Paul didn't speak to Kitty, just began to wrap his rope around her, looping it into an intricate pattern. They drew an audience, people gathering around to watch Paul's expert craft.
Portia's nipples puckered, standing at attention as Paul framed them in knotted windows. He worked around her, threading rope between her thighs, knotting it across her taut belly.
Portia's eyes wandered up and met David's, her thick lashes fluttering at the intensity of their tangled gaze. Her golden eyes flashed with heat, sending a lick of pure lust straight to his cock.
"Kneel at your Master's feet," Paul instructed when he'd completed his hold.
She knelt, resting her bottom down on her heels.
"Lift your hips," Paul said, pulling out two matching suede floggers. When Portia complied, he went on, "Suck his cock."
David hadn't thought he'd be ready for another round so soon, but seeing his pet so turned on had him hard already. Portia unbuttoned his pants and freed his erection as Paul brought the soft threads of one flogger across her ass, which he had judiciously left unclothed by rope.
Portia jerked in surprise, then bent her head diligently to David's cock, as if the flogging had happened because she hadn't applied herself.
Paul pulled up a chair behind her and sat on the edge of it. He swung the flogger and caught her other cheek, then picked up his rhythm, using both floggers in a graceful figure eight motion.
Portia impaled herself on David's cock, taking him straight to the back of her throat, making him catch his breath with the sudden sensation of her moist heat engulfing all of his length. She bobbed up and down at a frantic pace, matching Paul's rhythm.
"Slow down," David said. "Settle into the flogging and bring your full attention to my cock."
She drew a deep breath through her nostrils and seemed to relax, taking time to run her tongue around the rim of his cock before taking him deep again.
Murmurs and whispers sounded around them, the observers keeping a respectful hush as they watched the scene.
David briefly lost his mojo when he considered that he'd rather be spanking Portia, but then he caught the look of passion on her face and forgot about it. Her cheeks were flushed and she wore a frenzied look of abandon. He pushed her back and stood up, bringing his cock level with her mouth. Gripping her hair, he held her head still and pumped his cock in and out of her throat.
She gave a muffled cry of excitement and gripped his thighs, her nails digging into his flesh.
Paul stopped the double flogger action and gave her a harder smack with one.
She shrieked, her eyes watering as David continued to face-fuck her. Paul repeated the more punitive slap and David gripped the sides of her head, pulling her in and out at the same time he moved forward and back. "Oh God," he groaned.
Paul gave her several more hard smacks as David came, shooting his seed into her mouth. When she eased off and swallowed, Paul decreased his intensity, returning to the light, quick rhythm of both floggers at once.
David pulled her against him, holding her cheek against his belly and stroking her hair. Catching Paul's eye, he nodded and Paul stopped spanking. "Kiss Rigger's floggers to thank him," he said.
She eased back and crawled to Paul, pressing her lips to each of his floggers and the back of one of his hands.
Paul smiled. "She's a good pet, isn't she?"
"As good as they come," David said, gripping one of the knots at her back to lift her to her feet. The thought of Paul and Portia accidentally or purposely meeting again at a Chicago BDSM party brought up a fierce flame of possessiveness.
But he had absolutely no claim to her. By Castle rules, he shouldn't even know her real name.
#
David led Portia down to the Buffet for lunch. She ought to be embarrassed by her state of undress, except the ropes gave her the illusion of clothing. Paul had allowed her to keep them until later, and she had to say she enjoyed the sensation of being bound, the rough rope rubbing her skin, making her feel even more like a slave.
David fed her at his feet again, an act that was quickly becoming her favorite thing. She imagined going to the fine restaurants in Chicago and kneeling at his feet, savoring the incredible delicacies they served there under his watchful gaze.
But that was stupid. There would be no seeing David Marone in Chicago. She didn't even know the man other than how well he performed as a Dom. The thought of their time together ending the next morning gave her a panicky sensation. She wasn't ready. Not that she hadn't had her dreams all fulfilled, but it still didn't seem like enough. She wanted to suck everything she could out of this experience.
She licked his hand.
"You may speak, pet," he said. The coldness had left his Dom persona. All she saw now was amused indulgence.
"Master... can we... would you consider…" she hesitated, feeling stupid.
He rubbed her ear between two fingers. "What, pet?"
"You probably don't want to work in the kitchen again, since it's your only time off?"
He smiled. "You want to cook again?"
She nodded. She wanted it with her whole being. After just the few brief hours the day before, cooking had become her new obsession. All the love of the culinary arts she'd buried inside her had bloomed anew. She wanted to learn more from David while she had this tiny window of opportunity.
"All right, little slave," he said, handing her their room key. "Go upstairs, find a new costume to wear and make sure you have appropriate footwear. I'll go talk to the Warden to see if she'll let us in her kitchen again. Meet me at the Master's Table."
She sprang to her feet like a giddy child. "Tha—" she stopped herself from speaking and kissed his hands instead.
He chuckled.
Portia dashed up to Wardrobe, where Melony, the Goth-looking assistant from the first night, helped her unwind the rope and put her in another pair of little latex shorts with a black mesh stocking top, the kind that still showed everything, but offered the semblance of coverage. A giant collar fit around her neck and they found a pair of knee-high boots without any heel. She dropped her old clothes and the rope off in their room, then skipped down to The Master's Table.
She saw no sign of David in the darkened dining room, so she pushed open the door to the kitchen, grabbing a hat and apron from the linen shelf.
"Come on in, pet," David said from where he stood leaning against the counter, talking to Aiden. "Connie gave her permission, but only because several of the Castle owners ate dinner here last night and enjoyed your meal."
She grew warm with excitement.
He grabbed her leash and pulled her against his body for a kiss.
Oh boy. This man was getting hard to resist. Do not fall in love, she told herself fiercely. It would only end in heartache. Except she already knew the pain would be inevitable. She felt it niggling deep in her stomach—the anxiety about the holiday coming to an end. How could she possibly go back unchanged?
David took her shoulders and turned her around, propelling her to the walk-in. "What are we making today?" he asked.
She whirled to look at him and pointed at him.
"No, my dear," he said, understanding her meaning. "It's not my turn. This was your request. You're making dinner."
A trace of the paralyzing anxiety from the day before returned, but she pushed it back.
He wouldn't let me fail.
She searched through the boxes of meat, eventually holding up a frozen package of scallops.
"Where are they from?" David asked, holding out his hands and indicating she should toss the package to him. Her throw was off, but he caught it anyway and read the label. "Gulf of Mexico. No," he said, vetoing her choice without an explanation.
She didn't argue. She trusted his opinion. She dropped the package when he threw it back and had to chase it across the floor.
She found a box of grass-fed beef steaks. Portia made an excited noise and tossed him one.
"Yes," he said. "Good choice. Now,
how do you want to prepare them? You may speak."
"Is it too obvious to serve it with another demi-glace?"
"No. What kind?"
She considered. "Rosemary and port wine?"
He gave her a slow grin. "Sounds like a winner to me. What will you serve with it?"
She went to the fresh produce area and looked around. "There's fresh asparagus. And we could do twice-baked potatoes. You know, just go with the simple steak and potatoes kind of thing."
David picked up the box of steaks and stacked the box of potatoes on top.
"Is that too boring?" she asked.
"Nothing is too boring. It's all in the preparation and styling, my dear."
She smiled, her heart doing a double-beat at his light endearment. She wished yet again that she worked for him. Or with him. Or served as his full-time house pet.
They worked side by side, with David teaching her how to tenderize grass-fed beef and supervising her glace. Like the day before, he became downright cheerful in the kitchen, moving with efficient ease, masterfully juggling several tasks at once while delivering playful swats any time she faced away from him.
The twice-baked potatoes came out perfectly, but she almost had a meltdown trying to season the asparagus. She tried a lemon butter, a tarragon white wine sauce, and even tried tossing them with chopped cherry tomatoes. Nothing tasted right. She started to go into her panic mode when David wrapped one arm around her from behind, pinning her elbows to her sides as his other hand caressed her still-sore bottom.
"If I were you, I would take a deep breath. You're headed toward another spanking, and I'm not sure this little butt can take much more today."
She didn't move, still tense under his touch.
His hand stroked lower, sliding between her cheeks to pet her sex. "Sometimes butter and salt is all you need," he murmured in her ear. "Like your green beans last night. They were perfect."
"Are you sure?"
He nibbled on her ear. "Try it and see what you think."
Of course he was right. She prepared the asparagus as he suggested and they tasted divine, mainly because he had steamed them to perfection. David made their display plate, stacking the asparagus spears at jaunty angles beside the potato and steak.
"Well, Ms. Sands? Are you satisfied?"
"Are you?" she asked, a wave of uncertainty overtaking her.
"Yes," he said simply.
She relaxed, then stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."
"What for?"
"Giving me cooking back."
"Maybe now you'll have a little more sympathy for the chefs you tear apart in your reviews," he said with a wink.
"Probably," she said, but thinking of returning to her life as a food critic made something tighten in her gut. All the satisfaction she derived from bestowing her opinions on the world had leaked away. In fact, the idea of critiquing anyone's food seemed entirely distasteful.
Oh God, what's happened to me here? She didn't even know who she was anymore.
Chapter Eight
David pointed to his feet and snapped his fingers. Portia knelt beside his chair in the Rainbow Room. They had spent a magnificent night together. He had dressed her in the mesh top and nothing on bottom but the little tail, and the two of them had spent most of the evening in the dungeon, watching other couples and experimenting with wax play. They'd run into Paul, and David had had her suck Paul's cock while he'd fucked her from behind.
But this morning, a tight tension swirled between them. The line between Portia's brows had returned, and David hadn't felt much like playing, even though it might relax them both.
The issue of how this vacation would end hung between them like a dark cloud.
He took out his phone and called his travel agent. "Yes, I need you to add another passenger to my itinerary today."
"Today?" his travel agent squeaked. "Let me see if anything's available." He heard the clicking of a keyboard and waited.
"Okay, there is actually a ticket available, but there's no way I can get you seated together."
"That's fine. I can handle that part," he said.
"It's one thousand, two hundred and forty-nine dollars with tax."
"Book it. I'll take it." He'd already spent almost eight thousand on this weekend; what was another thousand to make it end right?
"Passenger name?"
"Portia Sands."
Portia's face jerked up with a searching expression.
"Birth date?"
"What's your birth date?"
She opened and closed her mouth.
He raised his eyebrows.
She cleared her throat and gave him the numbers.
"Charge it to your usual card?" his agent asked.
"Yes, please."
"All right, you are all set, do you want your confirmation number?"
"Text it to me," he said, and ended the call.
Portia stared up at him with a questioning look.
David stroked her cheek. "You're flying back with me," he said. His heart picked up speed as he waited to see her reaction.
She frowned, but it looked more like confusion than disagreement.
"I'm your Master, it's my job to make sure you make it home safely," he said, although they both knew that wasn't the deal. He drew a breath and tried for the truth. "Listen, Portia... we live in the same city and I want to see you again. I know I'm an arrogant asshole, but I'm not always a jerk. I have a sweet side too."
She snorted.
"What? You have permission to speak."
"Nothing."
"Why did you laugh? Do you think it's not true? I know I haven't shown it much, but this holiday we were under unusual circumstances. And we had an unusual relationship going into the thing. If you'd let me see you back home, it would be different. I would be a gentleman... sometimes, at least," he said with a wicked grin.
"I don't think you're always a jerk. But I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to see each other again. I mean, you don't even know me. You don't know who I am. I barely spoke the entire time we were together. We've hardly had one normal conversation."
He lifted her chin, peering into her eyes. "You're right. We haven't talked. But that doesn't mean I don't know you. Did I ever get anything wrong?"
Her eyes slid away.
He tapped her cheek to drag them back. "Did I?"
"No," she admitted in little more than a whisper.
"Sometimes words keep people from knowing each other. Sometimes words build defenses and prevent intimacy. Sometimes words hurt worse than whippings. Right?" He raised an eyebrow, reminding her of her review.
She dropped her gaze.
He leaned in close, nibbling at her ear, sucking the lobe, nipping at the shell. "Will you let me see you again? I think we really have something here, and I'd like to build on it. Please?"
"I don't know," she said, looking distressed. "Maybe we shouldn't ruin our memories of this holiday..."
"What?" he said with an 'are you on crack?' kind of look.
"I just mean... the Castle is a special place. And home is, well, different. We'd probably find out we still hate each other, and then our memories of our magical New Year's Eve will be ruined."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he said.
"So, how do you see this working?" she asked, coming to stand without permission. She'd clearly dropped out of her submissive role as they discussed real life scenarios. "I mean, I'm not just going to be your pet every time you snap your fingers," she went on, folding her arms across her chest.
"Yeah, you are," he challenged.
She blew out her breath indignantly. "Yep, there's the signature arrogance."
He gave a half-shrug. "Well, pet play is negotiable, but I know it's not a hard limit for you. The only part you didn't like was the cage. The rest of it flipped your switch."
She flushed, probably realizing they had begun to negotiate a scene before she'd even consented to seeing him
again.
"David... I can't."
His heart thundered in his chest. He wasn't giving up so easily, though. He pulled her onto his lap. "What is it?" He picked up her left hand and examined her ring finger, rubbing his thumb over it and holding it up to the light, inspecting it for a tan line. "Are you still married?"
She gave a choked laugh. "No. I really am divorced."
"Well, what is it? Do you have a boyfriend?"
She paused too long before drawing in a shaky breath. "Yes."
"You're lying."
She rolled her eyes and threw her head back to rest on his shoulder.
"Why can't you be with me? What would it take? All I'm asking for is a chance to get to know you better. A date. That's all," David said.
"You're just... too much man to handle," she said.
"What does that mean? You don't do the handling, I do. That's the beauty of us. Admit it—we were a perfect fit."
She blinked back tears and nodded.
"Portia, if I could, I would buy you for every holiday. For every weekend. I think maybe for life." He bit her neck. "I want you, Portia. I want you in my house. I want you in my bed. I want to own you like I owned you this holiday. What will it take?"
She curled into him and put her arms over his shoulders, tucking her face into his neck. Taking it as a sign of concession, he stood, picking her up and carrying her back to their room. He laid her on the bed and made love to her, not as a form of domination, but as an expression of passion and tenderness.
Epilogue
Three months later…
Portia entered David's house with her key and hung up her coat. As usual, he'd left things thoughtfully arranged. A bottle of 1994 Merlot stood on the black granite countertop between the kitchen and living room, with a bottle opener and two wine glasses. A note lay beside it.
Darling Pet—
Please pour the wine to let it breathe. I want to find you bent over the side of my bed, waiting, naked except for your shoes.
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 36