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“You aren’t ready for today, are you?”
She shook her head. “I want to be, though.”
“Listen to me, Charlotte,” he said low in her ear. “I know what this is. No one will get within ten feet of you in that dress or any other state without going through me. And to remind you of that fact,” his fingers left her, and a small whimper left her throat at their absence, “you will take these.”
Something cool and round entered her vagina. Then another.Ben Wa balls. And everyone saw him insert them.
His voice remained low. “Feel them. Know they’re mine, and I am walking with you.” Her insides flipped over. She liked the sensation of being filled with something of his.
The collar should have been enough, but now, he wasinsideher.
Richard knew what he was doing—and she shouldn’t have questioned it even inside her mind. When he touched her like that, her mind went blank. Her body stilled. Her demons quieted—at least for a little while. He took her fear and overwrote it. Now, he would be touching her on the inside, through two small metal balls, for her entire walk.
He righted her and spun her around. Her dress fell to her thighs, and a trickle of juice ran down one inner thigh. Part of her hated that she cared what it’d do to the dress. The other part? An odd, almost wicked glee that it couldn’t intimidate her enough to tamp down any reaction she had to her Master. Even if she wasn’t worthy of its opulence.
Richard, her love, her Master, gazed down at her with his dark eyes. “Now, you’re ready.”
Charlotte stepped from behind the black lacquer accordion divider, took two steps, and paused. Richard’s heart cycled through its usual pattern upon seeing her. Like an internal storm surge, an overwhelming swell started low in his belly, then radiated outward until it threatened to break out of his chest. Love did that to a man.
His mind, however, sharpened as if he needed to stay alert to anything she needed. He grew hyper-conscious of every muscle twitch in her body, every shift in her energy.
A rough, male voice interrupted his awe of her. “She’s beautiful.”
Marcos Santos may be the only man alive who could say that to him and get away with it. The guy had known Charlotte longer than Richard had. Then there was the not-so-small thing of caring for her after her late husband, Daniel, died. For that, Richard would always be grateful. The thought that she’d been out in the world alone with her past? A shudder threatened to shake him from the mere thought.
But she was better now. His ego swelled at the thought that he had something to do with it. The truth was, she was stronger than she knew, and she was about to prove it.
He sucked in a deep breath to still his over-reactive heart. “The color is stunning on her.”
“Is she nervous?” Mark turned to him with worry in his eyes.
Richard had to remind himself the man was ex-special ops and Master and husband to Isabella, who was also in the show. Marcos was not competition. He was honestly worried for Charlotte. Not to mention the man was consequential in getting them together. Richard wasn’t jealous.
Rather, the fact that Marcos would question her state of mind worried him. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a feeling.” The man’s gaze then shot forward. “There’s something strange in the air. It’s probably nothing. Crowds and I don’t … mix.”
Now, Richard was nervous. Marcos’ sixth sense about these things had always proven correct. Richard glanced around quickly, but like a homing beacon, his gaze was pulled back to Charlotte.
She stood tall, shoulders back. No fear emanated from her glazed blue eyes, and a slight smile played on her lips. She began to advance, her lips parting, her fingers slightly twitching. Ah, feeling the balls inside her shift, move, reminding her of who she belongs to?
Their gazes caught. She was far away, but there was no mistaking they locked eyes.
His goddess.
He reached into his breast pocket and touched her panties that he’d tucked away just for that moment. When he pulled his fingers out, he touched them to his lips and sent the kiss her way.
Her smile spread wider, and she let her gaze go soft as she made her way past the crowded tables.
Her steps were measured and confident. Stiff silk rustled, and the long veil affixed to her hair floated behind her as she moved as graceful as a deer tiptoeing through the woods.
Everything about her was gentle and kind. Soft. He, however, grew harder as she neared.
For a man approaching forty, he’d known many women. He’d never wanted anyone like he wanted Charlotte.
Fragile women didn’t usually interest him. Yet from the first night they’d met two years ago, a frantic longing to know her, shelter her, became his mission.
It took him the better part of six months to convince Marcos—self-assigned as her temporary Master—to let him even speak to her. Marcos’ fierce protectiveness had spoken volumes.
