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“I’ll pretend I know what that is and just move along, shall I?” He reached across the counter and put a hand on the arm that wasn’t shoveling chicken into my mouth. “How about I come to the signing tomorrow night? We can stay in the city; it will be closer to the airport, anyway.”
“I don’t want to make a big deal out of all of this. I feel like everything is just…out of control.”
He nodded thoughtfully and got me a San Pellegrino from the refrigerator. Twisting the top off, he came around the island to sit on the stool beside mine. As he handed me the bottle, he said, “You’re not making a big deal. It won’t cost anything to change our plans. I’m already nearly packed. It won’t be any trouble at all to put together an overnight bag for Olivia and me.”
One of Neil’s most appealing qualities as a husband was that he often knew exactly what I needed, even when I had no clue myself. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. As for the out-of-control part of the equation, I know how to fix that.”
“Oh?”
He inclined his head toward the door. “When you’re finished with that, go put your collar on.”
Chapter Two
My collar. A platinum band no thicker than my thumb, studded with round cut diamonds and perfectly sized for my throat. When closed, it formed a seamless, glittering circle worth three point six million dollars. But its most valuable part were the words engraved inside.
Property of Neil Elwood.
It wasn’t the collar he owned. It was me.
I knelt on the soft carpet and waited, my eyes downcast as Neil moved around our bedroom. I wanted to watch him. God, I wanted to watch him. But making me wait, giving me time to imagine what was to come heightened my anticipation.
Before Neil, I’d never thought that I would get turned on being totally dominated. I’d liked guys pulling my hair or pinning my hands, but Neil was the only guy I’d ever felt truly comfortable submitting to. Even before we’d been romantically involved, I’d trusted him enough to let go completely and explore desires I’d never thought I would get to fulfill. Our bond as Dom and sub enhanced our marriage and built that trust a little more every day. His stern commands and lust for my pain offered security, comfort, and love.
The collar hanging heavy at my neck was a reminder of that love.
“Sophie, look up.”
I lifted my eyes slowly. My Sir stood before me, barefoot and bare-chested, clad in his black slacks and a belt he slowly unbuckled.
My mouth fell obediently open, and he smiled. “Not yet.”
Instead of opening his fly, he pulled the belt free and folded it in half. He struck the wide leather strap across his palm. The noise jolted me.
“Bend over the bed.”
I rose and moved across the room. Other times, there might have been implements laid out—paddles or rope or restraints. Tonight, after a long, tiring day, Sir would only do the bare minimum. But it would be enough.
As I took my position, he stepped up behind me. “No marks tonight. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable tomorrow.”
I chewed my bottom lip and considered arguing that using a belt contradicted his statement, but Sir did not like bratty subs. Just because he didn’t want to leave marks didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish me, and denial could be far worse than physical pain.
The raw silk of the duvet cover was a gold-tinged green that I’d bought because it reminded me of Neil’s eyes. The fabric was embroidered with a pattern of gold swirls that seemed innocuous enough but rasped my nipples when I rested on it. The air on my naked skin caressed me in the absence of his hands, tickling shivers down my sides.
I jumped at the sudden touch of his palms on my bare ass. He smoothed over my flesh, kneading gently. I arched my back and practically purred as he deepened the pressure. Massage brought the blood to the surface of the skin and reduced the severity of bruising. I luxuriated under every sweep of his long fingers.
His hand ventured down, the side of his pinkie incidentally parting me. He grew rougher, dragging his fingertips up and down my slit. I buried my face in the duvet at the slick, wet sounds my body made as I opened to him. He rubbed me with the flat of his hand. Then, without warning, he lifted it and brought it down hard across my vulva.
I jumped, a squeak of pain pushing past my lips. Another strike made me squirm, and he held me in place with an arm across the small of my back. “Hold still.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I panted. I centered my feet on the carpet so I wouldn’t slip. But that wasn’t the problem. Something held me back from fully achieving the mindset necessary to turn all the pain he would inflict on me into the drug that my body craved.
