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Cleo at once dropped her arms, a gush of moisture bathing her clit.
His hand still tangled in her hair, he half-guided, half-pulled her into the bedroom. A king-size bed filled most of the space. The duvet was pulled back, the snowy white sheets beckoning.
Master Jack tossed Cleo forward onto the bed, face down. He sat beside her and reached for her arms, which he stretched in a Y against the mattress. Shifting, he pulled her legs apart so that the Y became an X.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
She lay limp, heart thumping with anticipation of whatever was to come.
Reaching beneath the bed, he retrieved his gear bag, rummaged a moment and pulled out a black satin sleep mask. Slipping it from its plastic sleeve, he fitted it over her head, covering her eyes.
Cleo’s other senses were instantly heightened. She felt the lift in the mattress as he rose. She could feel his presence close by and imagined his eyes on her. She heard the small clink of a belt being opened and pulled free of its trouser loops and the rustle of clothing being removed.
The mattress gave way again as he resettled beside her. He cupped one of her ass cheeks in his large, cool hand. She stiffened at the touch, mentally preparing for the spanking to come.
But instead of the hard thwack of his palm, he stroked her gently, sending shivers of tingling electricity over her skin. Both hands moved over her ass and up along her spine. Strong fingers kneaded the muscles of her upper back and shoulders, easing away tension she hadn’t realized was there.
He alternated between deep massage and feather-light softness. She sighed her pleasure as she melted into the mattress. She wanted to roll over and reach for him, pulling him down over her.
Not your lover, she reminded herself. Stay still.
His hands fell away, and she could feel and hear him shift on the mattress. Something scraped along the floor. A moment later, hands grasped her hips, pulling her up so she was on her knees, legs still splayed wide, torso and head against the mattress. Fingers slick with lubricant brushed over her exposed labia, sending a deep shudder through her core. One finger, then two, pressed their way gently inside her, making her moan with need.
She wriggled her bottom in invitation, only to receive a resounding smack. “Stop that,” Master Jack admonished firmly, though she thought she detected just a hint of a smile in his tone. “Did I tell you to move?”
“No, Sir,” she admitted, her face heating, ass stinging.
He moved behind her, positioning himself between her spread legs. Gripping her again by the hips, without preamble he eased his hard, perfect shaft into her. Cleo shuddered with pleasure as she gasped against the mattress.
He moved slowly at first, his movements penetrating and sensual. His breathing quickened as he swiveled and thrust deep inside her. She was panting, too, trembling with the effort not to thrust back wantonly against him.
She was glad he was behind her—that he couldn’t see her face, and she couldn’t see his. That would have been too intimate—too much like lovers for her to handle just now.
One hand came around her body, reaching between her legs. Sure fingers found her clit, rubbing in a circle around it, the pressure and friction unbearably perfect. She couldn’t stop the mewling sounds of pleasure that were wrested from her as he brought her rapidly toward a powerful orgasm.
All at once, he draped his body over hers, causing both to fall forward onto the mattress so she was pinned beneath him. His heavy, masculine form over hers was like the most perfect weighted blanket, covering her in heavy, delicious warmth as he continued to move sensually inside her.
His hand had remained trapped beneath her, his fingers still moving over and around her clit. A hand stroked the hair from her face, which was turned to the side. Then his lips, so soft, brushed over her neck.
Cleo had to bite her lower lip to keep from moaning his name aloud. God—how many times alone in her room at night had she fantasized that Jack Hartford was her lover and her Master? How many times had she whispered his name in the dark as she made herself come?
He shifted his hips slightly, catching that sweet spot inside her that always drove her mad with passion. His fingers continued to dance over her sex.
“Oh, god,” she groaned. “Please, please. I have to. May I…?”
“Yes,” he growled, his voice guttural and ragged. “Do it. Come for me, Cleo. Come for your Master.”
A cry escaped her lips—a keening howl of pure, raw feeling as Cleo tumbled into a deep canyon of sustained, almost painful release. As earlier that evening, her orgasm was like a trip wire, triggering his climax. With an answering cry, he thrust hard into her, nearly lifting her off the bed with the power of his movements.
