Life Sentence

by Jennifer Dunne

  “Is there no one else to care for her?” he whispered against her flushed skin.

  Care for who? Oh right. Her mother. “In an emergency, my sister. But she has her own family. I can’t call her just to spend the day with you.”

  “What of cousins?” His lips nibbled a trail up to the inside of her elbow.

  “They live in Virginia and Texas. They’re out of the picture.”

  He sighed dramatically, his breath steaming her inner elbow and turning her blood to lava. “If you must, you must. But I cannot spend the day watching television. It will drive me mad.”

  “I’ve often felt the same way.” She smiled, thrilled to be able to offer him what she considered a luxurious treat. “I can drop you off at the library while Mom’s having her hair done then pick you up when our errands are done. You can read books, magazines, newspapers—I’ll even give you my library card so you can use the public terminals to surf the Internet.”

  Sam straightened up and twisted to face him, needing to see his reaction. “You can find anything on the Internet. I’m sure someone, somewhere, has digitized all the news since 1967. You can find out—”

  She stopped, suddenly realizing she might have overstepped her bounds. Emily Post never wrote an article detailing the proper way to discuss the circumstances of someone’s death with him.

  Master Giacomo’s already dark brown eyes seemed to darken even further until they were nearly black. He smiled, a predatory expression of teeth that had nothing to do with pleasure and that chilled her to her marrow. Instinctively she pulled away, only to be brought up short by the arm of the recliner behind her.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Finally, I will know.”

  Chapter Five

  Sam slept late the next morning and had to listen to her mother’s constant lectures and recriminations as she snatched a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and coffee and dressed in a feminine blouse and skirt set of pastel peach, aqua and coral flowers, suitable for being seen around town in, and strappy sandals. She wasn’t dressing in her frilliest clothes to impress Master Giacomo. She just didn’t want to embarrass her mother if they met any of her friends while they were running their errands.

  Even as she told herself that, she didn’t believe it. Maybe because when she’d glanced in the mirror, her first thought had been to wonder if he’d find her desirable in this outfit.

  Despite her mother’s dire warnings, they arrived at the beauty salon with fifteen minutes to spare. She pulled into the handicapped space by the door and circled around the car to help her mother out.

  Her mother leaned heavily on her arm until they entered the salon. Because they were early, the stylist was still working on her last appointment. One of her mother’s former friends from the garden club was under the dryer.

  Normally Sam would seat her mother on the first chair beside the door, take care of checking her in for her appointment then wait until the stylist came to walk her into the back of the salon. This morning however, her mother pushed her arm away and stepped toward the receptionist.

  “Mom, shouldn’t you—?”

  “I’m not an invalid, Sam. I can take care of myself. You go to the library and I’ll meet you for lunch.”

  Sam forced herself to smile for the interested eyes she felt upon her, even though her mother’s curt dismissal and rejection of Sam’s help made her feel sick to her stomach. Emily Post frowned upon causing scenes in hair salons. And a proper lady always did what was mandated by good manners.

  “All right, Mom. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be back at one.”

  She leaned over to give her mother an air kiss then stalked out to the car, back straight and chin high. If her mother didn’t want her help, fine. She knew someone who did.

  Her pussy warmed and her blood turned thick and slow remembering how much Master Giacomo wanted her. Too bad she had to drive all the way back home to pick him up before going to the library. There wasn’t any time to delay.

  Although if he wanted to, it would serve her mother right if Sam were late. Especially since it now appeared her mother didn’t need Sam’s help nearly as much as she claimed. As Sam had secretly suspected, her mother used her weakness as a way to keep Sam nearby. But Master Giacomo really did need her.

  She’d remembered what had been so important last night after she was back in her own room and her blood had finally cooled so that she could think again. She’d meant to tell Master Giacomo she was no longer going to submit to him. But things had changed.

  He wasn’t just any old magically appearing, half-naked stud. No, he was cursed, trapped in a half-life between life and death. And she was the only one with the power to free him. By submitting to him and letting him give her pleasure beyond her wildest imagination.

  It was a combination too perfect to resist. She’d had sex so good it transported her into another dimension and she didn’t have to feel at all guilty because she was doing it to help him.

  Of course she did feel guilty. She felt guilty that she wasn’t giving her mother the time and attention she deserved. She felt guilty that she was using Master Giacomo’s situation for her own pleasure without being able to please him in return. She even felt guilty that she’d somehow summoned him without reading the book and so was completely unprepared for the situation.

  But what she didn’t feel guilty about was submitting to a man as her Master. Not when that man was Master Giacomo.

  Smiling, she pulled the car into the garage. Her steps light on the stairs, she ran up to the workshop.

  Master Giacomo was just turning away from the window that overlooked the driveway. He was no longer bare-chested and wearing leather pants. Instead, he wore sharply creased khaki trousers and a lightweight linen shirt whose olive green tone looked fabulous with his Mediterranean coloring and carried a navy blue blazer slung negligently over one shoulder. His loafers were woven leather in an odd shade of greenish-brown that managed to complement both the khaki pants and olive shirt.

  Her ex-husband had been obsessed with appearances. So she knew Master Giacomo was wearing extremely expensive designer clothing. He wore it well. But where did he get it?

  “We go to the library now, yes?”

  She smiled. “Yes. But what are you wearing? Where did it come from?”

  “I do not wish to be expelled from the library for indecency.”

  Sam grinned, imagining his reaction when he saw some of the likely library patrons. It was too late in the year for beach bunnies to be prancing about in their string bikinis, but a multiply pierced teen in torn low-riders would no doubt raise his eyebrows.

  He frowned, his posture stiffening and the warmth fading from his eyes. “The clothes do not matter. I am still your Master. On your knees!”

  She glanced at her watch. “We don’t have time—”

  “On. Your. Knees!”

  Sam dropped to her knees before him, eyes wide and her breath rapid. And damn it, already hot and wet for him. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

  He glanced down at her, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of her arousal. He smiled, his stance softening slightly and the front of his khakis bulged outward with his growing erection.

  “Unbutton your blouse,” he ordered.

  With no hesitation, Sam obeyed, her fingers fumbling the tiny pearl buttons of her top. When the sides of the blouse hung free, she lifted her gaze to his, eager for his next command.

  “Lift your breasts out of your bra.”

  Trembling, she cupped her breast, her fingers brushing her nipple and sending lightning bolts of electricity skittering through her body. She caught her breath, feeling the heat throbbing between her legs. Carefully, she eased her breast up and over the shelf of the bra. Then she did the same for the other.

  The elastic of the bra supported her breasts from beneath, lifting and stretching them while the shoulder straps pushed them together toward the center of her chest.

  Master Giacomo sighed deeply. “Beautiful. So re
d. So ripe. And mine for the taking.”

  He reached out and lightly squeezed one nipple. Sam arched her back, eyes shut and moaning in delight. Sticky wetness drenched her panties and she clenched her thighs together, but that only emphasized the throbbing pulse between her legs.

  Softly he traced the edges of her breasts where the bra straps were beginning to cut into them. “What can I do with these?”

  “Anything you desire, Master.”

  Even as she said the words, Sam knew they were the truth. Despite her protestations, she had no resistance where he was concerned. She was his willing slave.

  She heard the rasp of a zipper and opened her eyes to see him taking his cock out of his pants. It was already hard and thick, the golden olive skin stained like wine with his arousal. Sam’s gaze locked onto it as his fingers wrapped around the shaft, pumping his fist up and down his length until he was fully engorged.

  She licked her lips, swallowing nervously as she recalled her dream. He was so big, she wasn’t sure she could take him without choking. But if that’s what he wanted from her…

  He chuckled. “No, my pet. That’s not what I want from you. This is.”

  Clasping her breasts in his large hands, he pushed them even closer together until they spilled upward in a fountain of flesh. Then he stepped forward and thrust his cock between them.

  She gasped, the hot shaft forcing a path between her compressed breasts until he was buried to the hilt. Then he began to massage her breasts, his fingers and palms rocking, pushing and pulling. He never touched her aching nipples, only the sides of her breasts, massaging his cock through the medium of her flesh.

  Sam whimpered, a broken cry of distress. He couldn’t have made her position any clearer. If he brought her body to unbearable ecstasy, that was because it was what he wanted to do. And if he used her body for his own pleasure, with no thought for hers, that was also because it was what he wanted to do. He could take her in any way he wanted. And so long as she was his slave, she had no say in the matter.

  Her pussy pulsed and throbbed in time to his rough massage. She wanted him, ached to have him inside her, filling her, thrusting in and out to the pounding beat of her heart.

  “Put your hands on mine,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

  She placed her trembling hands over his, feeling the flex of his muscles as he rubbed and tugged on her breasts, rolling them up and down the length of his cock.

  “Now squeeze your breasts, just like I was doing.”

  He took his hands away and she continued the rhythm he’d established. Not touching her painfully tight nipples. Not trying to increase the pressure to find some relief for herself. Just rolling herself up and down his length, his low groans telling her when she’d done it correctly and his silence a dreadful warning to do better the next time.

  His fingers slid into her hair, tipping her head back so that she looked up at his face.

  “Madre del Dio, that feels good. What would you say if I came right now, spurting all over your chest and stomach?”

  She shivered, trembling at his words and more turned-on than she could believe. She wanted him to lose control, to bathe her in his cum. In this strange dynamic of powerlessness, it would be the ultimate power.

  Swallowing twice before she could force words through her too-tight throat, she whispered, “I would say, ‘Thank you, Master’.”

  He groaned, fists tightening painfully in her hair. Then a mighty shudder racked his body and he cried out in agony.

  His limp cock slipped from between her breasts. It was completely dry.

  Sam threw herself to the floor before him, hugging his khaki-clad legs and kissing his loafers. “I’m sorry, Master! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

  “Stop that. You didn’t hurt me.” He pulled her free of his legs and nudged her into a somewhat more upright position.

  She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “But I heard you cry out. As if you were being tortured.”

  “No. I’ve been tortured. That wasn’t it.” He lifted her to her feet and pressed a gentle kiss first to her forehead and then to her lips. “You did nothing wrong. I told you, until I give you your ultimate pleasure, I can not find sexual release.”

  “But, Master—”

  He pressed one finger to her lips, silencing her. “No. You did nothing wrong. Pain is very close to pleasure, as you know. It is enough.”

  He tucked his limp cock back inside his pants, hiding it behind the closed zipper. Picking up his blazer, which had fallen to the floor, he snapped it sharply, ridding it of any dust or bits of yarn that had adhered to the weave.

  Sam bit her lip, watching him. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for her and it couldn’t be enough for him. But if that’s what he needed to tell himself, who was she to argue? She’d been doing nothing but lying to herself in the name of ego preservation since she met him. But no more. It was time for her to admit her true nature.

  She was a submissive and probably a slave. Her body came alive at the thought of being a man’s pawn, his pet, his plaything. Her problem before now was that she’d chosen the wrong men.

  Men like her ex-husband, who were controlling, macho tough guys. But unlike Master Giacomo, he wouldn’t have been concerned with her feelings, certainly not enough to tell her twice that she’d done nothing wrong. And he’d have been more likely to yell at her to shut up than to give her an explanation. He would have found a way to turn the situation into a pity party for himself while Master Giacomo accepted his situation and acted forcefully to change it for the better.

  Master Giacomo smiled gently down at her. “Do up your blouse. We shall hurry to the library.”

  She scrambled to her feet, quickly buttoned her blouse, dusted off her skirt then tugged both blouse and skirt into their proper positions. She glanced at her watch. They weren’t late, yet. But they weren’t going to be early either.

  Cutting down the side roads less likely to be congested, she hurried to the sweeping structure of tinted glass and steel that was the city’s library. She tried telling Master Giacomo everything he’d need to know in order to use the library terminals to access the Internet but he was more interested in playing with the automatic door locks, automatic windows and dashboard controls than in listening to her.

  “I’m trying to help you. Pay attention,” she snapped.

  He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “I am not ignoring you, mia tesora. But you explain too much. You have given me your card. I will go inside and ask the librarian for assistance. That is all I need to know.”

  “But you need to know how to swipe the library card and type in the password—”

  “No. You forget how much has changed in the years I have been away. I had secretaries who did all my typing for me. So I will need far more help than you can give me to find all the necessary keys and demonstrate a click and double-click.”

  “I suppose I could go in with you and show you.”

  “I delayed you once already. There is no need to make you late when it is the librarian’s job to assist patrons.”

  She pulled into the parking lot, stopping in the loading area in front of the main doors and cut the engine. “Really, I don’t mind.”

  “I do.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips then unclasped his seat belt and opened his door. “It is important for you to be needed, to be allowed to help others. But your desire to help overwhelms your self-preservation. As your Master, it is my job to prioritize for you when your emotions render you unable to think clearly. You have a prior obligation. I will be here when you return.”

  He got out of the car, closing the door on any possible protest then walked into the library without a backward glance. She frowned, cranky and out of sorts. Objectively she knew he was doing the right thing. Her mother was relying on Sam to pick her up after her hair appointment, to take her to lunch and to take her shopping for Toby’s toy. Master Giacomo would be fine on his own for a few hours.


  Sam threw the car into drive and punched the accelerator, looping around the lot and back onto the road with total disregard for the lot’s striping. Master Giacomo was right. He didn’t really need her, not for this. He could find out the details of what had happened to his family and friends after his death without her.

  But she wanted him to need her for more than just technical assistance. Whatever he found would likely shock him, much as his first exposure to a modern news broadcast had. She’d helped him cope with that and she wanted him to turn to her for help now.

  Stopped at a light, Sam beat her forehead against the steering wheel. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She was falling for him.

  It was easy to see why. He was gorgeous, intelligent and single-mindedly devoted to giving her the ultimate orgasm. He pushed all of her buttons with his dominant strength and control wedded to the incontrovertible need that arose from his strange condition.

  She pulled forward at the green light, her teeth clenched and her fingers white on the wheel. He needed her, all right. For sex. To get his life back. But he didn’t need her. Anyone who summoned him from the book would have done equally well.

  Her breasts ached from the unfamiliar use he’d just put them to. And he had used them, used her, to prove a point. She was his willing slave. Whatever he asked of her, she would do. Whatever he wanted, she would give.

  But she feared that what he wanted most was his freedom. Once he’d given her the ultimate sexual pleasure and his life was restored to him, he would have no more need of her. He might even view her as a distasteful reminder of his former weakness, his own slavery to the mystic power that had stolen him away to the half-life he’d existed in since 1967, and be in even more of a hurry to leave her.

  Somehow she managed to make it to the beauty salon before her mother was finished. It helped that the stylist was running late. But when her mother tottered to the waiting room on the stylist’s arm, Sam was seated in one of the plastic and vinyl chairs, leafing through a style magazine.