“Keep your eyes down, Rachel. You"ll meet my gaze when I give you permission.
You understand?” The implacable tone shut that wheel down, made her knees weak.
He leaned in, until his lips were at her temple, trailing down her skin in a highly distracting way until he reached her ear. “Tell me you understand.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she realized she"d latched onto his shirt at the waist, digging her fingers into the cloth as an anchor. A hard shudder ran through her body.
“Ssshh, girl. At the end of the third class I took with you, you told me you saw an old soul in my eyes. We talked about how we both believe in reincarnation, the idea that the physical body isn"t the sum total of a human being. You remember?” She nodded. He tightened his grip. “Well, when I look in your eyes, I see a young soul, one who had her wings clipped too soon. She doesn"t realize they"ve grown back, that she can spread them out and fly, finally realize the potential that"s been there all along.”
“Jon—”
Shifting, he closed his hand over one of hers at his waist. When he detached her fingers, he gave them a quick squeeze and then turned, taking her across the room to the drafting table, the stool there. He slid a hip onto it, then perused her with that lingering, appraising look. “Take off the shoes.”
He"d tolerate no disobedience, no discussion. She didn"t know what that would mean if she resisted, but her pulse thudded hard against her throat. Her shoes. If that was all he was asking, she could do that, right? And truth, they were pinching her feet.
As she slid out of them, giving up the two-inch height they"d offered, she immediately realized why slaves were made to go barefoot. There was a distinct difference in status, looking down at her feet clad only in thin stockings, positioned between his polished dress shoes. Her toes curled into the deep carpet.
“Now the hair. Take it down and hand me the pins.”
He"d told her to leave her hair down in the note. He"d told her a lot of other things in that note as well. Would she strip down here if he ordered her to do so, no matter who might come in? She realized then that Lucas hadn"t closed the door fully. It was pulled to the doorjamb, a small sliver of hallway visible. She needed to—
“Do as I tell you, Rachel. Trust your Master to take care of you.” It made her stomach jump. Coincidence, or had he read her thoughts that clearly?
No matter what it was, she"d already raised her arms, and was pulling out the pins, letting down the uneven wisps in front that fell like feathers against her face, caressing her cheeks and lips. Then, finally, the clip and ribbon that held the bun, the twisted tail falling against her neck in a serpentine curve that teased the modest open neckline of the blouse.
“Don"t straighten it. Hand me everything.”
She extended her hand, but he didn"t take them, not right away. He gripped her wrist, drew her between his spread thighs. Then he plucked the hair fasteners from her, set them aside.
“Put your hands on my knees and leave them there.” That at least was easy enough. She relished even that limited touch, though she knew she shouldn"t. She shouldn"t be doing any of this. She felt the muscle layers that ran from his thigh into the kneecap area, a hint of the bone beneath. She remembered his execution of Sleeping Thunderbolt once again, the strain of those thigh muscles, the flex of the calves. The arch of his beautiful body. Her gaze drifted. The way his thin cotton trousers had molded his groin area, drawing her eyes there…
Slacks of course were cut loosely, but with his thighs spread, she could discern the curve of testicles and more than a hint of what else was there, giving her the gratifying torment of knowing he was also aroused.
“Rachel, did I give you permission to look at my cock?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze to her feet quickly.
“Good girl.”
When he cupped both strong palms around her throat, a moan caught there, beneath his touch. She"d never had such a startlingly intense reaction to such a simple contact, but he"d recognized it for what it was last night. You’ve wanted a collar for a long time… Untwisting the tail of her hair, he spread it over her shoulders. Then he moved up to her face, burying his fingers into the thick strands there, combing it all out with his fingers in slow, firm strokes that had her eyes closing, her body swaying toward him.
His touch dropped to her jaw next, cradling it, his thumbs sweeping along her throat again to send those ripples of reaction across her body, like a sudden breeze flitting over still water. When he pushed the jacket off her shoulders, she didn"t resist, might have even shrugged to help. It dropped to the floor behind her. Her heart thudded harder when he flicked open two additional buttons of her blouse, revealing her bra. It wasn"t overly sexy, a serviceable undergarment with a touch of pretty lace at the cups and enough padding that her nipples wouldn"t disrupt the way the shirt smoothed over her bosom. His arm slid around her waist, his fingers plucking the shirt free of her belted slacks.
The pressure of his hold brought her in another step, her hips pressed against the inside of his thighs. She wasn"t breathing. He"d touched her last night, but denied her the ability to touch him all that much, except for lying on his chest at the end. Now her body burned with the need to touch and taste, but he hadn"t given her permission. She embraced this state of longing, satisfaction held out of reach by his will. It was painful, pleasurable—a rhythmic seesaw between both, almost like the slow drag of a tongue along the clitoris, from the base to the ultrasensitive top, intensity building and receding, building and receding.
That was entirely the wrong kind of thought to be having right now, because her breath had caught in her throat, fingers twitching, thighs tensing. Everywhere he was touching her was coming alive, taking away her ability to think.
Reaching up under the shirt, he slid along her spine, making her arch into him.
When he breathed against her jaw, it was flavored with a satisfied, very male half-chuckle. With no hesitation, he unclipped the bra so it loosened beneath the blouse.
“Unbutton your cuffs and take it off through the sleeves. Leave the shirt on.” He left his hands resting low on her hips as she did it, but leaned against the stool"s backrest, watching the arch and stretch of her body as she complied. Opening the cuffs, she slid one strap down over her wrist, then the other, then pulled the whole thing through. He took it from her hand, lifted it to inhale the inside of one soft cup.
Watching him do it made her breasts ache for the mere stroke of his breath. His gaze dropped to them and another of those tiny moans caught in her throat at the flare of desire in his eyes. He didn"t seem to mind her watching him now, but when his gaze shifted back to her face, she lowered her lashes on instinct.
“I like seeing a woman"s nipples through a thin blouse. Particularly yours. Kneel for me, Rachel.”
She remembered what he"d said about the lipstick, about how he wanted it marking his cock when she sucked him off. Her pussy was already wet, she could feel it, but now those internal muscles clenched, wanting him, wanting to service him that way.
She should have learned from last night he wasn"t predictable. Instead, once she was on her knees, he began to stroke her hair again, applying pressure so that she slid to one hip on the Berber carpet. Now leaning against the outside of his left leg, she dropped her head to his thigh as he petted her, slid his knuckles along her cheek, played his fingers through her hair, fondled and massaged.
“The drawing I"m working on has to be done in the next hour. You"ll stay right where you are until I"m done. No matter who comes in, or what occurs, you stay where you are. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but she got it out, and thankfully, he didn"t ask her to repeat herself.
“If the position gets uncomfortable, you tell me, and I"ll give you permission to shift. Until then, all you have to do is kneel at your Master"s feet, Rachel. That"s the only responsibility you have.”
She couldn"t bring herself to call him that, but every time he did, her reaction to it was obvious, in the way her pussy clenched on too much empty space and her skin tingled, from the tips of her breasts to the sensitive pulse points of her wrists. It was like the mere word cast a net over her, the rope of it caressing her everywhere, holding her to him.
The surface part of her mind was resisting, screaming that she couldn"t possibly do this, that she knew this wasn"t going to work, that she"d come here to bring an end to it and she was impossibly weak. But there was another part of her, quieter yet somehow stronger, that made her close her eyes and press her cheek into his thigh, enough that her lips could graze the stretch of his slacks over it. His hand continued to stroke her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. When she did that, the grip tightened briefly, but he didn"t stop her from doing it.
She heard the scratch of his pencil, felt the minute shifts of his body and knew he"d begun to work on the drawing. She couldn"t help stealing glances at him, at once amazed and incredibly aroused by how focused he was on what he was doing, the set of his mouth, the quick shifts of his eyes over the drawing elements. Occasionally, he rumbled something, a calculation or other thought he was voicing aloud to himself, and he might erase or move to another part of the paper.
She made a discovery of her own, that her body could be in an astounding state of lassitude and intense awareness simultaneously. Her body literally throbbed, blood pounding against pulse points, everything in her so physically needy that it was like running out of oxygen. But she was also so incredibly still under his touch, content to stay this way until the end of time if needed. Because it pleased him.
Kneel at your Master’s feet. The only responsibility you have.
She knew humans had an incredible ability to rationalize bad decisions. If it had been an athletic event, she would have won a medal for sheer quantity long ago.
However, so what if she chose to savor this one moment of her life? If she had to turn her back on it in the next few moments—
