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Master John’s cell phone chimed and he turned away as he took the call. Brandon waited quietly as Rowan slipped off the kimono, pulled the dress over her head and stepped into her sandals. Master John was still talking quietly, his back to them.
Once she was dressed, Brandon held out his arms. Rowan stepped into them, surprised to realize she would miss this guy she’d only known such a short while. “I’m sorry you’re leaving,” he said softly into her ear. “But you weren’t kidding about your Master. He’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Rowan blinked away sudden tears and flashed a grin. “He is, right?”
Master John turned back, his call finished. “Ready, baby?” he said, giving her another smile. “Let’s go home.”
They were silent as Master John maneuvered through the city traffic toward the Bronx River Parkway that would lead them to his Scarsdale home. He kept his eyes on the road, allowing her the chance to look at him unobserved. Brandon’s praise had filled her with proprietary pride. Whatever else he was or wasn’t, John Garfield was gorgeous. He had such a regal bearing. He was like a prince out of a fairy tale, chiseled and handsome, fully in control. He was truly the most handsome man she’d ever seen, much less been involved with.
The sudden memory of her stolen orgasm in her bed the night before, and Eric’s name on her tongue as she came, pierced her conscience like a blade. Surely it had just been an aberration, caused by the intensity of the day. Eric couldn’t hold a candle to her Master in the looks department. She’d only been attracted to the trainer because she’d been feeling vulnerable, and he’d been kind.
She pushed away the thoughts, turning to face front. She fingered the collar around her throat, determined to start fresh once they got home. She would return her focus to her Master, where it belonged.
When they entered the house, Master John closed the door, dropped the suitcases and tossed his jacket on top of them. He reached for Rowan, tangling his hands in her hair as he brought his lips to hers. His kiss was rough, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth as his grip tightened on her skull.
That familiar thrill of erotic fear and sexual arousal coursed through her like a tide as she surrendered to his kiss. But there was something else sliding along just beneath the current. While her body reacted with Pavlovian desire to his dominant touch, her mind hissed, “No.”
The single word jolted her like an electric shock. It was the one word Master John had repeatedly instructed her she must never utter. It had no place in the vocabulary of a slave.
His mouth still locked on hers, Master John’s hands moved down her throat to the neckline of her short, silky dress. Gripping it, he tore the fabric as effortlessly as if it had been tissue paper. Naked underneath, she felt the sudden draft of the air conditioning against her skin, and goose bumps rose along her flesh.
Pulling back, Master John fumbled at his belt and yanked it open. Unzipping his fly, he pulled his cock free. “On your knees, slave. Make me hard.”
Again that forbidden word slithered into her throat, nearly rising to her mouth before she swallowed it down. She lowered herself to her knees on the hardwood floor, missing the spongy support of the yoga mats at the Masters Club training rooms.
His cock hardened quickly in her mouth. After a moment, he pulled her upright and lifted her into his arms. Gripping her ass, he positioned her over his shaft, using his free hand to guide it inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he penetrated her.
Not properly lubricated, she stifled a gasp of pain as his cock pressed relentlessly into her, tearing the delicate flesh at her entrance. She bit her lip and buried her face in his shoulder, praying he hadn’t heard the gasp, hoping he couldn’t tell she wasn’t wet for him.
He slammed her back against the wall as he rutted inside her. It had always thrilled her to her bones to be taken with such rough, dominant abandon. Why was her body resisting now? Why was her mind closing itself to her Master? Whatever the reason, she just wanted it to be over.
Fortunately, he came within minutes, groaning as he shuddered inside her. Still holding her in his arms, he carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.
He slid his still-open pants down his legs and kicked them away, along with his underwear. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside as well. His body was smooth, his abs ripped, his shoulders broad.
He caught her looking and smirked, making her blush and look away. She felt the bed give as he collapsed next to her with a sigh. “I’m beat. I came straight from the airport to rescue you from those assholes.” He shifted on his side to regard her. “I’m gonna take a quick nap. Call that Indian place and have them deliver an order of lamb biryani, saag paneer, garlic naan and tandoori chicken. You can wake me when it’s here.”
