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And, in the ensuing years, he’d found he could get his needs met just fine with casual BDSM play. Life, especially life while on active duty, was messy enough. Love, if there was such a thing, was for “someday.”
A glance at his watch told him it was a little after midnight. Rolling away from Ellen, he got quietly to his feet. He reached for the duvet, which had puddled at the end of the bed, and pulled it up to cover her.
Turning from her, he padded into the bathroom. He peed and then ran the water in the sink. After brushing his teeth, he splashed water over his head and face. Grabbing one of the hand towels from the nearby rack, he rubbed his hair and dried his face.
Wide awake now, he moved quietly past the sleeping girl and into the living room. The fire was mostly out in the grate. He added some kindling and lit it with the long utility lighter that sat atop the mantle. Once the kindling was blazing, he arranged three small logs in a teepee fashion over the flame.
Heading to the kitchen, he retrieved the bottle of wine, still half full, and poured himself a glass.
He returned to the living room and settled himself on the sofa by the fire. It was burning nicely, the gentle crackling and occasional pop nothing like gunfire. He reached reflexively for his laptop, thinking to check his work email. He let his hand fall away.
Everything was coming together for the Middle East project and things on the home front were under control. Jake, his number two man, could handle things until his return. This was the first time Damon had taken an actual vacation since starting the business two years ago.
He sipped his wine as he stared into the fire. He had so many delicious, diabolical things planned for the naked slave girl sleeping in his bed. Tomorrow he’d test the limits of her sexual stamina. Perhaps the next day they’d focus on intensive bondage and sensory deprivation. Dozens of ideas teemed in his head, each darker and more intense than the last. Would a week even be enough for all he had in mind?
Wineglass still in hand, Damon got to his feet and moved toward the bedroom. He stopped just inside the door. Ellen hadn’t moved.
He stood watching her for a while. She looked so peaceful and innocent in sleep, her cuffed hands tucked under her cheek, her lips curved in the hint of a smile. He looked forward to taking her to the edge of what she could handle, and a little beyond. He would break her down, stripping away every last vestige of self will and control. For their brief time together, he would claim her, body and soul.
“Get your rest, little girl,” he whispered. “You’re going to need it.”
≈
Ellen opened her eyes. It took her a moment to figure out where she was. The bedroom was bathed in soft light, the sky beyond the window pearly gray streaked with pink. Damon lay beside her. He was turned away from her, the covers pushed down to his waist. He was snoring softly.
His back was broad and muscular, tapering toward a narrow waist. But as her eyes adjusted to the predawn light, her breath caught in her throat. His back was covered in a crisscross of scars, jagged and irregular. Some of them were raised, forming rough ridges on the otherwise smooth surface of his skin.
A rush of sympathy and sorrow moved through her. While the silvery, thin scar on his cheek lent him a mysterious, sexy air, these scars told a terrible story of pain and suffering.
Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, becoming aware as she did so of her cuffed wrists. But something stayed her hand. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to wake him. There was something intensely intimate about seeing a person so vulnerable, so wounded. It seemed a violation, somehow, to touch those awful scars without his knowledge or consent.
She was wide awake now, having slept like a log for who knew how many hours. Moving carefully so as not to disturb Master Damon, she slipped from the bed and moved toward the bathroom. Her first stop was the toilet. As she peed, she stared down at her bound wrists. With a little maneuvering, she could open the clips that held the cuffs closed by herself. But even as the thought occurred to her, she rejected it.
If Master Damon had wanted her wrists free, he would have removed the cuffs himself. If he’d been awake, she could have asked for permission to free herself. But as it was, she would just have to make do the best she could. Reaching for the toilet paper, she tore off enough to wipe herself.
Not wanting to wake him, she didn’t flush. Moving toward the sink, she splashed water on her face and patted it dry. Brushing her teeth was more of a challenge but she got it done, more or less.
Tiptoeing past her sleeping Master, Ellen made her way to the kitchen. A drip coffee maker sat on the counter. She found a fresh bag of ground coffee in a cabinet. Again, it was awkward but not impossible to manage with her wrists cuffed together. Once the coffee was brewing, she went out into the living area.
The fire had died and the space was a little chilly, especially given her nude state. Though she’d only made a fire a few times in her life, she managed to get it going after a while.
Returning to the kitchen, she poured herself a mug of coffee, adding a splash of heavy cream she found in the fridge. She took a test sip and sighed with genuine pleasure. Nothing like that first cup in the morning.
Back in the living room, she settled on the couch in front of the fire, which was now crackling merrily in the hearth. She stared, mesmerized by the flames as she sipped her coffee. A shiver of nervous anticipation moved through her at the thought of the day ahead.
While she enjoyed sex as much as the next girl, her own orgasms had never been her primary focus. Rather, she derived her deepest pleasure from serving her Master. But Master Damon’s words came back to her now as if he were sitting beside her.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be coming on command, no matter by whose hand, no matter where we are or what the circumstances.”
Ellen jumped up from the couch, suddenly too nervous to sit still. She would distract herself by checking her phone, which she hadn’t even thought about since yesterday morning.
She took her empty mug to the kitchen and then tiptoed into the bedroom. Master Damon was lying on his back now, his arms at his sides. His dark hair flopped appealingly over his forehead, covering one eye. His lips were parted, his breathing deep and even. She stood a moment admiring the curve of his biceps and the dark, curling chest hair along his sternum, unmarred by any scars that she could see. The image of his back was still fresh in her mind.
What happened to you, you poor darling?
Refocusing on her mission, she reached into the side pocket of her duffel and fished out her phone, along with its charger. She made a mental note to unpack and put away their things later.
Returning to the living room, she unlocked her phone. It was down to fifty-three percent. She made a mental note to charge it, but there was enough juice for now. There were three unread messages, one from her friend Kayla back in Charlotte, one from Jaime and one from an unknown number.
