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He’d tangled a hand in her hair earlier, and he didn’t release his hold now. He pulled to tilt her face up. “Don’t apologize for being hungry, my sweet slave. I’ll arrange for lunch to be brought down here, and then I’ll clean you up.” Reluctantly, he released his hold on her and disentangled their limbs. “Don’t move.”
He used the house phone located next to the light switch to order lunch. The time on the tiny digital display showed it to be just past one. He had the rest of the day to spend with his new submissive.
He glanced toward the bed to check on Marcella. She lay where he’d left her and watched him with unasked questions in her eyes. A minute later, as he ran the water in the bathroom faucet, waiting for it to warm up, he told himself he hadn’t fled to escape her questions.
Questions meant uncertainty. Uncertainty meant she played the game. This afternoon meant nothing more than practice to her. The bright lights pointed at the bed had always brought him joy. They allowed a slave to hide nothing. Pointed at Marcella, they allowed him to confirm what he already knew. Marcella revealed only what she wanted known. Even though he’d made her admit to wanting him, he couldn’t be sure of anything until he called a halt to their activities and actually talked to her about it.
He didn’t want to do that just yet, not if it meant finding out she only intended this as a temporary thing. Returning to the bed, he found that she’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Cold?”
“No, just—”
“Lie on your back.”
She complied. He checked her nipples to see how they fared. Swollen and red with the sex flush that hadn’t faded, they beckoned. He wanted to suck them into his mouth, but he refrained. She flinched when he brushed the pad of his finger over one.
He might have been worried that he’d hurt her too much, but her breath caught and her hips flexed. With a grin, he used the warm, wet cloth he’d brought from the bathroom to clean between her legs.
“I’m going to whip you after lunch. I’ll give you this one choice. Would you like to be tied to my cross, or would you like to be tied to the spanking bench?” Personally Sean preferred the bench. It had a place for her torso to rest while her arms and legs were bound out of the way. It forced her to bend over the table, exposing her cunt and making it more accessible. He didn’t care to whip a submissive for the sake of whipping.
The cross, while it kept her legs apart, didn’t allow enough access. He wanted to find the rhythm and pressure she found arousing so he could make her come. She had already disclosed her dislike of pain. He had wanted to kiss her tenderly when she’d told him she could come for him. She didn’t care to be whipped with a heavy hand, but she would try for him. Her dedication to pleasing him made him want to do anything to see her pampered and pleased.
“Master, you have a two o’clock appointment with Fuller, and I have to call the caterer.”
He turned her over and smacked her ass three times, but not too hard. “Answer the question, slave.”
When he released her to roll back, her brown eyes held a hint of smoke. “I wish to please you, Master. I would like to experience the spanking bench, but if it pleases you to use the cross, then I will submit there.” A hint of defiance hid just beneath the surface of her statement. He and Fuller were planning their next big project. She wasn’t going to let him miss his meeting.
Two sharp knocks at the door arrested the sarcastic retort that came to mind at her pretty speech. As he crossed the room to retrieve the cart his chef’s assistant would have left in the hall, he silently breathed a sigh of thanks for the intervention. Accustomed to Marcella’s sharp-tongued sense of humor, he didn’t believe her submission. He would need to work on that.
With the changed circumstances, he needed to adjust his thinking. If he didn’t trust her to be honest, how could he expect her to trust him? He returned to find her standing near the foot of the bed. Her demure posture and downcast gaze shimmered with grace. She had something to say. When Marcella had something to say, she didn’t mince words, not with him.
He tensed. “What is it, slave?”
She glanced up, startled perhaps by his terse tone. “Master, may I have a few minutes alone in the bathroom?”
“Yes, of course.” When she moved safely out of sight, he let his shoulders relax.
By the time she returned, he had arranged a chair next to the cart of food. Since he didn’t usually eat in the dungeon, he didn’t keep a dining table down there. They would improvise by using the cart.
