He paused a moment, scrutinizing Jaime’s face as he allowed her to absorb his words. “With that in mind,” he finally went on, “we want you to take a few days to think this over, removed from the intensity of life here at The Enclave. Take your time. Even if you think you know the answer, let it germinate and rest inside you. It’s also a good time to think about what steps you’ll want to take to get your previous life in order, if you make the decision to join us. We’ll help with the details of closing up your apartment, paying off your car, things of that nature. We have a storage facility here on the property where you can keep your belongings, if you wish. Tomorrow morning Hans will drive you back down the mountain, and I’ll give you a call on Monday morning to get your answer. Does that suit you, slave Jaime?”
She smiled inwardly, aware that, as usual, Master Anthony was at least one step ahead of her. He was right, of course. Despite her initial impulse to shout, “Yes! I’m in, I’m in!” it was better to take a little time, a few days, to sort things out. She needed to let the excitement settle, to make a decision with a clear mind, and without distraction.
Lifting her chin, Jaime fixed her gaze resolutely on Master Anthony. “Yes, Sir,” she replied. “That suits me just right.”
~*~
Mark drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as he made the drive back from Charlotte that Sunday morning. The wedding had gone smoothly, and his brother and new wife were on their way to Hawaii for their honeymoon—Mark’s wedding gift to the two of them. He’d left Charlotte as soon after the Sunday breakfast as he could, eager to get back to The Enclave.
His thoughts had veered constantly to slave Jaime over the course of the weekend. Had he done the right thing in telling her his feelings? Should he have left those things unsaid? Had he, rather than making matters clearer for them both, just confused the issue? He’d wanted her to understand her decision to join The Enclave shouldn’t be predicated on whatever might be developing between them, but had he just muddied the waters for her? Should he have kept his mouth shut?
Used to making decisions and then moving forward without too much agonizing, Mark became annoyed with himself. This new uncertainty was not to his liking. What was his problem, anyway?
“The problem is you care about her,” he said aloud as he drove. “She’s either going to sign up as a staff slave at The Enclave, or she isn’t. She knows how you feel, and hopefully she gets it that you’ll continue to feel that way, whether or not she joins the community. You should let her be while she makes that decision.”
Newly resolved, he reached for the tuner knob and changed the station. A Planck Time song was playing, one of their top hits, and Mark decided this was a good omen. Turning up the sound, he sang along with himself as he headed west on the highway.
He had intended to take the exit toward the mountains, but found himself continuing on to Asheville, a part of his brain apparently making decisions for him without his express knowledge or permission. He told himself he might stop at the new BDSM gear store he’d heard about, but even as the thought flitted through his mind, he knew he was lying.
Anthony had told him in advance of their intention to offer Jaime a position as staff slave. He’d further shared his intention of having Jaime leave The Enclave for the weekend while she considered her response, which Mark thought was very sensible. He had also appreciated this time away to think about his own future without the intensity of life at The Enclave coloring his decision.
He’d read Jaime’s slave file, which included her address in Asheville. He had her cell number too and could have called, but decided against it. Instead, he headed toward Pasqual’s Bakery, a little spot Mason had told him about, which made the best buttery, melt-in-your mouth croissants he’d ever had in his life. He realized as he pulled into the small parking lot that he was hungry, having had only a cup of coffee, several glasses of juice and a few pieces of bacon at the breakfast, a little hung over from too much champagne the night before.
Cutting the ignition, he climbed out of the car, a man on a mission. The smell of freshly baked bread and melted chocolate assailed his senses as he entered the place. Pasqual, a small, rotund man with rosy cheeks, stood behind the counter busily placing rolls and croissants in a large cardboard box for the customer in front of Mark. When it was his turn, he chose three plain croissants, three chocolate and three with raspberry cream.
Bakery box in hand, Mark returned to his car. It wasn’t too late to change his mind. He could do the mature thing and bring the croissants back to The Enclave, giving Jaime the space she needed to make up her mind without distraction.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said to his image in the rearview mirror. “Maturity is overrated.”
~*~
Two weeks really wasn’t that long in the scheme of things, but when you unplugged yourself from social media during that time, it could seem like a lifetime. Jaime found ninety-seven unread emails and a billion notifications on her Facebook when she booted up her laptop for the first time in two weeks. Most of it, she was happy to realize, was junk, spam or the unimportant chatter of a generation that grew up posting its trivia online as if that somehow lent it importance.
She toyed with the idea of calling Amy, the closest thing she had to a friend in Asheville, to discuss what might be the biggest decision of her life, but couldn’t think how she would broach the conversation with someone who had no clue about the lifestyle. She thought about trying to contact some of her play partners from the Garden, but knew she would not.
It made her realize how far she’d come since training at The Enclave. She was no longer a club sub, using the people and gear to get her kinky thrills, and basically topping from the bottom in the process. There was nothing wrong with being a player in that kind of scene, but she no longer felt at home there. It was like splashing in a blowup baby pool in the backyard, when you’d become used to swimming in the ocean.
How odd it had been to put on her clothing for the trip back to Asheville Saturday morning. How quickly she’d come to appreciate the freedom and grace of being nude, the only adornment her leather slave collar. Once she’d worked through the initial shyness, she found being naked while her Masters and Mistresses were clothed kept her centered—a constant and sensual reminder of her status as a submissive.
The minute she returned to her apartment she’d shucked the now-unwelcome garments. Master Anthony had allowed her to keep her slave collar, which was still around her neck. It was a warm, comforting reminder of the place she had begun to miss the moment Hans had driven out of the large gates that marked the property entrance.
As she’d lain down to sleep the night before, she’d had to stop herself from reaching for the cuffs and chain she had become used to placing on her wrists each night of her stay at The Enclave. When she had woken earlier that morning she’d known before even coming fully conscious that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
The sun was moving across the sky and yet she’d done nothing but daydream since she’d awoken several hours before. She wanted to get up and moving, but couldn’t quite summon the will. Instead she remained sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, staring out the window at the parking lot and convenience store across the street. She touched her lips, recalling their almost-kiss. She closed her eyes, summoning the vision of the lake, lit gold by the setting sun, the feel of his hand, strong and sure around hers, the tremble inside her body as her eyes fluttered shut—until that stupid cell alarm interrupted everything.
Somehow, impossibly, the alarm was chiming once more, the sound popping her daydream like a bubble. It took another fraction of a second to process that it was in fact her doorbell that was ringing. Who the heck could that be?
Jumping up, she grabbed a sundress from a hook in her closet and slipped it over her head as she hurried to the front door. She looked through the peephole, expecting perhaps a deliveryman at the wrong door or a neighbor who’d locked themselves out.
; Jaime drew in a sharp breath when she saw him standing there, a white box tied with red string in his hands, a smile on his handsome face. Fumbling briefly with the lock, Jaime pulled the door open wide. “Master Mark!” she cried, “I thought you were in Charlotte. What’re you doing here?” Afraid she had sounded rude, she stepped back, gesturing him inside. “Please, come in.”
“Hi, Jaime.” Master Mark entered her small living room, giving it a quick glance. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by. I was in the neighborhood…” He trailed off, grinning. “These are for you.” He held out the box. “In case you were hungry.”
Master Mark’s apparent discomfort startled her. The masterful, fully-in-control Dom at The Enclave was out of his ken, on her turf, not certain of his welcome.
She accepted the proffered box with a warm smile. “Thank you, Sir.” The bottom of the bakery box was still warm and she lowered her head to inhale the aroma. “Hmmm, whatever’s in here smells yummy,” she said as she looked up at him. He still seemed a little nervous, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans, his teeth gripping his full lower lip. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yeah, coffee would be good, thanks,” he replied quickly, grabbing onto her suggestion as if it were a lifeline. “Those are from Pasqual’s. The best.”
He followed her into the kitchen. Jaime set the box down on the counter and untied the bow of red string. She opened the box and saw the pile of flaky, fragrant croissants inside. “Oh, yum,” she enthused. “I smell chocolate.”
“You look different,” Master Mark said from behind her.
Jaime turned toward him with a laugh. “Not used to seeing me with my clothes on, Sir?” she teased.
“Yeah,” he said, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “That must be it.” He moved closer, so close they were almost touching. Instinctively, she stepped back, bumping against the kitchen counter. He reached for the straps of her sundress, drawing them down her arms. “I think you should take this off,” he murmured as he guided her arms out of the straps. The dress puddled to the floor at her feet.
He gripped her shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to do this forever. Since that first day when I saw you kneeling at the door.” He lowered his face and this time no cell phone alarm chimed, no doorbell rang. Jaime had stopped breathing, and when his lips touched hers, she moaned against his mouth, the sound primal and yearning.
As they kissed, he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her between his body and the counter so that her feet barely touched the floor. She lifted her legs and brought them around his hips, crossing her ankles at his lower back. Cupping her ass with both hands, he lifted her into his arms. Turning, he carried her out of the kitchen and through the living room into the single bedroom, kissing her as they moved.
He dropped her onto the bed and stood before her, his earth-and-sky eyes never leaving her body as he unbuttoned his shirt, kicked off his shoes and yanked down his jeans and underwear. Jaime stared back hungrily, actually salivating as she drank in the lean, muscular lines of his body. His cock was thick and long, fully erect, a pearl of pre-come beckoning at its tip.
He made a sound, something like a growl, as he fell onto her, his mouth finding hers once more as he pinned her to the bed beneath him. His cock was rock-hard against her thigh. Her legs fell open in wanton invitation.
“Please,” she begged.
His mouth covering hers, he pushed into her sopping wet cunt, his hard cock sending shooting spirals of nearly unbearable pleasure that radiated from her core and spread throughout her being. She groaned, arching up to take him deeper, to pull him into her until they became one being.
He held her tight as he swiveled and thrust, his pelvic bone grinding just so against her engorged clit. It seemed like only seconds before she was ready to come. They were in her apartment, far from The Enclave, but she was still slave Jaime and he very much her Master Mark. “Please, Sir,” she panted, “may I come?”
“Yes. Come for me.”
She let the wave crash over and through her, dragging her along in its relentless wake. Master Mark held onto her throughout, keeping her grounded and safe as she keened her pleasure.
When she was able to catch her breath, Master Mark, who still hadn’t come, raised his body a little, letting the cool air in the room move between their sweaty torsos. Slowly, languorously, he reached for her wrists, bringing them together in one hand. He pressed them into the mattress over her head and brought his other hand to her throat.
He framed her jawline with his forefinger and thumb, pressing until her breath caught in her throat, and then pressing harder still. She felt her face reddening, the pressure building behind her eyes and nose. She was frozen in his grip, utterly at his mercy, his hard cock still pulsing deep inside her. She stared into his eyes, her entire body trembling with primal, delicious, erotic anticipation, her being suffused with a wrenching desire like none she had ever known.
When he finally released his chokehold on her throat, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out in a sigh. Her wrists still caught in his powerful grip, his eyes still fixed on hers, he began to move again inside her. Her cunt spasmed and clung to him as he pulled nearly out and then plunged deep into her.
He held himself just over her, their bodies touching only at the groin. His body was sheened with sweat, his breath rasping in his throat as his hips moved in perfect rhythm. Arching suddenly, he let his head fall back. She focused on his neck, on the vein pulsing at its side, and the masculine curve of his jaw. He climaxed with a cry, his hand still tight on her wrists, and then collapsed against her, his hand falling away. She could feel the rapid thump of his heart, beating like a drum against her chest.
They lay that way a long time. Jaime floated in a kind of fugue state, only returning to full consciousness when Master Mark carefully disengaged himself from their tangle of limbs and flopped onto the bed beside her. Turning toward him, Jaime lifted herself on one elbow.
Master Mark regarded her with a sleepy, satisfied grin. “I think you killed me,” he announced.
“Then I hope there’s an afterlife,” she teased back.
He sat up with a laugh. “And I hope there are croissants from Pasqual’s when we get there. Say, is that offer of coffee still on the table?”
“Yes, Master Mark, Sir,” Jaime replied, suddenly ravenous. “It most certainly is.”
Chapter 17
They sat on the narrow balcony of Jaime’s third floor apartment perched on folding chairs, a plate of warmed croissants and two mugs of coffee on the small, round, wrought iron patio table between them.
It was one of those perfect, crisp late summer days that hinted at the autumn to come, with a cool breeze wafting lazily toward them from the mountains, the sun gently beaming on them from a china blue sky. The coffee was hot and strong, the croissants flaky, buttery and as delicious as he remembered them.
Their impromptu lovemaking had been every bit as amazing, if not more so, than his many fantasies over the past two weeks. During the drive from Charlotte he’d thought about a slow, sensual seduction involving rope, a satin blindfold and candlelight, but he’d known the moment she’d opened her apartment door he couldn’t wait another second.
Even now he wanted to reach across the little table and rip the flimsy material of her dress from her lovely body so he could take her there and then. His cock perked eagerly at the thought. To distract himself, he selected a chocolate croissant from the plate and held it out to Jaime, who so far had only sipped at her coffee, not touching the food.
Jaime took the pastry with a smile of thanks. When she bit into it, her eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy and she gave a small groan of rapturous appreciation.
Mark grinned with pleasure. “Good, huh?”
Her eyes opened and she smiled. She licked a tiny dab of chocolate from her lip, the gesture almost painfully erotic. “Oh, yes, Sir,” she breathed, and with that one word—Sir—the mood shifted from friends or even lovers
to something deeper, something better.
Slipping easily, effortlessly, into dominant headspace, Mark said quietly, “Tell me, slave Jaime, how long have you been aware you were a sub?”
Jaime set down what remained of her uneaten croissant, a lovely sort of serenity washing over her features as she replied, “Ever since I can remember, Sir.”
“What’s your earliest submissive memory?”
Jaime tilted her head back as she contemplated the question, her gaze turning inward. “I was probably six or seven. It was one day at recess. I hadn’t managed to make it to the swings in time to get one, so I was standing around waiting for a turn when I noticed a group of older boys nearby. They were playing pirates, brandishing sticks and swaggering around. One of them noticed me watching and yelled ‘Capture the wench! We’ll make her serve us on the ship!’ They all started running toward me and instinctively I ran in the other direction.”
Jaime shook her head, a look of wonder moving over her face. “I will never forget that first powerful rush, the intense thrill when one of them caught me in a bear hug from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. It felt so good, so right, to be held that way, caught in his grip, under his control.” She met Mark’s eye, her expression at once yearning and shy.
Responding to her unspoken question, Mark replied, “I understand, slave Jaime. You needed, even then, what the boy was offering, even if for him it was no more than a game. You need to be possessed, controlled, owned.”
Something in her face softened, a shine entering her eyes. They were an unusual shade of blue gray, the hue different depending on the light. Now the irises were like luminous gray silk rimming her pupils, the sunlight sparking them almost to silver. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Yes, Master Mark.”
Mark reached across the small table for her hand. “I want to be that Master for you, Jaime, and more.” He turned over her hand and brought it to his lips, lightly kissing her palm. A tremor moved through her frame, and his cock rose hard in his jeans. Forcing himself to focus, he continued, “Whatever’s happening between us right now isn’t about The Enclave. Yes, that’s where we made this connection, but the decision you face this weekend shouldn’t be impacted by you and me.”
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 24
