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Gayle stopped with the first forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. She could almost feel his gloved hands stroking and caressing her body, smoothing massage oil into her skin, and trailing wisps of silk across her sensitive breasts and between her legs.
She jumped, certain she’d felt a light swat against her ass. But that was impossible. She was sitting in a padded chair. Unless he’d hidden some sort of spanking device under the cushion?
Rikard’s low chuckle swirled around her. “You’re very responsive. Are you that responsive in bed, too? Are you a moaner or a shouter?”
Gayle licked her lips, her gaze locking on his blue eyes glimmering in the depths of the black leather mask. “I like to beg.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, as if she was a fine wine and he was sampling her bouquet.
“Eat your salad.”
Obediently, she slipped the forgotten forkful of greens into her mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was unexpectedly good, with a hint of…was that ginger? And something sweet besides just the strawberries—brown sugar or maybe honey.
“This is great!” She forked up another mouthful.
Rikard had already regained his composure after her confession, and turned his attention to his own plate. “Thank you. It pleases me to know you enjoy it.”
They ate in silence for a brief interval, giving the delicious salad the attention it deserved. Then he asked, “What things give you pleasure?”
“You mean, in bed?”
“In bed or out. What warms your soul?”
She considered. “Well, I like performing, singing onstage.”
“What exactly about performing do you enjoy? The adulation of a crowd? Making a public act out of your private emotions? Touching their hearts and minds?”
She blinked. “I never really thought about it. Are those some of the reasons the performers you know like performing?”
“Don’t dodge the question.”
“Yes, Master Rikard.” She bent her head, staring at the half-eaten salad while she puzzled out what she enjoyed about singing onstage. “I think it’s the challenge. I like working hard to get it right, and the audience reaction is like a grade, telling me how close I came to doing it.”
“Ah. So as your Master, I should set challenging tasks for you, and provide feedback so you know whether or not you succeeded.”
The flesh between her legs began to pulse, hot and wet with arousal. Her breasts tingled, the nipples tightening, and her breath came in short, quick gasps. She loved to learn new things. The constant training was the best part of her job. But it had never occurred to her that a skilled Master would want to train her.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Please, Master.”
“Very well, then. Here is your first task. Finish your salad.”
A muffled sigh escaped her lips as Gayle picked up her fork.
“You don’t think it’s a challenge? Perhaps if I tell you, you aren’t allowed to make any noise while you eat?”
She looked up at him, her mouth opening to ask what he meant before she realized that would be disobeying his instruction. Instead, she shook her head.
“I’ll just have to make it more challenging, then. You eat, and I’ll tell you all the things I plan on teaching you.”
He began with the simple things, that he would teach her how to speak to him with proper deference yet still giving him all the information he needed to care for her, and how to sit beside him so that he could touch her at his leisure. He would teach her how to remove her clothes so that each item stroking across her flesh enflamed her desire. He would teach her how to position herself so that she was completely open to him, her hot, wet pussy his for the taking, and how she would beg him to take it.
Gayle felt the moisture growing between her legs, instinctively spreading her legs as wide as her tight leather skirt would allow. She wriggled against the cushion, struggling for relief. At least, if she’d been wearing underwear, the friction of the cotton or lace against her swollen clit and wet lips would have offered some pleasure. But she was bare beneath her skirt, with nothing to rub against.
A soft whimper broke from her lips.
Rikard’s hand slapped the glass tabletop, making the plates bounce. “No!”
She jumped, her wide-eyed gaze locking on his face. Was he angry? No, he was smiling.
