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y appliqué. For the first time, she wished she had nightwear that made her feel delicate and ladylike like her mother instead of the cool and comfortable shorts set. What would Master Giacomo think of her clothing choices?
Sam frowned. She was doing it again, defining herself by a man’s opinion. If Master Giacomo didn’t like her nightwear, would she buy something else he liked better? Would she change her hair color or style? Take on new mannerisms he found more pleasing?
She’d done all that and more for her ex-husband. She’d allowed him to transform her into his view of the perfect wife, an extension of his will in every way until there was nothing left of her. The slightest evidence of his displeasure had been enough to send her into a crushing depression for days, because if she wasn’t his ideal wife, she was nothing.
She was never going to be that person again.
It had taken a lot of hard work to recover her identity. No matter how hot the sex with Master Giacomo was, it wasn’t worth losing herself. Nothing was.
She sighed. She’d thought she was strong enough to be able to take her pleasure from their encounters without giving in to him entirely. Apparently, she wasn’t. She’d have to tell him that she was taking back her permission for him to master her, that she’d granted it by mistake during the aftermath of passion and her good sense had since reasserted itself.
Of course it would be nice if she could tell him of her resolution after they had sex. Her skin heated at the thought of the things she’d seen in the book, things Master Giacomo might order her to do. But judging from this afternoon, when she’d been so carried away just from stroking herself while he watched, if she allowed him to master her tonight, she’d lose all resistance and be unable to tell him of her decision.
No, it would be better for everyone if she never saw him again.
She threw back the sheet and spread on her bed then clicked the ceiling fan down to its lowest setting. Her fingers closed around the chain controlling the light, ready to plunge the room into darkness and crawl into bed.
Master Giacomo had asked her to bring him dinner. He’d be waiting for her.
Sam’s heart stuttered with a familiar mix of fear and desperation. He needed her. She couldn’t disappoint him.
She gnawed on her lower lip, considering. She had to bring him dinner. She’d promised him, and if she didn’t feed him, he’d starve. There were no restaurants within walking distance and she doubted her mystical visitor could drive. She certainly wouldn’t trust him with her mother’s car!
No, she had to take his dinner out to him. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. But she didn’t have to stay for any…entertainment afterward. She’d drop off his meal, explain that they weren’t having any further contact and suit actions to words by coming home and going to bed immediately. She wouldn’t have anything to do with him after that. If she refused to acknowledge him, to feed him or help him in any way, eventually he’d have to leave.
Her mind decided, she jerked off the light then sprawled on the bed in the sluggishly moving air. She’d just lay here waiting until her mother’s light went out.
Lying in bed in the darkened room, she wondered what Master Giacomo was doing. Was he preparing some decadent and sensual surprise for her, in keeping with his admonition that he was here only for her? Or had she faded out of his consciousness as soon as she was out of his sight, not thought of again until hunger roused him?
Her former husband had been an expert at telling her what she wanted to hear, to make her believe he loved and adored her. Except love wasn’t supposed to put you through the emotional wringer that he had. It had taken a long time before she understood she needed to pay attention not just to his words but to his actions as well.
Love was not demanding, demeaning or belittling. It did not make you helpless and dependent.
She’d taken far too long to figure out the truth. But she wouldn’t forget the lesson that had cost so much to learn.
Reassured that she was not falling back into bad habits, she allowed herself to rest in the darkened room, waiting for the house to become dark and quiet. Breathing deeply and slowly, she let her mind drift, remembering her first sight of Master Giacomo.
The black leather of his pants clinging to his muscled legs like a second skin. Dew from the strange mist beading his chest, begging her to capture each drop with her tongue. His expression, at first so stern, yet when he relaxed, revealing a banked heat and a hint of humor.
Her body tightened, muscles tensing deep within her as a slow pulse began to throb between her legs.
She wouldn’t submit to him. She couldn’t. But oh, if she did…if she did…
Her breath turned shallow, her breasts tightening and tingling in rhythm with the pulse between her legs. Unbidden, she recalled an image from the book.
She imagined kneeling naked before Master Giacomo, her ankles crossed behind her and her knees spread so that the cool night air whispered across her hot pussy with a teasing touch. Her wrists were bound behind her back, tilting back her head and thrusting her breasts proudly upward.
The soft silk of his cock brushed back and forth across her lips, gently coaxing them open. Her tongue touched his firm head, swirling around his slit.
Master Giacomo groaned deep in his throat and thrust both hands into her hair, gripping her skull and holding her prisoner to his strength.
Sam whimpered, suddenly aware of the complete and total vulnerability of her position.
“Open your mouth, Sam. Open wide.”
Trembling, she obeyed. Gripping her skull tightly in his strong fingers, Master Giacomo thrust his cock past her lips, filling her mouth with hot male flesh, stroking deep into the back of her throat.
Mercilessly, he tilted her head back even farther, opening her throat so that he could push farther still. His musky thatch of hair covered her nose, filling her senses with the scent of his arousal.
