by Maren Smith
“Yes, Master Parker,” she said, still husky and soft, but her eyes were locked with his, still aroused and disappointed, but no longer glazed.
“We’re just going to get your feet wet tonight. I’m going to do things that are going to manipulate your emotions. It’s okay to cry, or get angry, or think that you love me or even hate me. I want you to trust me to take you through each of those emotions without fear that I’m going to take advantage of them. I won’t put my cock inside your body, but I am going to touch your pussy. Are you okay with that?”
Her face flamed. “Y-yes.”
“I’m going to finger fuck you and make you cum. Are you okay with that too?”
“Do you do this every time you… you, um, scene?”
“Every scene is different and private. I’m not going to tell you what I do with them, and I’m not going to tell them what I do with you. Now, answer my question.”
“Yes, Master Parker.”
As soon as she gave her assent, Parker stroked her hair, encouraging her continued obedience. “You brought me a lovely selection of toys, and while it will not happen all at once, I intend to see you experience each and every one of them. I am going to put the collar around your neck so you can feel its constant reminder as to who you belong to. What we do next is entirely up to you.”
Her breasts were beginning to heave as her breathing quickened, coming a little heavier and faster. “Up to me, how?”
“I am going to have you pick a toy. Whatever you chose is what we will do first, but before we are through, you are going to orgasm under my fingers, my lips and my tongue. Not once, not twice, but many times. Look at me, Sinclair. Think about what I’ve just said. If you don’t feel comfortable with any of that, now is the time to tell me.”
Her mouth opened and then closed. Her face turned hot, her cheeks reddening as her nipples thrust out against the confines of her shirt. Parker waited, patient while she struggled internally, reluctant to admit she was on at least some level aroused by what he was suggesting. The assortment of toys she’d brought him pretty much ran the gamut. It was a lot to introduce to someone who’d probably never looked twice at any of these things before. On the other hand, she had bought them all herself, so on some level, there had to be at least a small amount of interest, and he had more than enough experience to make sure she enjoyed each and every new sensation as he introduced them. He would go slowly. He would keep her dancing on the edge of orgasm from start to finish—
I am not going to have sex with you.
—and he was absolutely certain by the end of it he was going to regret that decision a thousand times over, but Parker was determined. Not this time. Not the first time they played.
Sinclair looked over the toys for a long time. When she turned back to him, an echo of his own determination flared to life in her eyes. “No,” she said, her chin lifting slightly. “There is nothing you’ve said that I-I… I won’t do.”
Softly stuttered, but there again, she lifted her chin at the end.
Admiring that stubbornness, Parker reached down to brush the soft wisps of her hair back from her forehead. “Good girl.” He took the collar off the table. Unclasping the buckle, he squatted down to hold it just inches from sliding it into place around her neck. “Remember,” he gently reminded. “I am in control, but you have all the power you need to stop this at any time. I want your trust, but I know that’s something I have yet to earn. We’re going to start gentle and slow. If you become frightened, if it becomes more than you can bear, use the safeword. If you do, everything stops until we talk it out. Understand?”
She nodded, but he could tell by her expression that her uncertainty was rising again. Well, there was only one way to combat that.
He put the collar around her neck and buckled it into place. He made it snug, not too tight, but enough to make her truly aware of it for every second she spent as his. Once it was on, he stood, hooked his fingers into the leash ring at the front and deliberately drew her up to stand before him. Releasing her, he stepped away to issue his first command. “Pick your pleasure.”
She shivered, an involuntary spasm that she didn’t seem to be aware of as she glanced down at the table. She took her time, looking over her limited selection—the paddle, the kit of beginner anal plugs, the peacock-feathered nipple clips. Slowly, her uncertainty now tainted by raw anticipation, she pointed to the clips.
Trembling, she quickly snatched her hand back and then, as if losing her nerve, tried to back from the table completely. She got half a step before he caught hold of the waist of her jeans, arresting her flight. Pulling her to him, he turned her, putting her back to the table to block her view of everything except what he wanted her to see: him. He cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to his before, without another word, he kissed her.
Her entire body stiffened and stilled, but not for one second did he think it was because she was afraid. This wasn’t fear that he could feel in the softening of her lips, or the tentative way she kissed him back. Over and over, he coaxed her to taste him back, liking the way she followed his lead with maidenly caresses of her lips on his. She looked positively dazed when he drew back. She touched her lips—soft, pink, puffy from his attention. She looked so damned kissable and in that cheap leather collar, with the rough edges and the lack of soft padding against her tender skin, so damned ownable. She looked… ah, hell. She looked like she was his.
He hooked his fingers into the ring of her collar, and she offered no resistance when he pulled, bringing her right to him. This time, he didn’t kiss her—he cornered and captured her, locked her hot little mouth under his and took her. Desire, so long held in check, broke its chains within him. Her lips yielded beneath his. Her knees dipped, buckling weakly, but he clapped his hands onto the hot curves of her ass and lifted, pulling her hips right up to his. He rubbed her, sex to swelling, aching sex.
Sinclair made the softest moaning sound in the back of her throat. Sounds like that held the power to emasculate a man. He could actually feel it, racing through him on whirlwinds that centered in his cock first and then again in all the places where she touched him—his lips, his tongue, his chest where her breasts brushed up against him as she breathed, his stomach and hips, his shoulders where her hands came to rest, not just bracing against him now, but gripping, her little fingers curling into claws that she used to pull him into her. She wanted more. He wanted more too. A lot more.
Cupping her bottom, he lifted her completely off the ground and turned. A careless sweep of his hand shoved everything out of his way before he dropped her to sit on the table’s edge. Her green eyes were smoldering, smoky with heavy-lidded need, and so hungry.
He gripped her by her collar, commanding her attention with a practiced authoritarian touch. “Sit up straight.”
She did, stiffening her back, her hands dropping down at her sides to rest upon the table by her hips. This new posture pushed out her breasts, offering them up to him. It was an offer he was more than willing to accept.
He cupped them both, massaging gently at first, and then squeezing. He loved her breasts—small, firm, easily filling the palms of his hands, but with far too many cloth barriers between his skin and hers.
It was time for them to go.
Her shirt was a simple blouse, long sleeved to combat the cool February weather, button down the front. Very professional for someone who worked in a candy store; incredibly overdressed for a submissive willingly captured in his hands. Were she a Castle guest, he’d have cut the buttons off her shirt, stripped her roughly, used the torn sleeves to bind her hands and laid her out right here on her back. But she wasn’t a guest. She was the woman he’d wanted for so long now that restraint at this point physically hurt. This was her first time, and this was the experience by which she would risk ever coming back to him a second time. So, his knife remained sheathed and so did his aching cock.
She watched as his hands drifted from her collar to her waist, slowly unbuttoning, barin
g her pale flesh one tantalizing inch at a time. He savored the agony of his restraint, parting the two halves of her blouse like they were a curtain and she the treasure they concealed.
“I wish I’d worn something prettier,” she said, looking down at the simple white sports bra that hid her breasts from his eyes.
Like anything would have been prettier than her in nothing at all. His fingers couldn’t stop tracing her dips, her valleys and curves. She was exquisite; she was his. His mouth watered. His pulse was racing. Easing her blouse over the tops of her shoulders, he let it fall forgotten down her arms. She tried to help him by taking it off entirely, but he stopped her. “Don’t move, not unless I tell you.”
Laying her hands flat on the table at her hips, Sinclair watched as he brushed his fingertips back and forth along the curving contours of her breasts. He teased only a moment, before hooking the bottom hem of her bra and freeing her breasts in the simplest way possible—by raising the front half up over her head and leaving it entangled in the half-removed folds of her blouse. Her arms weren’t exactly bound this way, but her movements were certainly restricted.
“Hello, little darlin’s,” he greeted as he bent his head to kiss first one breast and then the other.
Her shoulders hunched when he cupped her skin-to-skin. It was an involuntary flinch, one that meant she was uncertain of his attraction to her in this vulnerable, unclothed state. Women, and the thousand little things that ran through their heads—were they too small, too big, too perky, not perky enough? Were her nipples too swollen, too tight, too small, malformed somehow, did he like them? Well, there was only one way he knew to put those silly fears to rest.
When he bent, her shoulders hunched again, her back bowing, her soft breath hitching out of sheer nerves a half second before his mouth closed over her pert pink nipple.
“Sit up straight,” he reminded, and she snapped back into position, her lips parted and shimmering wet—she must have just licked them—and her gaze fixed wide and glazed and eager and excited and just a little bit frantic on the ceiling high above. She wanted him and she wanted him to want her back every bit as much, but she didn’t know what to expect here. She didn’t know the game or the rules, and he recognized the tiny flickers of her inexperience in the movements she couldn’t quite hide.
Parting her knees, he moved to stand between her quivering thighs, and she clasped him almost immediately. He wondered if she was even aware she’d done it—her knees squeezing in at his waist, her toes digging into his legs. He made himself something for her to fix on apart from the ceiling. He wanted to be all she could feel and smell and see. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, watching as her breathing quickened almost to panting.
“Oh,” she whispered when he hooked his arm around her back, giving her no more room to flinch away.
This time when he swooped down to catch her up-thrusting nipple in the heat of his suckling lips, he didn’t kiss her; he consumed her. He fed on her just to hear her gasp and then cry out, rocking her head back on her shoulders, squirming her hips in soft bucking motions that brought the heat of her pussy grinding right up against his already full-on erection. Those sexy, rubbing motions had him right on the very edge of disregarding his commitment to no sex.
“Oh!” She started to lift her hands up, as if to grab onto him, but the motion was halted by her tangled clothes and then she remembered. She slapped her hands back on the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, her hips still grinding into his.
If punishment was what she expected, he was more than happy to give it to her. He used his teeth, a gentle punishment to be sure, scraping the erectness of the tight bud in his mouth before nipping. She gasped, her hips at first stilling and then squirming with increasing wildness. She was writhing for closeness, her legs lashing up to wrap around his hips, her heels digging in and spurring him on. She arched up on her hands, trying to push her breasts deeper into his mouth.
Delicious, both her reactions and her body, and the needy little gasps and cries as he tempted and tormented her. Finding the package of peacock nipple clamps, he broke his suction on her first nipple and quickly attached the clip. Ignoring Sinclair’s swift inhalation, he switched breasts.
He wrapped his other arm around her, needing two now just to hold her still.
“Please!” she begged, but not for a second did he think she meant for him to stop. Stopping was the last thing he wanted. At that point, he might not even have been able to. Her cries and her writhing were spurring him on to greater and greater passion. He nipped, he suckled, he left hickies in a ring around her swollen breast, marking all the fleshy territory he wished were his and only his, and when she finally lost the ability to hold herself still and simply take it—both the pleasure and tiny, tempering nips—he grabbed her ass, hooking his hand as far under her as he could reach and clutched.
She was wet, that was his first discovery. She was so wet she had literally soaked through the crotch of her jeans. He had to smell that. He had to taste it.
First things first.
“Oh! No!” Her shoulders hunched in hard, but he attached the second clamp and then he gripped them both between his fingers. She sucked in a shrill breath when he tweaked them, testing the surety of each grip.
It was cruel and he knew it, but there was nothing but rapture on her face and in the undulations of her spine. The peacock feathers brushing the under swells of each breast were sheer eye candy. The clamps themselves he tightened down almost to the point of cruelty. Almost. He was careful to temper those tiny snippets of pain with her own escalating arousal.
“Lay back.” Gripping her collar, he helped to guide her down, then caught her hips and heaved her ass right down to the very edge of the table. With his gaze locked on hers, he unbuttoned her pants. Her swollen breasts bounced and wobbled as she lifted her ass, helping him get her jeans jerked all the way off. Under any other circumstance, he’d have spanked her for that. But this was her first time; he was willing to let it go.
He left her panties on her, a punishment for them both. Hooking her knees, he bent her thighs all the way back onto her chest, elevating her hips right up off the table and showing off the sopping wet cleft of her sexual folds, swollen, brazenly needy, outlined by the white and pink polka dot cloth of her underwear.
“You may cum at any time,” he told her, but only because he didn’t want to wait any more. This was the culmination of over a year of wishing and wanting. Hooking the elastic in his fingers, he bared her pussy to his sight. She was shaved, with little more than a thin landing-strip of red to point the way to heaven.
“OhmyGod, ohmyGod,” she quavered, her fingers clutching into fists at her sides. Her toes were tightly curled, and she was just so wet. Before his very eyes, a thin trickle of moisture spilled from the well of her pink core.
“Oh, sweetness,” he said, just before he bent and simply lost himself in liquid delight.
Chapter SEVEN
Sinclair opened her eyes, not at the crack of dawn as was her usual habit, but when her alarm went off at blaringly loud decibels thirty minutes before she was due to open the store. She rolled out of bed, her eyes burning. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night; she doubted if she’d be getting much more from now until after her catering job at the Castle was finished. Not unless she hired help to run the store during the day and slept until noon… but, no. She couldn’t afford to do that, not even if it would free her up to spend more time with Parker during the day.
Parker. Just thinking about him made her blush all over again. Staggering to the coffeemaker, Sinclair started a fresh pot and headed for the shower. She held herself under the spray, wetting her head, letting the water wash over her and away as if thoughts of all the things they’d done last night could so easily be swept off with it down the drain. Her skin felt so sensitive, much more than usual. Her nipples felt tender and swollen, the beading fall of water striking them every now and then as she tipped her head and turned under the flow, b
ringing back a warm flood of all the sensual ways Parker had touched her. She’d liked his fingers and what he’d done with his mouth. She’d loved the pressure of the clamps, the light squeeze that had hugged each nipple until they pulsed with pleasure that bordered just a tiny bit on pain. He’d made her come as if it were his only purpose on Earth, driving her to orgasm with his suckling kisses feeding furiously at her engorged clit, his fingers pushing deep inside her, thrusting harder and faster until the slick, wet sound of his palm pounding up against her pussy had positively filled that room.
Driven wild, she had clung to him, unable to keep back her lusty cries, unable to smother her wanton writhing, unable to protest even when, with her body spasming in the grips of yet another fierce orgasm, he’d caught both peacock clamps and literally ripped them right off her nipples. The aching pulse of pleasure/pain that had flooded her as the blood rushed back into those areas where its presence had temporarily been denied, had been exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely awful, and somehow had her teetering once more right on the precipice of yet another orgasm. All Parker had to do was lay his thumb over her throbbing clit and press, and just like that she was lost.
He’d known her body in ways she hadn’t thought possible. And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take another caress, he stopped and helped her dress. He’d kept her toys and sent her home with Jackson.
“See you tomorrow, sweetness,” was the last thing he’d said to her.
Sinclair didn’t think her body would ever feel the same again, and tonight, after her shop closed for the day, she would be going back to the Castle. Back to him. It was Wednesday. She had 900 entry gifts to pack, only two days left before the party, and the only thought in her head right now had less to do with candy or catering and everything to do with how much she wished the wet warmth flowing over her still oh-so swollen nipples was from Parker’s mouth moving down her breast in preparation for his next suckling kiss significantly further south. She wanted that tickling wetness she could feel flowing down into the crevice of her buttocks to be his hands following the curve down and under before he cupped, and squeezed, and did that thing that he had done last night when he gripped each cheek and simply opened her up in every possible way a woman could lie open for a man.