She remembered those Internet sites she"d visited, with Doms who came down on any show of resistance or disagreement like a snarling tantrum, making her wonder if that was what most submissives craved. Or oddly, if they were truly Doms or just pretending, because somehow it felt forced, even on their side.
Even more oddly, it had made her think of a section of one of her favorite childhood books, Black Beauty. How some humans thought, to make a horse do their bidding, they had to jerk his mouth, dig their heels into his sides so hard. In reality, if the horse was trained correctly, he would respond to the lightest guidance of the leg and rein without question, because he wanted to serve his Master, was eager to do so.
She placed the soap in his hand.
Curving his other hand under her hair, he turned her toward the wall. “Lean forward and take hold of the safety bar. Spread your feet out shoulder width, and lift your ass toward me.”
The quivering was back in full force, but she managed to obey. She was partially under the spray, but she still felt the pressure of his fingers, sliding over her shoulder blades, gathering up her hair and twisting it so it fell over her right shoulder. Then he smoothed his palm down the curve of her back. As he did, he picked up the long-handled scrubbing brush she kept in the shower for cleaning it once a week.
“Eyes forward, Rachel.”
She obeyed, imagining all sorts of things, not so sure now, but then—
Thwack!
She yelped as the flat of that brush hit her with precision at the most generous portion of her right buttock. It stung, but it didn"t overwhelm her with pain. Instead, something rocketed through her, head to toes, making the latter dig into the wet tile.
“That"s a reminder,” he said, his voice enhanced by the water"s rush. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Y-yes.” Why couldn"t she say anything to him without stammering?
“Be still now. Feel.”
From the change in water flow, she knew he"d directed the spigot away from them.
In the blurry reflection on the glossy tile, she knew he was lathering his hands, setting the soap aside. Then he put his hands on her waist, lingering there. The gesture made her feel feminine, an hourglass cinched in the middle by those long, elegant fingers and large palms. As he moved downward, the soap made his passage slippery, heated. He braced one of those palms on her left buttock as the other slid between her spread legs.
She jumped, she couldn"t help it. Cursing herself, she went rigid, trying to hold the posture, fighting the panic that leaped into her throat at such an unwelcome reaction.
“I-I"m sorry.”
“Rachel.” He continued his movements, his knuckles brushing the delicate crease between labia and thigh, and then his palm sealed itself over her pussy, his fingers settling with possessive skill on either side of her clit, applying the lightest of pressure.
A convulsion—no other word for it—vibrated from the soles of her feet, all the way to her stiffly held neck. “Oh…” The word was a strangled syllable, echoing in the enclosed space. “Oh God…”
It wasn"t a climax of course, but something as intense. A need that held her prisoner in its grip.
“Rachel.” He repeated himself, patient, but there was a thickness to his voice that told her he wasn"t unaffected by her reaction.
“Y-yes.” Thank heavens he"d known her for a while, or he really would think she had a stutter.
“Don"t apologize for anything again, unless I demand an apology from you. The fact a man has not touched and pleasured you in such a long time that it"s strange to you,” his palm moved, an easy movement that sent his soapy fingers gliding over the petals of her sex, and then an intimate dip inside, rubbing, cleaning, “is nothing to apologize for. That"s for damn sure.”
The last four words were spoken with visceral male satisfaction. It helped, because she couldn"t stop making those gasps and whimpers as he stroked and probed, cleaning her. It felt…maybe, like she was slippery, but that could be the soap. When he removed his touch from that area, he kept his palm curved over her mound as an anchor point as he used the other hand to clean between her buttocks. It kept fountains of glittering sensation shooting up into her body.
She"d thought a lot about anal play, had explored herself there and been startled by how erogenous a zone the rim area was, but to have it actually massaged by a male hand, her bottom still smarting from the strike with the brush, was stunningly different.
With his other hand still stimulating her pussy, it was automatic to moan and lift her ass even higher to his touch, taking herself to her toes, hands clutching the safety bar.
“None of that now.” He pressed on her lower back, putting her flat on her feet again. “You stay in the position I"ve put you. No begging for more. That"s for me to say.”
He cleaned her, then took the shower head off its mount and rinsed her as thoroughly, passing his fingers more intimately over her than her husband had during all their years together. Throughout it all she stayed still, though she quaked and shivered, and made those cries. She thought she sounded like a lost lamb, those tiny bleats of emotions, and she pressed her forehead to the wall, familiar despair sweeping back in with the thought. She wanted the next step, wanted to be clean and see what would happen, but she was afraid of it too.
Maybe he"d cosset her, tuck her back into bed, and that would be the end of it for now. She"d be left feeling as loose and wild as she had when he left her studio that day.
She couldn"t bear that. He was a man, he was naked and aroused. Surely, if nothing else, he would simply fuck her while she was still slippery with soap. Then it wouldn"t matter what she could or couldn"t do. She could hold onto the feeling of having him deep in her body. Of being joined, however briefly, to another soul. She could feed herself on that for a long, long time.
How many times had she explained to Cole that, even without the orgasm or natural lubrication, she needed that connection, the feeling of being desired, needed, filled? Jon had already made her feel that in spades, without even touching her, really.
She could pay him back by giving him what he wanted, and what she needed.
She wouldn"t leave it to chance. If she persuaded him to do it now, up against the shower wall, he might not notice whatever deficiencies she had in the response department. That spiked ball in her lower belly stabbed her with desperation, told her she had to clutch it now, before the chance slid away like a slippery fish.
Spinning around, she intended to move into him, be blatant about what she was offering. But when she lunged at him, he caught her by the waist. In one astonishingly deft move, he"d flipped her around so her back was against his front. He held her immobilized as he braced his body against the shower wall.
“Rachel, sshh. Easy. No.” When she struggled, he made it clear how easily he overpowered her. “Settle now. Stop.”
She bit her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes shut. One hand had landed on his thigh, her nails digging in, the other clawing his forearm. “Let me go. I want you to do this. I need you to go ahead and do this now.”
“No you don"t. That"s the very last thing you need. All right, that"s enough.”
When she hesitated at the sharpened tone, startled, he shifted, taking her arm from his thigh. She gasped as he pushed open the shower door, pulled her out and in the same smooth movement, bent and hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman"s half-carry. His hand landed on her bottom, holding her there, her wrist firmly in his other grip. “You aren"t ready to let me do anything for you, Rachel. You"re still too wrapped up in your head.”
“No…” She gasped it. If he left her now, just left her here, she couldn"t bear it. “I"m sorry, I didn"t mean—”
“Be quiet. You need a Master with a strong hand, Rachel. One who"s not going to let you do anything. You"ll do as I command and that"s the end of it.”
Chapter Five
She was still whirling over the meaning of that when he took her through her bedroom in a few determined strides. How a man could be bare-assed naked and appear so in control, like a warrior striding across his camp, she didn"t know, but he accomplished it. She"d been vaguely aware he"d been carrying a briefcase when he shouldered into her apartment. Now he took her to her foyer and barely paused in stride as he picked it up. As he pivoted, she noticed he was careful to protect her head and shoulders from the tall lamp next to her end table in the sitting room before he headed back to her bedroom.
“This can"t work,” she said, even more panicked. “Please, Jon…” He slid her off his shoulder, pushing her to a sitting position on the bed. Bracing a long arm on either side of her, he clamped his hands over her wrists, keeping her palms flat on the mattress. Then he put his mouth on hers, in such a strong and penetrating kiss that her head was pushed backward and the muscles of her arms flexed against his hold, trying to stay upright. What little rational thought she had scattered beneath that demand, her whole body shifting focus to the heat of his mouth, the tangle of his tongue with hers, the moisture between their mouths. When he lifted his head, she felt dazed, staring into his eyes.
“Why won"t it work, Rachel?”
“I…I told you. I don"t…I can"t…”
“You can"t have an orgasm. And it"s hard for you to get wet.” She nodded, telling herself she wouldn"t humiliate herself with more tears. And she couldn"t lie, couldn"t pretend it was early menopause. Despite being naked and dripping from the shower, as well as completely out of her element, she had to strive for maturity here, to face reality. Maybe he could get her wet between her legs, but there was that hard knot low in her stomach that would remain there, a knot that had been weathered by so much disappointment and so many salty tears there was nothing that could untie it anymore. And that knot stood in the way of any type of release.
“All right then. Fair enough. You"ve told me, now we"ll do things my way.”
