The Dani Collins Erotic Romance Collection: Mastering Her RolePlaying the Master

by Dani Collins

  His expression became arrested, but something flashed in his eyes. “Don’t move,” he ordered, and took his time circling her.

  Inspecting.

  A tickling sensation crawled across her scalp and trickled between her legs. She started to break pose.

  “I said, don’t move.” He removed the sticks from her hair. The weight tumbled down her back, swishing the ethereal fabric of her skirt against her bum.

  “Eloisa told me not to touch, but we can do this, I think.” He set the pencil-thin shape of the stick like a bar against her lower back. “More arch,” he said.

  She obeyed, until her spine protested and her stomach muscles pulled.

  He drew a line from her lower back to her tailbone and lower, lightly forcing the fall of her skirt to catch in the crack of her behind. She imagined how completely invisible the skirt became at that point, accentuating the plump moon of her ass.

  The throb of excitement in her pussy asserted itself. If he did the same thing with the stick, tracing the silk into her pussy folds…

  He set the weight of the tiny sticks against her shoulders. “Let the tension go so your shoulders come down,” he commanded.

  She did and her breasts lifted another fraction.

  “Very nice.” He came around with a critical eye for her front, matter-of-factly tapping a stick against the inside of her crooked knee. “Push it out as far as it will go.”

  She did and he nodded. “Good. This way, if you were naked, I’d have a clear view of your…” He smiled with feral delight. “Resource.”

  Her skin glowed with heat, so pleased and excited by his attention she could barely hold herself together.

  Tapping the backs of his fingers beneath his own chin, he indicated she should lift hers. “All the way up, as far back as you can go. Show me your throat.”

  Show me your level of trust, he might as well have said. Though hers was very tentative and conditional, she found herself obeying, exposing herself in a dozen ways, aware he might see the dampening between her legs and could definitely see the hardness of her nipples. It didn’t matter, so long as he liked what he saw.

  “Beautiful,” he said in a tone that flooded her with warmth. “I don’t want to release you, but I want to see you do another. Come.”

  As if a small trance was broken, she came back to where she was, who she was with. Why? What they were doing? For a few moments she’d been utterly in the moment, wholly caught up in him.

  As blood flowed back into her arms and chest, she felt strangely alive and prickly. She surreptitiously brushed her palms across her tingling breasts, trying to soothe the sensation.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” he warned, tapping the sticks together. “The Dom tells a sub when to touch herself and then for his pleasure, not hers. Decisions fall to me, remember? Pick one of these.”

  Kneeling poses.

  Attention was a repeat of the standing pose, except on the knees. There was Couch, sitting on the heels and Ready For Service, poised to lean out for pouring tea or perform a sex act. She scanned more, gaze catching on Prepare For Binding. A male sub held his crossed wrists above his head so his Dom didn’t have to bend or otherwise be inconvenienced as he bound the sub’s wrists.

  “Do you like to tie up subs?” she asked, morbidly fascinated by the idea.

  “I would love to tie you up, if you responded to it. Do you like the idea, Violet?” The blunted end of a hair stick lightly stroked over her erect nipple while his breath warmed her cheek. “I could do whatever I wanted to you.”

  “You could anyway, if I was your submissive. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  He drew a sharp inhale that brought her head around. His nostrils flared and he looked dangerous, like a predator. Like a hungry wolf that would eat her alive.

  Her heart leapt into a galloping pound. She spied an answering rapid pulse in his neck alongside his Adam’s apple and stared at it, fascinated. He swallowed.

  “Binding is another type of mock aggression that reinforces trust. When you give up complete control of your resource—your stunning body—you can benefit from my hunt for pleasure in it. The kind of pleasure you wouldn’t find alone. Do this one.”

  She could barely tear her gaze away from him, but he’d unerringly set the end of one stick on the label that read, Offering.

  Her lungs already felt pressured from the explosions in her heart and the tension in her stomach. This was a very provocative pose. Very vulnerable.

  With every muscle trembling, she stepped back from him then slowly lowered to her knees, shins on the floor, feet pointed.

  “Gather your hair to the front of your body,” he said as she started to set her hands to the floor. “Your body should be fully exposed.”

  Exposed. Another hard clench on nothing, not even her two fingers. The ache inside her grew relentless.

  Lace shifted against her turgid nipples as she lifted her hands to collect her hair and draw it forward on her left shoulder. The friction between her legs increased her restless desire. The bodysuit felt too small, cutting into the tender flesh on either side of her sensitized mons. When her hair weighed heavily on her left breast, she almost whimpered because the touch and shift of it was too little and too much at the same time.

  Setting her palms on the floor, thumb tip to thumb tip, forefingers touching, she slid her hands toward Porter’s feet until her forehead nearly touched the floor. Her ass stayed high in the air.

  He drew what sounded like a collecting breath. The pencil-sharp end of one stick very gently traced her hairline against the back of her neck, baring it a smidgen more.

  “Can your shoulders drop any more?”

  She tried, arching her back a fraction deeper, lifting her ass a tiny bit more.

  He didn’t praise her. Hidden in the shelter of her arms, she bit her lip, wondering how he was reacting to what he saw.

  Her skirt tugged. “Lift your knee.”

  She did and felt the flutter of silk lift. It didn’t provide much warmth, but she noticed the absence of it and felt the feathery weight as it landed against her lower back. Oh, God. If he had actually exposed her pussy to his avid gaze, she doubted she’d feel as defenseless.

  A heavy sound landed on the floor and an awareness of heat and shifting air made her recognize it as him, kneeling behind her.

  Clenching her eyes shut, she mentally saw his knees between her splayed ones, her ass before his crotch. Just like their shared fantasy.

  The light tickling of the sticks traced up the insides of her thighs, making her lift and arch then tense her ass. An arrow of excitement struck directly into her pussy. She couldn’t help her sob of helpless fear and arousal. She had to be soaked through. He had to see it. Smell it.

  “Did you think about me taking you like this?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, unable to dissemble when all she could think about was the way gravity seemed to pull her blood into the tightest of her erogenous zones: the tips of her breasts and the pulsing knot she had nearly erased from her body thinking of him pushing into her like this all night.

  His presence covered her, not touching, but she was aware of his arms on the floor on either side of her rib cage. When he spoke, his breath pooled on the bare skin at the back of her neck, lifting the tiny hairs there.

  “How many times?”

  “I lost count,” she admitted weakly.

  His breath hissed as he drew air.

  “Before we’re finished, I’ll have you like this, Violet. I’ll make you mine in a way neither of us will ever forget.”

  Like an alpha wolf taking a mate, she thought, unable to breathe, she was so paralyzed by desire. The words, Do it now, hovered in her throat. The way he held himself over her made her think he was waiting for her to beg him to do as he said.

  With another hissing breath, like something caused him pain, he sat back and straightened to his feet.

  “Roll over.”

  Both shattered by disappointment
and wary of what was coming next, she slowly dragged a response out of her quivering muscles and started to obey.

  “Leave your skirt up. I like seeing how wet you are.”

  She blushed, embarrassed, but weirdly pleased that it pleased him. She liked the bulge at his crotch, didn’t she?

  Above her, he walked toward the next set of photos. Reading them from the floor, she wondered which he would choose. Then she wondered when she’d given him the right to choose for her.

  But she understood now. He had a sexual knowledge she didn’t have. By allowing him to lead, she could be stimulated in ways she’d never dreamed.

  Slut, she read beneath the photo of the nude woman with her legs straight and widespread. Yes. She would do that for him. Virgin, legs together, wasn’t good enough. Not anymore. Her legs itched to open as she scanned for something even more decadent and inviting. Some positions looked stressful, with the legs bent beneath, but lifted the genitals for better viewing.

  “Hunger,” he read, tapping the label. “Appropriate, yes? For a pair of wolves scenting game?”

  She couldn’t. But how was it any different from the spread and lift she’d just done for him, she cajoled herself?

  The difference was, she faced him. There was no hiding her discomfort as she slid her feet toward her ass, lifting her knees. There was no disguising her wariness as she rocked her shoulders, firming her arms along the floor to take her weight. As she braced her widespread feet, opened her knees and elevated her pussy in offering, he saw every emotion in her face: her desperate need for approval and her fear of rejection alongside her carnal hunger. A sort of depraved starvation begged him to give her what she needed.

  She watched his eyes trace over her like a predator about to pounce and mentally willed him to do it. Fuck me, Porter. Please.

  His gaze came up to crash into hers. His expression deepened from intense desire to a snarl of antagonism. He threw the sticks across the floor in a small clatter.

  “Let me have you!” he commanded.

  His subdued violence jarred her into jerking upright to hug her knees. Her watchful stare was met by an impatient growl as he turned away with a few emotive paces.

  “No touching,” he growled with displeasure, then aimed a vicious, “Are you enjoying yourself?” at her.

  She kept her eyes down, afraid to lift her face and let him see that she was. She didn’t understand it, but she did like him looking at her. She’d been invisible for so long. Ugly and told so. Given what he’d said the other night about how plain she was, his finding her attractive was remarkable and deeply healing.

  While she was so attracted to him it was terrifying, she didn’t care for his disapproval. She wasn’t going to invite him to have her if he was going to yell and seem ready to do violence.

  “I know I’m being bad, coming here.” Raina would be speechless if she knew. Ducking her head, she felt Ann taking over, soaked with mortification and regret. “This isn’t something nice girls do.”

  He sighed, but she thought the impatience in his harsh exhale was aimed at himself. His feet came into her line of vision, very close to her own as he crouched to catch her gaze.

  She avoided letting him, thoroughly wrenched from the game they’d been playing and now utterly appalled by how she was behaving when he was a stranger, really. She didn’t know him, engagement notwithstanding. Obeisance might be a survival tactic she fell back on too often, but this was taking it to a dangerous level.

  “The fault is mine, Violet. Forget talk of what’s ‘nice.’ That’s society speaking and we leave that outside. Here it’s just you and me and I’m failing you. I’ve always been good at this, but my life is hell right now.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs.

  A spike lodged itself in the middle of her chest. She looked up to find his gorgeous face tormented.

  “Because you have to marry someone you don’t want.”

  He looked into her eyes, and the emotions she saw there were frighteningly raw.

  “The last year has been hell,” he admitted in a voice as burnt and bitter as the scotch he’d rubbed on her lip.

  His brother. She’d looked it up, but details were scarce beyond the incredibly sad pronouncement of suicide. The where and how didn’t matter. She saw all she needed to know in his ravaged expression.

  Her hand came up out of human compassion to rest against the side of his face. His skin was warm and smooth, the bristled line of beard on his jaw a light abrasion against her palm.

  He closed his eyes and the weight of his head seemed to be too much for him. It drooped forward, and she lightly stroked the fingers of her other hand into his hair, petting and soothing, knowing something of the loss and ache he was carrying.

  His knees came down on either side of her feet and his hands stayed on his thighs, open, but with his knuckles white with strain. He hung there before her a long minute, letting her caress him.

  Finally the tension seemed to ease off his shoulders. He sat back, lifting his head so her touch fell away.

  “I think we just found a loophole,” he commented.

  “What do you mean?”

  His smirk made her wary as he said, “Come,” and rose to walk toward a door that did not lead back to the restaurant.

  She eyed him from the floor, unmoving.

  He paused. “You’re about to receive access to a resource, Violet. Don’t hesitate.”

  So help her, she rolled to her feet and trailed after him.

  Chapter Seven

  He took her down one of Eloisa’s nondescript, camera-monitored halls, letting her into a room labeled The Stage. The bedroom held a four-poster bed with ruffled skirting, quaint French furnishings of dressing table, a standing wardrobe, a padded bench and a chair.

  Wiping sweaty palms on her hips, she wondered if she’d been tricked.

  “Why did you bring me here?” She eyed the bed.

  “You like being looked at, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, like he was answering her. He moved around the room, shifting tall narrow curtains to expose mirrors. “I noticed how hot it made you to pose for me.”

  She caught her breath and her wide eyes reflected back at her.

  “I’ve been instructed not to touch you. Today, anyway. Exactly how much do you enjoy being watched, Violet? The club doesn’t have many visitors in the afternoon, but shall we allow voyeurs if some happen by?”

  “I—what?” A piercing sensation hit her deep in the belly.

  “Just us, this time, I think,” he decided, setting his card into a panel and tapping a code. “Eloisa doesn’t need to know what we’re up to, but you can pretend all of Paris is watching if you like.”

  “Watching what?”

  “You. Touching me.” His smile was crooked and cunning. “I made no promises to hold you off, did I?”

  He removed something from the wardrobe. It seemed to hold a lot of hardware items, but he closed the doors before she got a good look.

  Crossing to a wall, he hooked two lengths of chain over a pair of widely spaced coat hooks. One end of each held big, iron rings. He anchored their dangling ends in lower hooks screwed into the baseboard.

  With another efficient move that spelled out extreme familiarity with this odd room, he touched a button. “Morning? Evening? Afternoon sun?” Each time he pressed, the lights flicked to different angles and diffusions, creating different moods. “Clandestine,” he decided. “Since we’re cheating.”

  The overhead light went off and tiny lamps came on, suggesting a midnight visit to a forbidden lover.

  “Now then, Violet. I am going to bind myself, with my word. You may touch me, hurt me even, in any way you like. I won’t let go until you release me.” He moved to the wall where he took hold of the rings, forcing his arms to outstretch in a Y.

  “Doesn’t that make you the sub?”

  “It’s a little-known secret that subs are generally in charge of the play. They set the limits, but this isn’t about Dom
ination and submission. I need access to you, Violet. I need it like you can’t even imagine. Touch me. Feast on me. And I’ll watch you. Because I think you’ll like that.”

  Heat flashed into her like a million-watt beacon. She couldn’t deny that the idea of being watched thrilled her to the last skin cell on her big toe, but, “When you say feast…” she queried.

  “Touch me. Lick me. Do whatever you want. Swallow my cock, if you want to go that far.”

  She didn’t. Did she?

  A bright memory of clenching on her firmly thrust fingers reignited within her slippery channel. Her attention couldn’t seem to lift off the shape behind his fly, turgid enough to tent the fabric. Her desire to see him was a lot deeper than mere curiosity. This wasn’t a young girl’s intrigue with a man’s “thing.” It was a very real compulsion to see and touch and know him on a deeply intimate level. The yearning to give him pleasure.

  What an extraordinary situation. She’d spent years forlorn and forsaken, tucked away in a still house in a dry country where her only two real friends had had each other. She’d been sweetly tolerated and even included by them, but not a part of what they had. She hadn’t shared in their intimacy, and she’d craved the kind of caring human contact she sensed they gave each other.

  The need to be physically close to another body threatened to overwhelm her now that Porter had invited her to touch him. She felt herself leaning into his offer. Ann facing Porter across a dining table became the fantasy—a bad dream, really. This became reality. This was a kind of freedom she hadn’t believed she’d ever be granted.

  “Come here. See what I see,” he invited.

  She looked around, pulled forward in search of her own reflection, only finding it when she stood before him, almost touching her body to his. Craning her neck to the left and right, she saw two different angles of her backside atop legs lengthened by her heels, partially hidden by her filmy skirt and free-flowing hair in front of Porter’s black-clothed frame.

  “If I tied you here in this spot where I am, you’d have this view of us both while I played with you. You’d see yourself naked, me staring at you. I’d add a spreader bar for your ankles so you couldn’t close your legs. I’d look and look until you begged me to touch you.”