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Ellen was not the needy or clingy type. She never had been. In both her vanilla and BDSM relationships, she had invariably been the one to leave. There had never been drama. She had just basically lost interest.
It galled her to realize how very much she was still interested in Damon Miller.
No. Not Damon Miller. What did she really know of the man?
It was Master Damon who had captivated her.
The week had flown by, filled with 24/7 BDSM intensity that had been even more encompassing than her time at The Enclave. Master Damon had pressed her boundaries, both masochistically and submissively. He had helped her connect with the dirty girl part of her nature in a way no one else had been able to. She felt more complete somehow from the experience, as if he’d set something free she hadn’t known was locked inside her.
She rolled toward him now, taking this chance to really study his face. She loved the strong angle of his jaw and the curve of his cheekbones. He had a noble nose, long and straight, enhancing the symmetry of his features. His mouth was generous, the lips pouting slightly in sleep, as if asking for a kiss. His dark lashes were thick and long. His black hair glinted in the moonlight, falling over his forehead and half obscuring one eye.
Holding her breath, she reached out with her cuffed hands and lightly traced the line of his scar. His eyelids fluttered but he was otherwise still. Emboldened, she drew her finger along his strong jawline, enjoying the feel of his masculine stubble.
Scooting closer, she brought her face to his. She wanted to feel those soft lips again, to gently part them with her tongue, to take his face in her hands. Heart tapping, she pressed her mouth lightly against his.
All at once, he reared back, eyes flying open, terror in his expression. “What the fuck,” he shouted as he bolted upright, his hands clenching into fists. His eyes were wild as he stared around the room, no indication he was even aware of her presence.
“Damon,” she cried, shocked and frightened by the unexpected outburst. “Master Damon,” she tried again. She wanted to touch him but she didn’t quite dare. “It’s only me, Ellen. You’re here with me. It’s okay. Please. Calm down. You’re safe here.”
The panic drained from his features as he focused on her face. “Fuck,” he breathed, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what startled me. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“No, it’s okay,” she hastened to reassure him. I’m the one who startled you by trying to steal a kiss. “I’m fine,” she said, daring to lay a hand on his arm. “I was already awake. Can I get you some water or something?”
He shook his head, running his hands through his hair until it stood on end, adorably tousled. “No. No, I’m good.” Remorse creased his features. “I’m just sorry I put you through that.” He lay back down and held out his arms to her.
She curled into his embrace and rested her cheek on his chest. His heart was still beating overly fast. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him he didn’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed because he had nightmares.
But she sensed her words would not be welcome. For all the intensity they’d shared over the past week, in many ways he remained as aloof and guarded as he’d been from the start. She couldn’t comfort a man who wouldn’t let her in.
She bit back a sigh. At least he hadn’t shut her out completely. His arms were strong and comforting around her. She closed her eyes. Eventually, she slept.
Sunlight was streaming through the window when she next opened her eyes. The mattress beside her was empty. Rolling from the bed, she went into the bathroom. Hands still cuffed, she peed and washed up.
When she entered the living room, there was a new fire in the grate and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. But Master Damon was nowhere to be seen.
“Sir?” she called out, peeking into the playroom. He wasn’t there either. Was the bastard so eager to leave that he’d already made his escape?
Stop it, she ordered herself. Don’t ruin what’s left of your time together by being surly.
Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a snow shovel hitting asphalt. A glance toward the front door showed her that Master Damon’s jacket and boots were missing. Moving toward the door, she opened it a crack, letting in a blast of chilly air.
Keeping her body shielded as best she could, she stuck out her head. He had already cleared a path from the door. He had mostly cleared the driveway as well, though his car was still covered in snow.
He looked up, breaking into a lopsided smile when he saw her. “Morning, sleepy head,” he called out, lifting the shovel in a wave. “That was some snowfall last night, at least eight inches. I’m just digging us out.”
Ellen’s spirits suddenly lifted. They were up in the mountains, snowed in. Who knew how long it would be until the roads were passable?
“I’ve been in touch with Anthony this morning,” he continued. “He says the snowplows are already out clearing the roads. They should be down this way within the hour.”
So much for wishful thinking.
“I’ll be done in a few,” he went on. “All this shoveling has made me hungry. If you could get breakfast going, that would be great. You can remove the cuffs.”
She felt a moment’s petulance. Removing her cuffs was his job. It was part of their morning ritual.
But this was their last morning. The rituals were over.
“Of course, Sir,” she replied, forcing a bright tone.
