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“Your pleasure or displeasure is completely irrelevant.”
I swallow, fear streaking down my spine, but I say nothing.
“Do you want to leave?” he repeats his offer from last night. “Or will you submit completely? Those are your only two choices.”
“But—”
“Those are your only two choices, Madeline. Go and be gone forever or stay and submit to me completely.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I finally say in a shaky whisper.
“That wasn’t one of your choices.”
Another pause. Neither of us moves. “Fine. I’ll stay and submit.”
“I won’t ask you again. You stay and submit now, you’re here for the entire week.”
I must be insane. But my body is already responding to him, and as he’s pressed up against me, I feel his hard cock against my ass. He’s unbelievably turned on as well.
I lean my head back to relieve the pressure of his hand in my hair, but also to relax against him, send him a sign that he can trust me. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology not accepted.”
He releases me, and I turn to face him. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment and then he glances pointedly at the floor without saying a word or making a gesture. I sink to my knees, face still pointed toward him. “I’m sorry, Evan,” I repeat.
He says nothing, moving his gaze away from mine, refusing to look at me. His hands open and close at his sides.
I’m confused. I have no idea what to do, what he wants from me. And apparently I’m supposed to figure it out without him prompting me. On instinct, I fall forward on my hands so that I’m now on all fours. It’s humiliating as hell, but it has to be what he wants.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Lower,” he growls from above.
Slowly, I lower myself so that I’m now lying on the carpet at his feet, my face in the floor. “Please forgive me…” I trail off, and then, for good measure, I add, “Master.”
His quick intake of breath tells me that I did something right. I don’t dare move or look up but I feel him move, step around me. Then things shift and he’s kneeling beside me. He runs a hand from the back of my neck, down my spine to my tailbone. His touch burns, igniting my every nerve ending.
“Good girl,” he murmurs like he’s stroking a dog. “Your submission pleases me. It pleases me a lot.”
I’m shocked to note that his admission makes me pleased. Almost overpoweringly so. I don’t move. I’ll wait for his permission to rise. But he doesn’t give it. Not yet.
Instead he reaches up and fingers the collar around my neck. “How does this please you, Madeline?”
I swallow, biting back my first instinct, which is to give him an angry, sarcastic retort about taking his fucking collar and sticking it where the sun don’t shine.
“My pleasure or displeasure is irrelevant, sir,” I reply. His hands stills for just an instant, and I’m suddenly holding my breath, intensely curious.
“Your pleasure will come from pleasing me,” he echoes my exact thoughts from a few minutes ago when he was clearly happy with my apology.
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
“You’ve given me your body, Madeline. To do with as I please. Your words should reflect that submission.”
I hesitate. “As you command…Master.”
Without another word, he bends and scoops me up from the floor, turning me over and pressing me against his broad chest. He turns and heads into the bathroom. I keep my head down, my heart racing in my throat, but I sneak a peek at his beautiful face under my lashes.
He’s flushed and slightly sweaty, clearly as turned on as I’m feeling. Except that he has had two orgasms in the last twelve hours—one in my mouth, and one when he’d pleasured himself while straddling me, the bastard. I’m still sore and suffering from lack of release. Everything between my legs feels heavy, uncomfortable.
