,” he said, breaki
ng through her quiet contemplation. “About how we’re going to reconcile our difference in principles. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable being with me.”

  Talking about serious things was a total buzz kill.

  “Not now,” he echoed her thoughts. “But in the next few days. We need to work some things out.”

  “Okay, but I’m sleepy.” She let her eyes drift shut. From his words earlier about giving up his mansion and donating money, she knew their differences weren’t insurmountable, as long as they were each willing to give a little. And for this, she would.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom, then.”

  “Nooo,” she half-whined. “You’ll get all sorts of ideas in the bedroom.”

  He laughed. “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Mmm,” he purred, shifting underneath her. “Yeah, but I haven’t had you in weeks. You couldn’t stay awake a little longer? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Oh, she’d just bet he would. Since they’d split up, neither her vibrator nor her hand had gotten any use. Her fantasies always revolved around Ambrose, and she was too sad to think of him. But now here he was, and he wanted her.

  He ground his hips against her, his cock growing hard. Thinking about his cock and her ass made her belly warm and her clit ache.

  “Ugh,” she said in mock annoyance. “I guess if my Master wants it, I can manage.” She leaned back and smirked at him. But then a second thought pushed its way in. “Are you . . . still my Master?”

  For some reason, that question made her feel more vulnerable than asking if he still loved her. But their D/s dynamic was so much deeper than plain vanilla love. It was love magnified a hundredfold. The two were so entwined she didn’t know if they could ever separate the D/s from everything else. It would go against the very nature of their relationship.

  She bit her lip, preparing for the worst. Maybe he wanted to take a break from that until other things were sorted out. Maybe he thought she wasn’t ready to be his slave again. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Why wasn’t he answering?

  “Well,” he finally said, looking thoughtful. “Are you my slave?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

  He arched a brow in that regal look she loved. Regal with a hint of hoodlum. Or maybe it was the other way around. “Yes what?”

  She couldn’t keep back a grin. “Yes, Master.”

  “Good.” Without warning, he jumped up from the couch with her in his arms. Ignoring her yelp, he strode toward the stairwell. “Then I demand sex, slave.”

  “Hmph.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You should ask nicely.”

  He barked a laugh. “Still a brat, I see.”

  “Quite a contradiction,” she teased. “A brat and a slave. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  At the bottom of the stairs, he set her on her feet then gazed down at her.

  “My bratty slave is perfect for me.” Then he spun her toward the first step and smacked her ass. “Upstairs, girl. My cock missed you almost as much as the rest of me did.”

  She walked up the stairs with deliberate slowness, hips swaying, throwing sulky looks over her shoulder.

  “Mercy,” he drawled appreciatively, ogling her ass.

  He grabbed hold of the track pants she was wearing and gave them a yank, and they puddled at her feet on the landing. The T-shirt she’d borrowed barely covered her bottom, and she widened her eyes at him and bit the tip of one finger.

  “You’re such a hot little piece of ass, Everly mine.” He crowded her against the wall and slid his hand up the back of her thigh, picking up the edge of the shirt and holding her in place so he could admire her. “Now give me that look again.”

  She complied, but this time she was less cocky and more shy.

  At this rate they weren’t going to make it all the way to the bedroom.

  Everly giggled then bolted up the stairs, and he growled and swatted her ass before she got completely out of range.

  She ran to the master suite and ducked around the corner, then slipped into the closet.

  Ambrose’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and she had to cover her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her snickering. She crouched down, peeking through the crack in the door, breathing hard.

  Oh fuck. She was in so much trouble.

  The very idea of how annoyed he probably was turned her on. She shook her head at herself. Sick puppy.

  He walked into the room and stripped off his shirt. Good Lord, he’d been working out more? Like he needed to. He was fucking huge! She licked her lips and let her gaze follow the muscles that defined his arms and chest, the sexy vee that pointed into his jeans—like she needed directions to his dick? He was hard as hell, too, the outline of his cock obvious, the tip poking above the waistband of his jeans. Maybe if she crawled out to him and sucked his cock, he’d forgive her instinctual bratty behavior.

  “Come out here, bad girl. Do you really want to be in trouble the first night we’re back together?”

  Silently, she nodded, grinning like a lunatic.

  “I know where you are.”

  A thrill of fear and exhilaration zinged through her. He was bluffing. He couldn’t know.

  Ambrose sat on the edge of the bed and looked directly at the closet door. She crept backward, but didn’t stop watching. He unzipped his jeans, and freed his dick. He leaned back on one elbow and wrapped his hand around his cock, and started to stroke himself. Oh God, it was her own personal porn reel. The fact that she was hiding in the closet watching made it seem so much more perverted.

  Soundlessly, she whimpered. She pressed a hand between her legs, trying to resist the temptation of letting him win.

  “Come here, little slave. Let me give you what you want.”

  He was staring right at her. There was no way he couldn’t see her, the way his gaze locked onto hers. Unable to stop herself, she nudged the door open with her fingertips, then watched the play of his hand stroking up and down his monster cock, while she fingered her clit.

  “Come on,” he coaxed, his seductive smile luring her closer.

  She crawled to him, not stopping until she was between his feet.

  “That’s my good girl.” He edged closer to her, then wrapped a firm hand around her hair and tugged her closer. She gasped and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of the head of his cock brushing her lips. He let go of her hair.

  “Everly.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up, but he’d tucked his cock away. In his hands was the prettiest collar she’d ever seen. It was feather-shaped, and purple and black, with each detail carved precisely into the leather. It was delicate and whimsical and she was delighted that he’d thought of her when he’d seen it. Ambrose held it like he was offering her a piece of his soul.

  Reverently, she reached out and ran a finger over the ridges and buckle. “Is it for me?”

  He nodded. “If you’ll have me. I had it made for you, just before . . .” His words trailed off, and a flash of hurt flickered behind his blue eyes.

  She was such a bitch. Oh God. He really had loved her all along. She’d almost lost him, because she was offended that he loved her too much to tell her the truth. When they were apart, she tried to convince herself she hadn’t really known him. But even if his finances had been a mystery, she’d known him, like this, the whole time.

  Ambrose fiddled with the collar, rubbing his thumb over the edge of it as though he’d held it in his hands many times. Had he held it and thought of her when they were apart?

  Yes. He probably had. She felt humbled by the idea. The infatuation hadn’t been one-sided at all. She’d never been a joke to him, or just a challenge, like she’d feared.

  “Does this mean . . . ?” she began. What if it was just a play collar? It was presumptuous to think he’d take such a big step so fast after they patched things up.

  “It means I want you to be mine, Everly. Only mine. I want to protect you a
nd treasure you, love you and laugh with you. I want to punish you when you’re bad, and hold you while you sleep. I want to build my entire life around you.”

  “And you would be my Master?” she whispered. “Not just for role-playing?” He hadn’t said so, but that seemed to be the way things had been going between them, before they’d been derailed.

  “Yes.” His eyes were alight with an eerie intensity that made her squirm where she knelt.

  “And I would be your . . . slave.” It was more real to say it now, in a tranquil moment, than when it had been said before, as a joke, or in lust. The word “slave” echoed through her, and she felt it down deep in her bones.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart ached, and she leaned her head against his knee, loving the feel of his hand stroking her hair, and the calm understanding between them. The bond that she’d felt rooting them to each other healed and started to grow strong again.

  This was where she was meant to be.

  As recently as this morning she’d thought she was over him, but she’d been a damned fool. It was like declaring she could live without oxygen, and holding her breath to prove it. All she’d proven was that she was a fool about him, just like he was about her. That sounded pretty perfect, in the scheme of things. As perfect as people could get, with real lives and real flaws.

  “Then yes, Master. I want to be yours, and I’ll proudly wear your collar.”

  Ambrose beamed at her and urged her to kneel up. She held her hair up out of his way, and he buckled it around her throat. With a light finger he stroked the skin directly above and below it.

  “You’re mine now, Ev. Even when this collar is off, you’ll feel it here around your neck.”

  Under his touch, she trembled.

  “Tomorrow we’re going to pick out something for you to wear in public, that you’ll never take off.” He leaned down and kissed her sweetly, but left no doubt as to who was in charge of the kiss.