by Nia Farrell
Master Sorin had set the stage perfectly. Dozens of candles softly illuminated the luxurious, black marble bathroom. Eschewing the large, walk-in shower, he filled the black, jetted tub and had her void before joining him in it. Embarrassed as she was, she obeyed. When she’d finished, she crossed to where he waited. Stepping into the hot, churning water, she settled herself between his hair-dusted legs.
He reached for the bath sponge, picked it up, and submerged it. Lifting it clear of the water, he squeezed it in one hand and added shower gel with the other. He washed her back, then her front, paying particular attention to her breasts. The natural feel of them made her happy that she’d kept her C-cups rather than get them surgically enhanced.
Her nipples responded to his ministrations, drawing into hard, tight knots that begged for extra attention. He gave it. Rolling them between his thumbs and index fingers, he pinched, twisted, and tugged on them, sending bolts of sexual energy to ignite her very core.
She pressed her legs together and whimpered, desperate for more.
He dipped his head and nipped her ear. “Talk to me, dragă. What is it that you want?”
You, she thought. I want you and I shouldn’t, when we can never have anything more.
“Tell me,” he rumbled. “Tell me what you need.”
It was a much safer—and easier—question to answer.
“I need to come,” she whispered. “Please. I need to come.”
Chapter Eight
Sebastian was half-hard for her again.
But he was the Dominant. She was the submissive. He was pledged to give her what she needed.
And what she needed was release.
He slid his right hand down Ashley’s front, threaded his fingers through her curls, traced her seam, and found the engorged button of flesh at its apex. With 8,000 nerve endings (twice the number in his glans), the clitoris was the only organ in the human body designed solely for pleasure.
He cherished it like the treasure it was, teasing, circling, pinching, fanning. He twisted her nipple, and she whimpered, thrusting her pelvis to grind herself against his hand.
“Don’t stop,” she begged him. “Please, just like that. I’m so close. Yes, yes, that’s it. There. Touch me there,” she grated, breath sloughing between clenched teeth. “Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m going to come!”
She stiffened, bucking twice before her body seized, gripped in the throes of her climax. He rubbed her labia, massaging her swollen lips while she choked out an inarticulate sound each time that her body jerked. When the last spasm faded, she went limp in his arms.
Ashley Slade was one of the most responsive partners he’d ever had, and one of the most open to new experiences. Her list of limits pretty much dovetailed with his own tastes—everything except the cane. She had taken it, but just barely. Unlike a spanking, the cane brought her no pleasure, only pain.
Which made it perfect for punishment but useless for playtime. He filed that away for future reference.
They stayed in the bath long enough, she drifted to sleep. He hated to wake her, but she needed to take her meds and they hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements. As mellow as she was right now, he could probably talk her into doing whatever he wanted.
“Hey,” he whispered in her ear, massaging her shoulders. “Ashley?”
“Mm.”
“We need to get out and go to bed. Wardrobe will wait until morning. Your ibuprofen will not. Will you stay with me here, or do you want me to take you to your room?”
“Stay,” she breathed, snuggling against him. “If that’s okay.”
Okay? It was more than okay.
But that was his problem, not hers.
He dried her off and tucked her in bed with a bottle of water and her pills. “Do you need a body pillow?” he asked, uncertain what else she might need to sleep.
“Extra pillows would be good,” she said. “I usually use one for my upper body and one between my calves.
Sebastian was one of the Doms allowed to carry a muted phone during scenes, in case of an emergency. Dr. Brandt—Sir Josef, the resort psychiatrist—was another. He used it now to call housekeeping for extra pillows. Meanwhile, he let Ashley have the three standard pillows that spanned the width of the king-sized bed.
“I have a longer pillow ordered to use for your upper body and another standard size for your legs. We can switch them out when they come.”
“If I can stay awake that long.” She covered a yawn, smiled sheepishly, and turned her blue topaz gaze to meet his. “Thank you, Master Sorin. For the pillows. For everything. This weekend has already exceeded my expectations. I look forward to tomorrow. Today. Whatever.”
“Today,” he said. Their bath had lasted until it was past midnight. “I’d like to visit wardrobe first thing in the morning. Once we’ve changed, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Our massages are scheduled for 10 AM. The rest of the day is open until it’s time to get ready to play.”
A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of housekeeping. Sebastian answered, fetching the pillows and bringing them back to bed. Ashley traded both of his pillows for the new ones, tucking the smaller one between her calves as she lay on her right side, pulling the longer one to her chest, and draping her left arm over it. Together, they helped to keep her spine straight while she slept and minimized strain that would aggravate her back.
Sebastian had never considered himself a hugger, but he found himself missing the choice to hold her. As it was, he lay against her back, with his hand resting on her hip and his face by her occiput. He drifted to sleep, breathing in the soft, herbal fragrance of her hair.
Ashley had told him that she was an early riser. Given that she was still on Pacific time, three hours behind local time, she’d led Sebastian to expect her to awaken at seven, but at four AM, her movements woke him up.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I need to change positions for a while.” Pushing her extra pillows aside, she rolled onto her back, settling gingerly into place.
She knew it was only temporary. Chances were, she couldn’t maintain it for long before the pain worsened and the position became untenable.
“What about ibuprofen?” he asked gently.
His tender concern was just one more thing that set him apart from Cade. God forbid that anything should interfere with his beauty sleep. Towards the end, they were spending more nights in separate beds than together.
“I’ll take it with breakfast, once I get something on my stomach. Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“Ashley,” he said firmly, using that panty-melting Dom voice of his. “You are not to apologize for anything related to your back, or things beyond your control, do you understand? You’ve had a severe injury. Surgery. It’s to be expected that you would have limitations that need to be worked around, but work around them we shall. Now, close your eyes. You should rest them, even if you can’t sleep.”
She obeyed, but sleep was elusive, thanks to the pain that she was never fully free of—despite what the surgeons had predicted—and bizarre, Dali-esque dreams that she struggled to escape. She was just fighting free of another one when she felt Master Sorin stroking her hair.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re here. You’re safe. It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe….”
At some point, she had rolled onto her right side. Pillows were tucked between her calves and under her left arm.
Ashley didn’t remember putting them there.
She wondered if he had.
Sebastian Moldovan might play a vampire Dom, but there was an innate kindness in him that was lacking in most of the men she had dated. He had started out to be such an enigma, like a giant puzzle that she might never solve. With Cade, the more she learned, the worse things had looked. Every piece that the good doctor revealed of himself just made the picture that much more promising.
Reaching behind her, she caught his hand, pulled it forward, and kissed it. When she didn�
�t let go, he nuzzled her hair and sighed into it.
“Did you sleep any, dragă?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “I’m so used to it, I’ve nearly forgotten what a good night’s sleep feels like.”
“I wish that I could help.”
“You have,” she assured him. “You are. I wish that other men were half as patient and understanding as you’ve been.”
“Have you seen another orthopedic surgeon for a second opinion?”
“Before the surgery, yes. After it was done, no one would look at me, once they found out that I’d already been operated on.”
She could feel how still he went, processing what she just said. But it was true, and not just in her case. Most doctors wouldn’t touch another doctor’s work. Their advice was to see her surgeon, who’d done nothing except write scripts for prescription pain medication.
Pills that she’d taken…and which had gotten her addicted, eventually landing her in rehab.
Cade had stood by her then—or so she had thought at the time. Now she wondered if he’d been fucking his current costar while she was away.
“Will you let me check?” Master Sorin asked. “I know someone who might be persuaded to look and give his opinion. Say the word, and I will contact him.”
That was possibly the sweetest thing a man had ever said to her. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall so hard for him.
“Thank you. Yes,” she said, grateful for the offer. She was so tired of hurting. So tired of not being able to do what she needed to do. What she wanted to do.
She would have trusted Master Sorin to look at her, even though she had no real knowledge of his skills as a doctor. But he could never see her as a patient—not unless they agreed to share a platonic, vanilla relationship, and that was not going to happen if she could help it.
She’d had a taste of his Dominance. It had only left her craving more. They had two more days together. Four scenes to go. After that…after that, she didn’t want to think about it.
Sunday would come soon enough.
Chapter Nine
Sebastian took Ashley to The Three Hens French bakery for breakfast. The weather was as delightful as the company. It was slightly cool for this time of year, which made it perfect for his California girl to accompany him incognito.
There were no paparazzi to deal with, but Ashley had fans everywhere. She maintained her anonymity by braiding her trademark mane of platinum hair, tucking it under a broad-brimmed hat, and wearing dark sunglasses. An oversized sweater hid everything from her neck down to her skinny jeans and boots.
Because the bakery catered to Americans, they offered more than breads, jams, and coffee. At the counter, Ashley ordered a crêpe filled with yogurt and fruit. He looked over the selections in the case and chose a layered pastry filled with bacon, eggs, caramelized onions, and Gruyère cheese. Both of them ordered expresso.
Once he had paid, they were given their beverages and a number to set on their table, but where?
“How about the courtyard?” He nodded to the back door. “It’s surrounded by a privacy fence, and what you’re wearing is perfect for dining outdoors. Chances are, we’ll be the only ones using it.”
She beamed a smile up at him. “Lead the way.”
As he’d guessed, they were the only customers willing to brave the slight nip in the air. Ashley took note of the daily papers lying in a stack for patrons to peruse, but she chose to not bring one to their table. Like him, she was content to enjoy the morning, the meal, and the company.
Once she’d eaten a few bites of her crêpe and had something on her stomach, she took more ibuprofen for her back. With nothing scheduled until ten AM, they were able to take their time, quietly conversing, just in case anyone would happen to intrude without their knowledge.
She spoke of her stack of scripts, and the one in particular that she was desperate to do. “It’s brilliantly written, ” she told him, her bright blue eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Based on a true story, ripped from the headlines, of a woman who was kidnapped when she was fifteen. She was held prisoner, beaten and tortured into submission, and made into a sex slave for her captor and his friends. She finally managed to escape after six horrific years of being used and abused. Whoever plays this part may well win an Oscar. I haven’t managed to get nominated yet, but this….” She eyed him intently. “This could be the one.”
He couldn’t pretend to know about her work, the same as she could never truly know about his. But he enjoyed listening to her talk about different aspects of the business, sharing some anecdotes from appearances on late night television and early morning talk shows.
Their worlds were poles apart, and yet they met here—and at Replay, where he could continue to expand her horizons.
Sebastian listened to her but discreetly kept an eye on the time. When nine-thirty came, he lifted his left wrist and turned his watch so that Ashley could see it, too.
“If you are finished, we need to head back to the resort for our appointments.”
“I’m good,” she said, starting to gather their plates.
He put his hand over hers and stopped her. “Leave them, dragă. They have staff who bus the tables. They’ll take care of it.” He glanced at her empty cup. “Would you like an expresso to go? We can grab one on the way out.”
“No, I’m good.” She smiled sheepishly. “I like coffee but I’m not a big consumer.”
“I am,” he confessed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll grab another for the road.”
“Of course, I don’t mind! Please, get what you need. I’ll start hitting the bottled water once we’re back.”
Sebastian left a generous tip on the table for the waiter who had checked on them from a distance and allowed them their privacy. Inside, he got an expresso to go, then escorted Ashley to his car, a gray metallic BMW with a silverstone leather interior. Opening the curbside door, he helped her into his M6 before rounding the back and getting in the driver’s side. Once his coffee was safely in the console’s left cup holder, he fastened his seatbelt and made certain that Ashley had done the same before starting the engine. Putting the car in gear and checking the traffic, he turned on his signal, pulled out from where they had parallel parked, and headed for the resort.
The drive back was made in companionable silence. They had talked at the bakery. Now they were both processing. He didn’t know where her mind was focused, but his was on her back and her health. From what she had described to him, her surgery should have relieved the pain from her injury. Instead, she was still suffering. Losing sleep and unable to live life to its fullest. She needed help—help that he might not be able to give her but that he could hopefully find.
The role that she was so excited about would be very demanding, physically, mentally, and emotionally. From what he’d seen, she was a strong person. So very strong. And very mature for her young age. She accepted responsibility for her choices and acknowledged her part when things went wrong instead of foisting the blame on others. She could have been bitter about her breakup with Cade Madden. Instead, she chalked it up to a hard lesson learned. Rather than waste time looking back, she was determined to keep her eyes on the future—one that he hoped would be free of the pain that she now endured.
Knowing the benefits of therapeutic massage, he had scheduled two appointments. The resort’s masseuses were versed in a variety of techniques, depending on the patron’s needs. He had requested his favorites from past experiences and had arranged for Ashley’s session to be done at the same time, in the same room, where he could observe.
Watching another man’s hands on her body affected him more than it should. There was no hiding his very physical reaction. Seeing her oil-slickened, supple flesh beneath Quentin’s practiced hands and hearing her purrs of pleasure left him painfully hard.
Ashley’s session had left her wanting, too.
“I’m surprised they didn’t offer a happy ending,” she said as soon as the door closed, leaving the t
wo of them alone in the room.
“I told them to leave that to me.” Dismounting from the massage table, he crossed to where she lay on her back, her body gleaming in the ambient lighting. Soft music played in the background, an exotic blend of koto strings, wooden flutes, wind chimes, and running water that evoked the experience of a Japanese garden. The soothing sound was at odds with the Taiko drums beating inside him, their driving rhythm propelling him towards an inevitable conclusion.
As if by magic, the music changed to Japanese drums, making the air pulse around them.
He lay his hand on her belly and pressed toward her pubic bone. She curled her fingers in the sheet. Her respiration quickened until she was panting softly.
“How do you do that?” she whispered. Her voice was husky with keen desperation. The expression on her face was exquisitely tortured. “One look, one touch, and I’m so empty, it hurts.”
“What do you need, dragă?”
“You,” she whimpered. “Inside me. Filling me. Fucking me. Make the hurt go away.”
He couldn’t fix her back, but he could do that much, at least.
Cupping her sex with his hand, he pressed his middle finger against her folds, parted her labia, and wet himself with her juices. Tracing her seam, he found her clitoris and coaxed it fully from its hood.
“Yes,” she breathed, fighting to keep her hips still and let him do what he wished.
Repositioning her with her knees bent and her hips closer to the edge, he fucked her with his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock, listening to the sounds of her pleasure and seeking his own. When they were both close to coming, he pulled out completely, shifted his angle, and pressed his glans against her other opening.
“I don’t have a condom with me,” he said. They were both clean and had the paperwork to prove it. “Remember, one word will stop me, dragă. I want to finish in your ass.”