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Mason lifted a hand, wrapping it around her throat but not squeezing. “First, I need to teach you what I’ll expect of you.” He moved toward her, the sudden pressure against her windpipe pushing her backward with each step he took. When they reached the center of the room, he lifted her arms above her head, pulling the sweater off with a single swift tug.
Gaze darting to the glass walls surrounding her, she had to resist the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. When she glanced at Mason again, he watched her with the slightest downward tilt of his lips, the merest hint of a line between his dark brows.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, attempting to smile.
The line between his brows deepened. “That’s the one free lie you get to tell me. After this, you’ll be punished accordingly. Do you understand?”
Addison gulped, knowing she should be terrified of the cool fury in his eyes. But damn if that didn’t make her wet as the fucking ocean. “Yes.”
“Good. Now answer my question.”
“The windows,” she said, making a vague, sweeping motion toward the walls. “Won’t people be able to see us?”
The line disappeared, and he cocked his head to one side. “Is that a problem? You marked exhibitionism as a four on your application.”
Fairford Manor’s official application included a seven-page checklist of potential sexual and BDSM related acts. That was the part Mason instructed her to fill out on the way to his house, rating every item on that list from one to five. Some things, like sharing with other men, had gotten a one—in other words, something she had no interest in ever trying. Others received an enthusiastic five, such as spanking or face fucking.
A four meant Have tried and enjoyed, or am very interested in trying, or something along those lines.
The fact that he remembered her exact rating for a single category out of dozens only mildly surprised her.
“I did,” she agreed. “But this wasn’t what I had in mind. Anyone could be down on that road. I don’t want a minivan full of kids to look up here and get a whole new education, if you know what I mean.”
His lips pursed, but there was no annoyance in his eyes. In fact, they seemed to sparkle with amusement. “Understood,” he said after a few seconds. “Fortunately, you can’t see into the house during the day.”
“Too much light reflecting off the glass?” she said, thinking of the millions of windows and glass-sided skyscrapers in New York City.
“Indeed. Even at night, they’d need binoculars to see anything of interest from the road or the handful of buildings with line of sight to my house.” He settled his hands on her hips, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her leggings. “You’re safe here. I give you my word.”
She had to admit, it would be magical to fuck in this room—surrounded by the glass with the Green Mountains spread out around her, covered in a blanket of snow. Smiling, she said, “I trust you.”
With a satisfied nod, Mason whisked her pants down her legs and away. Folding her clothes with the swiftness and precision of a veteran retail worker, he placed them in a neat pile on the floor.
When at last she stood before him in nothing but her favorite lingerie set—matching panties and bra of black mesh, embroidered with black roses and thorny stems—he commanded, “Kneel.”
She descended less gracefully than she would’ve liked, doing her best to hide a wince when her knees hit the rigid loops of the wool rug. Without another word of instruction, he circled the ottoman and settled onto the sofa, moving the black bag to the floor at his feet.
One by one, he pulled items out of the duffel and laid them in front of her in a neat row. The last item stayed in his hand, mostly hidden from view until he once again stood in front of her.
A black collar, the leather an inch wide with beautiful greenish-blue stitching and a shining silver buckle and matching O-ring.
None of her past experiences prepared her for the reality of being collared for the first time. Addison lacked the words to explain the feeling that crashed through her body like a tidal wave.
All she knew was she wanted to feel it again, as often as she could.
“A collar is a very personal thing,” Mason said as his slender fingers undid the buckle. “Not with the guests at the Manor, perhaps. Everything that goes on there is fleeting. Transactional.”
Addison closed her eyes and gulped when the impossibly soft leather pressed against her throat.
“But this, what we’re doing here... I don’t want anything about this to be fleeting.” After fastening the buckle, he arranged her hair over her shoulders, running his fingers through the thick curls until they fell exactly as he wanted them. Then he got to work on the rest of her body, tilting her chin just so, pushing her shoulders back, spreading her legs a little wider. She let him manipulate her like a doll, keeping her eyelids clamped shut and focusing on every single touch—the glorious heat of skin on skin.
When he finally stepped back, she blinked open her eyes, watching him as he surveyed his work. “I chose this collar specifically for you,” he said, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone. “The stitching matches your eyes. No one has worn this collar before you, and no one will ever wear it after. It’s ours—a symbol of your willing submission to me, and it’ll never mean anything else.”
God, she wished she could read something, anything, in his expression. But he rarely showed any sort of emotion at all, except in his eyes, and she needed a lot more time before she had any chance of truly understanding what went on in those blue depths. “Do I please you?” she asked, needing to know the answer.
“Everything about you pleases me, Addison.” His voice was soft, little more than a whisper.
