by Lila Dubois
He grinned, and something dark and dangerous inside him roared in triumph. She was his.
“Come here,” he demanded.
He’d intended to pull her onto his lap, but she slipped to her knees before him. She looked up at him with soft, needy eyes, and he wanted to slide his hands into her hair and then his cock into her mouth.
“You’re mine, from now until we return to the plane,” he said.
“Oh, okay.” Her gaze slid down until she was looking at his chest.
“That means once I place the collar on you, you keep it on. Removing it will result in a real punishment. Not leaving you, but it will be something you will not like.”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured.
“You have to know what you’re agreeing to.” He cupped and lifted her chin. “People will look at you and know. Though you’ll still be clothed, your status as a submissive will not be in doubt.”
“You mean when we get to the island?”
“Definitely there, but it’s possible the pilot and the attendant will know. Are you okay with that?”
“I…guess so. It’s a bit weird.”
He stroked her chin, remaining quiet so she had time to think.
“Can I wait and wear it when we get there?” she asked
“No. I want you to wear it starting now.” He put steel into his words and watched her relax into his command, his control.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Does that mean you accept my collar?”
She looked at him from under her lashes. “Until we are back on the plane.”
Was there a hint of hurt in her words? There was. He hid a grin of triumph. She wanted to be collared permanently.
All that means is that you’ll break her heart when it isn’t really permanent.
If he weren’t so hyper-aware of her newness to the lifestyle, he’d offer her the semi-permanent collar now, but that wouldn’t be fair to her. She hadn’t been collared before; she didn’t know what she was agreeing to.
Assuming the party went well, when they returned to San Francisco he would offer her a semi-permanent collar. If she didn’t accept, he would respect that, take her back to the house on Russian Hill, and make the most of their remaining time together.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “When you wear my collar, you don’t call me Sir.”
“I call you Master?”
“Yes.”
Christiana met his gaze, then slowly raised her hands, gathering her hair onto her head, exposing her slender neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “But I want you naked when I collar you. And once the collar is on, I’m going to plug that sweet ass for the remainder of the flight to Atlanta.”
She shivered, gaze lowering submissively. “Yes, Master.” She reached for the shirt buttons.
It was night when they landed, though they’d left San Francisco in the morning. The time change as well as the need to stop and refuel meant that they touched down on Great Exuma, the largest island of the Bahamian district of Exuma, after dark. A helicopter was waiting to take them to Solomon’s island, which was one of the 365 islands in the chain, many of which were privately owned.
James exchanged a few words with the helicopter pilot, then helped Christiana put on a helmet with mic. She had never been in a helicopter, and riding in one at night, with the vast, dark ocean stretched out under them, was probably one of the top ten most terrifying moments of her life. James tried to get her to appreciate the beauty of the moonlight on the water, but she shook her head, keeping her eyes closed.
Every time she shook her head, she was reminded anew of the collar she wore, its weight and pressure unfamiliar yet delicious. Her ass was still sensitive from wearing the plug on the way to Atlanta. Her nipples were sensitive, too, because on their second flight, once they’d had dinner, he’d made her strip again so he could hang the small belled clamps from her nipples. He’d toyed with them on and off until they were warned they were starting their descent to the islands, only then removing them and allowing her to get dressed.
She was back in the jeans and white shirt she’d been wearing when they left San Francisco, but had added a thick knit sweater in deference to the cold helicopter ride. She needed it since she was no longer wearing a bra or panties.
When the helicopter touched down, she finished saying the rosary in Spanish and crossed herself. When her life was in danger, she was a devout Catholic her abuela would have been proud of.
“You doing okay?” James asked, his voice coming through the speakers built into the helmet.
“I’m alive,” she said shakily.
He helped her out of the death contraption. They ran, heads ducked, to the small building beside the helipad. She considered kissing the ground.
“We can take a boat when we leave,” he assured her.
“Yes. Boat. Good idea.”
He hugged her and kissed her head. An attendant, who’d stood when they entered, ran out, grabbing their bags from the helicopter and bringing them into the small building, which looked like a one-room airport terminal.
He nodded to James. “Mr. Nolen. Your transportation will be here in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Christiana stayed huddled against James. He wrapped his arm around her. “Were you praying in Spanish?”
“Yes. And it worked, because we’re alive.”
James laughed, eyes on a window at the front of the building. The attendant said, “Here you go.”
James led her out of the small building to a waiting horse and closed buggy. “Horse?” she asked.
“It’s a small island, and there isn’t a mechanic, so they don’t bother with cars.”
“How small?”
“Two hundred acres or so.”
“That is not small.”
Christiana nodded to the driver, a young woman with very white teeth and bright eyes. She glanced at Christiana’s collar, and a twinge of embarrassment touched Christiana. It was silly—Christiana was a consenting adult—but if the driver knew the collar was part of her sexual relationship with James, it was also an admission that she had sex. There was enough Catholic guilt in her that Christiana baulked at the idea that she was publicly displaying something so intimate and scandalous.
The young woman looked like she was eighteen or maybe twenty, but she clearly knew what the collar meant. When she’d been twenty, Christiana would have had no idea it was anything more than a piece of jewelry.
The horse-drawn carriage took them along a well-maintained sand and dirt road. On Christiana’s right the ocean stretched out, a dark, restless expanse of black and sparkling white moonlight. On her left, the center of the island rose in a gentle but steady incline. They glimpsed the occasional small, pastel-colored house perched on high ground. The island was lush, and seemed to be a thousand shades of blue thanks to the blanket of night. In daylight, she was sure it would be a landscape of verdant greens.
They rounded a bend, the road roughly following the shoreline. Now the helipad was out of sight. They made another slight left, skirting a small grouping of fat palms and lush flowers. Once they cleared that, the view opened up.
A long, flat plain spread out, extending gradually downhill from the base of a twenty-foot rock cliff that cut into the high center of the island, to a white sand beach. She looked at it with an engineer’s eye, wondering if they’d cut into the center of the island to flatten the space out, but then decided no, that it must have been a natural plain in the island topography.
In the center of this, like a series of fat, glistening jewels, was a cluster of buildings, brilliantly lit, even in the darkness, by a mixture of electric lights and torches. The road turned toward the beach, so they were now headed toward the water instead of parallel to it. Torches lined the road, and as they grew closer to the cluster of buildings, she could see that they were painted pink, yellow, mint green, and pale blue. They might have looked like Easter eggs, except that they were so detailed a
nd lovely, with myriad intricate architectural details, that they reminded her more of colored diamonds.
The road led them between two buildings to a central courtyard. There was an oval driveway, with a lush planting of brightly colored tropical plants in the center. The horse came to a stop before the front door of the largest building, which was two stories in the center, with single-story wings on either side. The second floor was entirely glass on the oceanfront side.
James climbed out first, and she stayed where she was, looking up at the house. Heavy ironwork lanterns hung from the exterior, lit with large glass bulbs in some places, while in other lanterns there were real flames.
The whitewashed wooden door opened and a figure appeared.
“Christiana?”
She’d been distracted looking at the forbidding dark figure in the doorway, but when James spoke she glanced at him, taking his hand and climbing out. She crowded against him.
“Are you all right?”
“Nervous,” she whispered.
“I’d tell you not to be, but…” His lips slid over her forehead.
“But I should be?”
“Yes. Do you trust me?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then come with me and meet Solomon.”
James kept his arm around Christiana as they approached the door. She was shivering, and stayed pressed against him so hard that if he hadn’t walked with purpose, she would have caused their path to veer to the side.
Three low, wide steps led up to the open double front doors. Behind them, James could hear Solomon’s staff unloading their few bags, along with whatever supplies they’d brought from George Town.
Solomon, standing in the shadow of the doorway, was a large, dark presence. James had known the other man for years, at least as much as anyone could know him, and even he was momentarily intimidated.
He gave Christiana a reassuring squeeze as they mounted the steps, then walked into the darkness of the foyer. The foyer wasn’t really dark, but compared to the brightly lit courtyard at the front, the candlelit entrance to the main house was dim. The floor was pale tile, the walls a creamy white. There was no grand staircase here, but instead simple white stairs that broke halfway at a landing before continuing up to the second floor.
“James,” Solomon greeted. “Welcome.”
“Solomon.” James kept one hand on Christiana as he shook the other man’s hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“It’s been too long since you came to one of my parties.”
“I cannot argue with that. I’d like to introduce you to Christiana.”
Solomon looked at her, studying her face and then the collar around her neck. James took a moment to consider what Christiana was seeing.
Solomon looked like a pirate of old. He was huge, with broad shoulders, thickly muscled arms, and a weather-beaten, handsome face. He had dark hair he wore shoulder-length and pulled back in a short tail. One tuft slid forward, lying on his cheek, just near the scar that malformed the side of his face, starting at the corner of his mouth. The wavy, horizontal scar had been from a knife of some kind, though James had never gotten the full story. If Solomon had been from the UK, James would have said it was from a fight in Glasgow—that type of injury was commonly called a Glasgow smile. But Solomon was American, and the scar that pulled one corner of his mouth down and made it so he could never really smile, was probably not the result of a club brawl in Scotland.
Christiana took a deep breath, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Christiana. Wait, James already introduced me. Never mind that. How are you powering this place? Solar panels? Cable from another island? You don’t have any sort of storm break between the buildings and the beach, so what do you do when there are hurricanes?”
James and Solomon both looked at her.
Solomon raised his gaze to James’s. “She’s different.”
Christiana shrank against him. James stared hard at Solomon. If the other man realized he’d hurt her feelings, he didn’t show it, but he must have known, because his next words made Christiana relax.
“It appears you finally collared someone who is both lovely and intelligent.”
James screwed his face up in what was supposed to be a smile, but was more a feral baring of teeth. He did not need Solomon telling Christiana sordid tales about his past.
Christiana pursed her lips. “Sorry, occupational hazard. You, uh, have a lovely home and thank you for having us.”
“Occupational hazard?”
“Christiana is an engineer.”
Solomon staggered back a step, hand on his chest. “She’s an engineer? Like, with a job?”
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” James declared.
Solomon’s teeth flashed as one cheek rose in his unique half smile. “Christiana, you’re welcome to my island, and perhaps we will find time to discuss how my household operates, but for now, I have a party to get back to. Are you planning to join us tonight?”
James nodded. Christiana’s fingers fumbled for his, and she squeezed him. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Yes, we’ll be joining you. We’ll need to freshen up. Do you have what I asked for?”
Solomon’s gaze flittered over Christiana, and James stepped slightly in front of her. Solomon raised his eyebrows. James realized how silly his action had been, given his plans for Christiana, but it had been instinctive.
“It’s waiting in your room. Top floor of the yellow house.”
“Thank you,” James said shortly.
“When you come back, ring the bell. I will explain the house rules to her, and remind you what they are, before you’re allowed in.”
James nodded, then turned and tugged Christiana to follow him. It had been years since he had been here, but he remembered the way. They walked out of the main house, along the long oval drive, until they came to a tile path partially hidden by lush foliage. It led to the yellow building north of the main structure. They took the stairs up to a small outdoor seating area that also served as the entrance to the top-floor suite.
Christiana stopped and turned to look out at the dark sea. From up here they had a beautiful view, over the tops of the trees, to the point where the vegetation stopped, giving way to the white sand beach and the water that lapped softly against the shore. There was a wooden pier that stretched out into the water to a small grass-roofed structure in the middle of the ocean, where Solomon sometimes hosted cocktail hour.
“This is incredible,” she whispered.
James walked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “It’s even more spectacular in the day.”
They stayed like that for only a moment before James tugged her through the glass doors, into the suite. “You have twenty minutes to shower and get ready,” he told her. “I’ll help you get dressed when you’re done.”
She touched the collar at her throat. “I know you said not to take it off, but for a shower? Leather and water don’t mix.”
He smiled and unbuckled the collar. “I’ll be waiting to put it back on you the moment you’re out.”
“Thank you.”
“Master,” he reminded her. “From this moment on, all rules apply.”
She nodded, gaze sliding to the floor. “Yes, Master.”
“The bathroom is through there.”
James watched her walk into the bathroom, then went to the closet. Their clothes were already hung up, the empty bags stored neatly on the shelf. There was one item in the closet they hadn’t brought. He pulled out the multilayered garment, holding it up.
Tonight he would show her everything he could do to her if she agreed to wear the jeweled collar. Tonight he would be her Master.
James set the dress aside and started to undo the buttons of his shirt.
Chapter 4
Christiana walked into the candlelit foyer, one step behind James.
“Shoes,” he reminded her.
She slid out of the simple sandals s
he’d put on to walk from their room back to the main building. She picked them up, and when James gestured, she went to a heavy wood sideboard. The top of the sideboard was set with a dozen fat, white candles. She opened one of the carved wooden doors on the front to discovery cubbies for shoes. There were other shoes already in there. Some sandals, some stilettos, and even a pair of what looked like ballet pointe shoes. She put her sandals in one cubby and carefully closed the door.
“This way.”
Christiana hurried to James’s side, the sight of him once more making her catch her breath. He was bare-chested, his hair still a bit wet from the quick shower he’d taken after she stepped out and he’d placed the collar back around her neck.
His naked skin seemed to glow a dark bronze-chocolate color. That was probably due to the contrast between his skin and the loose white linen pants he wore. She could see just a hint of the line of dark hair that led down to his cock above the waistband.
Besides the pants he wore simple sandals, and unlike her, he kept them on.
She touched the collar. She liked the feel of it there, heavy and almost reassuring.
She followed him past the foot of the stairs deep into the building. He opened the solid wood door and motioned her into a wide, narrow room. The wall opposite the doorway was mostly windows. Exterior lights illuminated a patio that stretched the length of the house and groupings of plush outdoor furniture. Beyond the patio was a lush, dense wall of foliage—palms and large-leafed flowers, creeping tropical vines, and verdant green beach grasses. Above those was a view of the cliff and the peaked center of the island.
Inside the room, the furniture was formal and heavy—leather and wood club chairs, a massive carved wooden desk with nothing on it.
It felt like the furnishings belonged in a formal office somewhere in Europe, but Christiana had only a moment to think that before James touched her chin, drawing her attention to him. “As you know, I’m not much for protocol or formal rules, but here you will be expected to obey the house rules. Do you think you can do that?”
Nerves made her stomach tight. “What are the rules?”
