"I'm sorry, my dear," he said, giving her fingers one more kiss before standing up and walking away.
#
Portia was inches away from safewording. Tension rolled off her in waves as she shifted around in the cage. David pretended to be going about his business nonchalantly, unpacking their bags—he'd had her suitcase brought to his room after the auction—but the truth was, she had him sweating. He didn't want her to use her safeword—not theirs, and especially not the Castle's. He prided himself on handling his subs with the kind of awareness that prevents the need to even have a safeword. And the last thing he wanted was to lose the slave for whom he'd just paid four thousand dollars. But it went deeper than the money. It went deeper even than revenge. Despite the insurmountable issue of the review, they had chemistry. Real Dom/sub chemistry that was hard to come by. He'd never had it with anyone to this degree, and the thought of losing it made him itchy.
But he also didn't want to let her out, especially when she demanded it. If he did, he'd lose all respect as a Dom.
"May I take my boots off?" she wheedled.
"No," he answered without turning.
She moved around—sitting, coming back to her knees, wrapping her fingers through the bars of her doggy-jail.
"Please... I have to pee. You have to let me out," she begged.
He ignored her.
Portia shifted position in the cage, doing an about-face to watch him. Judging from the crackle of tension in the air, she was about to lose it.
He opened his mouth to let her know she only had five minutes left, when she burst out, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry about the review. It was mean-spirited, even if it was all true!"
Her mention of the review hardened him, even as her apology came as a relief. He walked swiftly toward the cage and opened it. "Come," he said curtly, beckoning with his hand. When she'd crawled out and stood up, he pointed his finger to the floor at his feet. "Stay."
She wore a wary look, but she obeyed.
He grabbed a flogger and a wad of tissues, and stuffed them in his back pocket. Taking her coat from the hanger on the back of the door, he held it out for her.
She looked at him, confused, then lowered herself to her knees and licked his hand.
"You may speak."
"I, uh, really do have to pee."
"I know," he said impatiently, shaking the coat he held for her. "That's why I'm taking you out."
He enjoyed watching shock register as she realized his meaning. He kept his face stern and disapproving.
Rubbing her lips together nervously, she stepped into the fawn-colored full-length wool coat, sliding her arms through the satin-lined sleeves. He turned her around and buttoned it, tying the belt snugly around her waist. Grabbing his own coat, he opened the door and snapped his fingers. "Heel."
She trotted forward to her place half a step behind him, following as he tugged on his jacket and led her down the corridor. He took the stairs at a brisk pace, glancing over to see how much she was struggling to keep up in her high-heeled boots.
David took Portia outside, to the yard where the pets played outdoors in better weather. Now, the lawn was brown from winter, and the chilly wind went right through his jacket. Portia had nothing on underneath hers. He wouldn't keep her out for long.
He pointed toward a tree. "Go do your business."
She stopped, her lower jaw thrusting forward in the first sign of defiance he'd seen from her. She looked around, looked at the tree, and then glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
"We're not leaving until you've peed," he informed her coolly.
She opened her mouth, snapped it closed again, then dropped her arms with a huff. Stalking to the tree, she gathered up the heavy material of her coat, holding it above her waist. The back still hung down, but she didn't notice.
"Wait," he called out, as she started to squat. Walking over to her, he picked up the back hem of the long jacket, lifting it up and away to bare her bottom to the freezing air. She glared at him over her shoulder. "Go ahead now," he said.
She pursed her lips and slowly squatted with her legs wide. Nothing happened.
"It's hard to pee when it's this cold, isn't it?" he observed, taking a conversational tone.
She made a grumbling sound in her throat.
"Oh no," he said sharply. "You may not growl at your Master. I will punish you for that."
She grew even more angry, palpably exuding 'I'm pissed off' from her very pores. Her pee finally started, then stopped and started as she attempted to shift her boots out of the line of spray. Obviously she hadn't been much of a camper. He almost chuckled.
When she'd finished, he reached in his pocket and retrieved the tissue, handing it to her. "Wipe."
She gave him a murderous look as she hobbled, dropping her jacket to snatch the tissue. She wiped and folded it carefully into a wad before stuffing it in her pocket. Then she started stomping back to the Castle.
His heart picked up speed at the challenge. She'd gone rogue—had he lost control of her completely, or was she testing? He knew she was still teetering on the brink of calling the whole thing off.
He matched her pace, taking long strides without running to catch up. When they reached the building, he lunged forward to open the door. Just inside the building, he grabbed her around the waist and pushed her back against the stone wall, so she was sandwiched against his body.
She cried out at the impact, her face twisting with emotion, a mixture of rage and withheld tears, if he had to guess. Her lips trembled and she took little gasping breaths.
"Por-tia," he purred, one part coaxing, one part rebuke. Cupping a hand behind her head, he tugged her hair to lift her face to his. "You're being very naughty," he murmured seductively.
She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek.
He caught it with the tip of his tongue. "I know you're scared," he said softly. "Frankly, I like it that way." He brushed her cheek with his thumb. "I also know you're pissed off." He ran it over her lower lip, seducing her with tone and touch. "But you're still under contract to me. And we still have unfinished business between us, as far as I'm concerned. Don't you agree?"
She opened her eyes, but kept them lowered. Her head wobbled on her neck; a mixture between yes and no.
"I know you didn't like that," he said, jerking his head toward the door leading outside, "and I know you didn't like the cage." He slipped the leather flogger from his back pocket. "Some things I demand will test you, maybe push your limits." He slid the phallus-shaped leather handle of the flogger between the folds of her coat. "But at the end of it all, do you believe I can also bring you pleasure?" He pressed the phallus between her legs, rubbing along her slit.
Another tear ran down her cheek, and she looked pointedly away.
"Okay, I know you're not going to admit it. You have something against me." He rubbed her clit with the handle and she bucked, a little cry escaping her lips. "Before the end of our time together, you're going to explain to me why you came after me like that in your review."
Her eyes returned to his face, wide and startled. He shoved the phallus inside her and she reached out and caught his arms, moaning.
"Can you admit you deserve my punishment?" he asked, slowly fucking her with the phallus. "You may answer me aloud."
"Yes," she whispered. "I deserve your punishment."
His cock, already stiff, throbbed at the victory. "Turn around," he said roughly. "Put your coat on backward and stick your ass out." Although they were inside, the corridor was drafty from the door opening, and he didn't want her to get a chill.
She'd fallen into submission again, and turned immediately to obey, baring her ass for him.
Chapter Four
"Naughty, naughty pet," David murmured, flogging her in a smooth figure eight motion, without letting any of the strands wrap on her hips. He went lightly, so the short suede falls felt almost soft against her sore flesh.
She groaned, his words
kicking up her desire by another notch. The sting of the flogger brought a delicious awareness to her nether region.
David managed the flogger artfully, striking the same exact spot on each cheek again and again, then moving to a slightly lower spot.
"This is for growling at me," he said, bringing it down with punitive force.
She yelped, squeezing her cheeks together and standing upright to get away. Willing herself to relax her muscles, she returned to position.
He struck hard, again.
Again she gasped, wincing at the pain.
"Five more."
She pressed her bottom out for him. She could take five. Squeezing her eyes closed, she forbade herself to move from position.
He struck again and again, each time causing an involuntary flinch and squeezing of her buttocks, but she remained in place for him.
He swung the flogger lightly between her legs. "Naughty pet," he said, his voice a caress this time.
Her hands slid down the wall as she dropped her head back, arching her back and moaning.
"Jesus Christ, Portia," he muttered, his voice sounding deeper than usual. Hearing him call her by her real name, with that level of desire in his voice, gave her a surge of pride. The crinkle of a condom wrapper lit her up like one of Pavlov's dogs, sending blood rushing to her pussy, opening it like a flower.
She pushed her hips out, bracing her hands against the wall.
David wrapped an arm around her waist at the same moment he entered her, fitting his hips close against hers. He pushed up, instead of in, propelling her hips closer and closer to the wall until he'd flattened her against it. He continued to plow deeply in tight thrusts, his torso blanketing hers. He covered one of her hands with his, lacing his fingers over the top while the other held her snugly around the waist.
She lost her mind, fireworks literally exploding behind her eyes, her body a melted puddle, completely his. There was no question of whether she would come or not, and the moment he grunted and shuddered, she began to unwind in wave after wave of glorious release.
The next thing she knew, he had turned her around and lifted her into his arms, carrying her easily up the stairs to their room. She meant to protest, except the impulse didn't make it from her brain to her mouth. Besides, she wasn't allowed to speak. He opened the door and carried her straight to the bathroom, where he set her down on the counter.
She watched dazedly as he shucked her coat, which seemed to be on backwards. Moistening a washcloth, he wiped off her boots, which further confused her until she remembered she had splattered a little pee on them outside. It seemed so long ago, she had traversed so many emotional states since then. He unzipped the boots and slid them off, then removed her striped knee-high socks.
Her cosmetics kit appeared in his hands, and he took out her toothbrush and toothpaste. Instead of handing it to her, he loaded it himself and gripped her jaw. "Open."
She complied, obediently opening her mouth and allowing someone else to brush her teeth for the first time in probably thirty-five years, unless you count the dentist.
He handed her a cup of water and ordered her to swish. It seemed ridiculous, and yet his care also seemed more tender than anything she'd experienced, especially considering where they'd been an hour earlier. She spit the water out and he wiped her mouth with a towel. Then he pulled her off the counter, turning her toward the sink. "Wash your face."
She pulled her facial cleanser out of the bag and did as she was told, self-conscious about his observation. He handed her a towel and she hid her face in it, as if being watched getting ready for bed was more embarrassing than being observed peeing outside.
"Come," he ordered, walking out.
She trailed behind him.
He walked to the bed and patted it, saying, "Up."
Portia crawled up onto the bed.
"Lie down," he commanded, pointing his finger.
It should be silly to take orders like a dog—except from him, they seemed natural. Or maybe she truly had become his pet, with the mentality to go along.
David left for the bathroom, where she presumed he brushed his own teeth or did whatever he did before bed. When he returned, he pulled off all his clothes except his boxer briefs and climbed onto the other side of the bed, switching out the light. To her surprise, he settled right behind her, contouring his front to her back, and tossing an arm over her waist. She certainly hadn't expected spooning from him.
His cock twitched against her ass.
He shifted, leaning up on his elbow to peer down at her. He'd left the bathroom light on, giving enough illumination to see in the darkened room. She rolled her head to look at him, shy under his scrutiny. David brushed the hair back from her face. "Black hair and porcelain skin. Where did you get your coloring?"
She blinked, wondering if the question was rhetorical.
"You can answer," he said softly.
Something fluttered in her belly. Something caused by the warmth in his tone. She could handle his cold dominance better than... this. Whatever this was. She swallowed. "My mother is Greek. I look just like her."
"Does she have the golden eyes, as well?"
She nodded.
"Remarkable," he said, tracing the arch of her eyebrow with his index finger. "You're beautiful."
She flushed, wanting to look away, but held captive by his feather-light touch and his gaze.
"So, what's your axe to grind with me? Because I've read your other reviews, and you don't usually hit below the belt."
Her natural defensiveness kicked in, and she opened her mouth to argue that her review had been solely based on her experience at David Dean's, but he touched her lips with his finger.
"Be careful," he warned.
She closed her mouth, turning her head away from him to end the subject.
But he didn't stop pursuing an answer. "What made you think you knew me well enough to critique my personality along with the restaurant? You don't even know me."
She snapped her head back to look at him, angry. "You don't remember me? We went to culinary school together."
"Of course I do," he said. "But what relevance does that have? I remembered us being friendly. I never did anything to you."
She looked away again, not wanting to rake into the past.
He put a finger to her chin and turned her back to face him. "Did I?" he asked, sounding uncertain.
She jerked her head away.
"What did I do?" he demanded.
"Nothing," she muttered, curling into a tight ball and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry for the review. I told you that already."
"Snapping 'I'm sorry' doesn't count. But don't worry—I'll get a genuine apology out of you before our time together is up," he said ominously.
#
David stepped out of the shower, toweling off. He'd been racking his brain for some clue about Portia's revelation the night before. She held a grudge from culinary school. But what had happened? He didn't remember any bad blood. The way he remembered it, he'd asked her out and she'd played it like she wasn't interested. Period, end of story.
Wrapping the plush terry cloth around his waist, he padded out to the room to find Portia awake, still lying on her side, but regarding him with her cat eyes. Her gaze traveled over his body, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.
He smirked. Could it be she found him appealing?
She slid out of bed and walked to him, crouching at his feet.
His cock instinctively hardened, but she didn't reach for it. Instead, she touched his hand, bringing his fingers to her mouth to lick. She wanted to speak.
He looked down, still getting over his disappointment at not having his cock worshipped.
When he didn't say anything, she drew one of his fingers into her mouth, sucking hard while looking up at him seductively.
He smiled. The little minx.
She continued drew a second finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around and between them.
"You may
speak," he said at last.
"Master, may I please use the bathroom?"
He saw real pleading in her expression and he smirked again. He imagined the idea of going straight from the warm bed to peeing in the frigid cold didn't appeal to her.
"Just this once," he said with a hard tone. "And then I want you to shower and make yourself pretty for me," he said. "But no clothes," he added. "I want to inspect you fully naked this morning."
He dressed and called down for room service, something usually only reserved for the Castle Masters, but provided as a special luxury to bidders at the auction. Then he waited, settling into an armchair by the window. He had messages waiting on his phone, but he preferred to make her sit through them, to show her how little her time meant compared to his.
She spent a full thirty minutes in the bathroom, running the shower, then the hair dryer. When she emerged, she wore light make-up and her dark, thick hair hung down across her shoulders in glossy waves. She had an exotic beauty—unusual and natural.
"Come here," he ordered, crooking his finger.
She walked to where he sat.
He drew a breath, inhaling the sheer eroticism of having a lovely naked woman standing submissively before him. Her eyes skittered about his face, his shirt, his crotch. "Hands interlaced on your head."
She brought her hands up, causing her breasts to lift and separate.
"Turn around."
She turned to face the other way. Her ass had returned to alabaster, no markings left from her spankings the night before. A fresh canvas.
"Keep turning."
She returned to face him again.
He cupped the back of one thigh and pulled her to stand between his knees. She smelled fresh and clean—of shampoo and something else. He leaned his head forward between her legs and sniffed. Cucumber. Must be a lotion. He stroked both hands up her thighs to her butt, which he gripped and kneaded.
"You're awfully thin for a foodie."
She jerked under his hands, likely perceiving criticism.
"Do you actually hate food, and that's why you critique it?"
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 30
