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“I’m too much, too.” He strides to the walk-in closet and strains to reach the top shelf. “There’s a reason we need to go slow, Ranay. I can be too controlling, too demanding and too vicious when it comes to punishment.”
I tremble with the need to feel some of that excess.
Finally, he finds the box he’s looking for. It dawns on me that he really did stash his toys up high in that closet. From the thin layer of dust on top, he hasn’t played in quite some time. How can such a sexy, kind man be single? I can’t imagine him being so dominant that he can’t find a sub willing to play.
Setting the box on the nightstand beside the bed, he winks at me. “Take a look and see if there’s anything in there that you care to play with. Most of it’s never been used. After my last relationship, I cleaned out everything and started new.”
I don’t look at the box. I’d rather have the queasy anticipation as he pulls out some new implement of torture and makes me guess where he’s going to use it first. “It went badly?”
He returns to the closet. “Understatement of the year. That’s why I took my time approaching you. I had to be sure, and I didn’t want to make another mistake.”
“So it’s been a long time for you?”
“I haven’t done a scene in at least three years.”
He returns with a box wrapped in Christmas paper that immediately sends a surge of panic through me. I hate the thought that he got something for me, and I have nothing to offer him. It’s my job to serve, to anticipate his every desire before he can voice it. How can I possibly accept a present from him when I have nothing to offer him in exchange?
“Relax, kitten. This was wishful thinking rather than a deliberate gift. I purchased it a few months ago, but I only wrapped it when you agreed to help me out with Sheba. That gave me the opening I needed.”
I stay on my knees beside his bed, my fingers clumsy as I unwrap the box and open it. Inside lies a thick leather collar and matching shackles.
My entire body goes numb with awe. I pictured him giving me something delicate and pretty, but this leather is thick, heavy and durable. Chunky. Unforgiving. The band is at least two inches thick with heavy forged iron buckles and a large D-ring on the front. This isn’t fluffy, pretty bondage wear, but the real thing. I’ll feel the thickness and weight of the leather band on my throat. There’ll be no denying my helplessness. His control.
“Do you like it?”
I force my head to tip back, though it feels like it weighs a ton, exposing my throat. His eyes flare. I can only imagine the look on my face, but given the buzzing in my mind and the ache in my breasts, I figure he can read the signs of arousal all too easily.
“Good. Remove your clothes.”
He says it pleasantly without any rumble in his voice, but I hasten to obey. I drop the box on the bed to free my hands. Now I’m grateful for the simple tank and pants that slip off without buttons or ties to slow me down. I try to keep my eyes down and demure, but my attention drifts to the collar.
I should have kept my mind on the Master behind me.
His big hands come down on my shoulders, his firm grip a shock after the times he handled me so gently before. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Of course he won’t give me what I want immediately. It isn’t any dominant’s way to reward a submissive right off the bat. He picks up the shackles and buckles one onto my left wrist. It’s thick, cold leather and he buckles it tightly.
So tight.
My breathing quickens. I want that thick band on my throat so I can feel it compressing my windpipe every time I take a breath.
He buckles the other wrist and then hooks them together in the small of my back.
“Kneel on the bed.”
It seems like an easy order, but with my hands out of commission, climbing onto the mattress is challenging. It’s taller than mine at home. Plus the sound of his zipper sliding down makes me hurry. I want to see the Master in all his glory. I scramble up without face-planting but it isn’t my most graceful move.
I work my way around so I can see him. His pants hang open enough to reveal the dark cotton of his briefs and the bulge hidden beneath. He tugs the black T-shirt over his head. He’s as lean as I suspected, with chiseled muscle that makes my mouth water. More chest hair than my previous boyfriends but not so much that I think of a burly backwoodsman. Both his left shoulder and pec bear ink. From the eagle, flag and skulls, I guess he has some kind of hardcore military background, but I can’t concentrate on the design.
A silver ring hangs from his left nipple.
I can almost feel that metal between my teeth.
His arms are loose at his sides, his shoulders down and relaxed. Nothing screams domination and control in his stance.
Until I drag my gaze up his body to his eyes.
I tremble. I can't help it. The fire blazing in his dark eyes sears my brain to ash.
