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“You’re beautiful, Emma.” Three soft words that came from his mouth and had me blushing like I was a teenager. Then he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before taking me by the hand and leading me up the stairs. I don’t think I absorbed anything from the tour for the next ten minutes.
Finally, we arrive at what looks like a suite in shades of blue. There’s a four-poster bed and a huge window overlooking what must be the back of the property—rolling fields and in the distance what look to be some animals that don’t belong there. Is that a tiger? Geeze. Remind me not to go into the backyard at night.
I glance over at the bed and see that a set of lingerie has been laid out. “This is my room?” I ask him.
“It is.”
“This is beautiful!”
He laughs again. “I hope you didn’t think I was going to keep you chained up in the basement or in a cage or something.”
“No.” I promise myself it’s the only lie that I’ll tell him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says mildly, “sleep restraints are fun. But I don’t think that’s something that you try when you only have three days.”
I don’t get it. “Why would you restrain someone while they sleep.”
“Could be a couple of different reasons,” he says, joining me at the window. “Every person in the lifestyle does things a little differently. If it were me, I’d use wrist restraints that attach to the headboard. Of my bed.”
“But why.”
He grins, and I shiver because he looks like a wolf stalking his prey and it’s really fucking hot. “So that I would know that my sub was available for my pleasure any time I chose.”
I try to ignore the way my body heats up at the visual of being bound to the bed, ready for sex on his schedule, and I also try to ignore the way that he emphasized ‘my sub’ as if he was talking about me. “Oh.” It’s the only thing that I actually say out loud.
Matthew walks back over to my bed. “I’ve arranged for a party this afternoon, and I’d like you to wear this.” He gestures to the lingerie. “It’s a play party—where people in the lifestyle gather and have fun.”
“Sex?”
“Yes, sex.”
I swallow. I didn’t realize that I would be having sex in front of people, and not so soon.
“You will not be having sex at the party, Emma. It’s too soon for that. But you will do whatever else I require of you. The bathroom is stocked with whatever you need for make-up and showering. Please be ready by two o’clock. For now, you do not have permission to roam the house unaccompanied.”
Oh, god. “It’s starting?”
He nods, and his smile is both kind and sexy at once, an impossible combination that he somehow pulls off. “Yes, it is.” He turns to go, and then turns back. “This is your last chance. After this, I will not hold back.”
I swallow and nod. “I understand.”
He walks out of the room and closes the door, and I am left waiting with the silence inside.
* * *
It’s twelve o’clock when Matthew leaves me, and even though I know I don’t need that long to get ready, I start anyway. I take a long, luxurious shower, enjoying that it’s huge and has multiple showerheads pointing at different levels. Halfway through, I realize what those showerheads might be used for and I blush even though I’m alone.
God, the thought of sex in this shower with Matthew opens a whole new door of possibilities in my head, and I end up staying under the water for another twenty minutes just thinking about it. I seriously think about getting myself off, but then I remember that he said I’m not allowed to come. Not even now, when he’ll never know?
But he’ll know. Somehow he’ll look at me and be able to tell and I’ll get a first-hand view of what kind of punishments he thinks aren’t painful. Guilt eats me up just thinking about doing it. Instead, I quickly get out and dry myself off so I don’t have any more temptation.
He didn’t lie—there’s more than enough make-up and hair supplies in here for ten women. I kind of feel like I’m in a Sephora, complete with the specially-lit mirror that shows more about your face than you ever wanted to know. I dry my hair, and on a whim, I curl it. I don’t know if Matthew wants my hair up or down, but I like the idea of having it curled.
The memory of his hand in my hair on the dance floor rises. My hair was curled then too, and I have to say that I wouldn’t mind another kiss like that. When my hair is finished, I do my make-up. He didn’t leave me any instructions, so I don’t do it heavily. I’m not sure what’s going to happen today, but what’s for sure is that I don’t want to end the day looking like a raccoon from either sweat or tears or both.
