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She at once rolled from him to the floor. Leaning forward, she dipped her damp head until her lips touched the top of his foot. “Thank you, Sir,” she said in a small voice, “for punishing me. I will do better, Sir.”
“You will,” he agreed. He glanced at the clock radio beside the bed. It wasn’t even midnight yet, but he was tired, and she probably was too. Pulling back the duvet, he settled himself into the comfortable bed.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to join him. “Lie beside me. Let’s get some rest. I have a lot of plans for you tomorrow.”
She hesitated a moment, her expression difficult to read.
“What is it?” he queried.
“I… It’s just…” she trailed off, glancing around the room as if looking for an escape route.
“What? I’m giving you permission. Say what’s on your mind.”
She drew in a breath, a resolute, almost stubborn look moving over her face. “A slave doesn’t sleep with her Master, Sir. Not beside him. It’s not respectful, Sir. Master Grayson and Mistress Dominique say—”
“Damn it,” he blurted. Had the punishment taught her nothing? “I don’t give a damn what they say. I’m the one in charge right now. Can you get that through that pretty head of yours? Or do you need another punishment?”
She looked abashed at the rebuke, tears forming in her eyes. Blinking them away, she said, “I’m sorry, Sir. No, Sir.” She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, clearly still reluctant.
What the hell was going on here? She was fine to scene with him and had been incredibly responsive each step of the way. Yet now it was as if iron bars had slammed down between them. He could still see her, but he couldn’t reach her.
Was the idea of sleeping in his arms that abhorrent to her? Well, too damn bad. He called the shots, at least for the next few days. If she was unable to deal, she could always use her safeword.
Pushing down his pain and confusion, he snapped, “Lie down and hold out your wrists.”
She obeyed, though she avoided his eye. Reaching across her, he took the cuffs and chain from the nightstand. He wrapped a cuff around each slender wrist and clipped them together with the length of chain. It was long enough to allow her movement, while still reminding her she was property—his property.
He flicked off the lamp on the other nightstand and rolled to his side, facing her. She was lying on her back, her cuffed hands crossed over her chest. He turned her gently so her back was to him and pulled her into a spoon position, his arms coming around her, his hands cupping her breasts.
A sigh moved through her body as she relaxed, finally, against him. He nuzzled his nose into the warm crevice of her neck and shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of shampoo and fine soap. Unable to resist, he kissed her soft, damp skin.
As he held her, something that had been coiled tight in his gut since he’d lost Annette suddenly sprang free. Tears filled his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if they were sad or happy tears. Perhaps a bit of both.
He pulled Cleo closer. “Good night, slave girl,” he whispered.
“Good night, Sir.”
Chapter 11
They were lying together on the sand. The sun was warm on their naked bodies. Waves broke gently against the shore. Master Jack pulled her into his arms. They kissed for a long time, his hands moving over her body as his tongue explored her mouth. Releasing her, he slid slowly down until he was positioned between her legs. Warm, strong hands gently but firmly pulled her thighs apart as he dipped his head to her sex.
His tongue was soft and wet as it licked over the folds, tickling her clit and making her moan. The sand had vanished. They were now floating on the water, far out at sea, on a big bed with a high canopy, gauzy white curtains blowing in the breeze. His blond head moved between her thighs, his perfect tongue sending shockwaves of dark pleasure through her being.
Cleo shuddered, reaching down to sink her fingers into his thick, soft hair. Hands grabbed her wrists, holding them fast as he brought her closer to orgasm.
Ask permission. Don’t forget to ask permission!
The water roiled around them, the bed rocking in the current. Storm clouds scudded over the sky, blocking out the sun. Master Jack was unaware, his focus on her, his hands still clamped around her wrists. The bed tipped precariously as a huge wave rose just in front of them.
Cleo opened her mouth in an effort to speak, to cry out a warning. She couldn’t make a sound. Panic surged through her as she tried to find her vocal cords. She pulled against his grip, desperate to get his attention, to warn him of the danger. All she managed were a few hiccupping sounds.
