Текст книги "Playing Hard to Master"

Автор книги: Sparrow Beckett

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Eleven

Don’t you dare drive in this weather, Everly.

She could almost hear the command in his voice, but also the worry, and it made her smile. Silly man. Leaving her toothbrush in her mouth, she typed back a response.

I’ve lived here my whole life, and, amazingly, I’ve managed to survive without your overprotective ass telling me what to do.

In her mind, he arched a brow but couldn’t hold back a smirk because, secretly, he loved her bratty side. But really, it wasn’t snowing that hard, was it? She finished her teeth then peeked out the bedroom window.

The ground and cars were covered in a thick coat of white fluffiness. Jeez. It picked up fast. Thank God it was Sunday and she didn’t have to work in this mess. She and Ambrose had planned to spend the whole day together. He’d promised her a “wining and dining adventure.” They were supposed to go to a wine tasting then another one of his favorite restaurants. The man had a lot of those. Strange for a blue-collar worker. But sometimes taste defied status.

It made her a little worried for their future together. She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him keep spending so much money on her just for food. If they were going to have something long-term, he’d have to scale back the fancy stuff here and there. They were still in the impressing-each-other phase, so she let him spoil her, but guilt was starting to push in. How could he afford to keep up that lifestyle? She guessed because he lived modestly in every other way he could spend his extra money on fancy food and experiences. The resourceful thriftiness would come in handy someday—like when they had to put together a nursery for a baby.

“Whoa,” she said to the window. “Slow the fuck down.” Her uterus was spinning out of control.

Her text alert beeped.

Just stay put, little girl.

She grinned at her phone. Are you going to wine and dine me in my little apartment?

Secretly, she hoped he’d fuck her. Her period was finally over and she’d been hard up since.

Don’t worry. I have a new plan. Do you have warm clothes? Or only fashionable, impractical things?

Warm clothes? Why did she get the sense she wasn’t going to like this? She was about to respond when another message came through.

Never mind. I’ll take care of everything. Be there soon. Xoxo

She wasn’t sure whether her stomach fluttered with excitement or anxiety. Maybe she should put her schoolgirl skirt on. At least then she’d know where things were headed.

Speaking of clothes, she was still in her pajamas. What should I wear for this mystery date?

It took a few minutes for him to reply, which she spent staring at the phone in the middle of her bathroom. So annoying. She was fucking hooked.

Warm clothes that you don’t care about getting ruined.

“Fuuuuuck.”

They were going fucking skiing or something dangerous and . . . cold. Maybe she should have warned him about how much of a wuss she was. Unless she was protesting, spending long amounts of time outdoors really wasn’t her thing. Couldn’t they just watch a movie or something normal?

After spending half an hour deliberating over what to wear, she finally settled on an old pair of sweatpants and a thermal shirt she’d had since high school. It was warm, but she looked like a slob. This was definitely not her idea of a romantic date.

With a sigh, she threw her hair in a side braid then searched her room for her gloves and hat.

A knock at the door interrupted her and she went to open it, afraid of what she’d see on the other side.

It was Ambrose, covered in white powder, wearing a parka and hat and grinning like a fucking idiot. “Hey, my little snow angel.”

She started backing away. “No. Whatever your plan is, no.”

His evil laugh didn’t comfort her. He followed her inside, shaking himself off like a dog and stomping his boots on the mat in the entryway.

Then she noticed the shopping bag in his hand. “The abominable snowman brought gifts?”

“Yup.” He placed the bag on the back of her couch then started pulling out the items. “Here,” he said, shoving a pair of snow pants at her. “Try these on.”

She stood there flabbergasted, unsure of where to even begin. “Just what do you have in mind for this date, Ambrose?” Her gut had been right. She wasn’t going to like this.

With a twinkle in his eye that reminded her a five-year-old, he said, “We’re going sledding.” Then he pushed a pair of snow boots into her arms.

Stunned, she looked down at them. The tag read clearly, SIZE NINE. “How do you know my shoe size?”

“I make it my mission to know everything about you.”

“That’s creepy.”

He laughed.

“This must’ve cost a fortune.” She looked over everything he’d taken out of the bag—wool socks, a fleece hat, thick waterproof gloves, hot pink snow pants. “I can’t take all of this.”

“It’s not your job to worry about that.”

“Yeah, but this is—”

“Shush.” He started pulling the shopping tags off the items. “You’re gonna give me a complex. I can take care of my woman.”

“I’m not going sledding.” She placed the boots back in the bag. “You can take this stuff back.”

“What’s the matter?” He smirked. “It’s gonna mess up your pretty hair?”

“Yes.”

“Poor baby. Are you scared? I didn’t know I was dating such a chicken.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to work on me. I’m not eight years old.”

With a sigh, he stepped closer. When she grimaced and tried to back away, he grabbed her around the waist with his cold, wet arm.

She squealed. “Ugh! Ambrose, you’re freezing!”

“Come on,” he rumbled, bringing his face close to hers, like he was going to kiss her. “Do it for me.”

Squirming, she tried to get away. “Your nose is so cold!” Chuckling, he rubbed it on her cheek. She couldn’t help but laugh at his silliness. “Ugh. How did I get stuck with a boyfriend like you?”

He let her go and stepped away. “Like what? Handsome and charming?”

“Crazy and ridiculous!” She didn’t tell him how adorable she thought he was when he got playful like this. As much as she loved his masterful side, his unpredictability and delight in certain things made him fun.

“I’ll give you lots of orgasms after,” he said with a hopeful lilt in his voice.

She froze in place. He was going to bribe her with orgasms? “Seriously?”

“As many times as you go down the hill, that’s how many orgasms you’ll get.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him. He didn’t need to know she was actually considering it. “Can’t we just skip to the orgasm part?” She really should have worn the schoolgirl skirt.

“Hey, you promised me a game the other night.”

Shit. “You remember that?”

“This is my game. You owe me. Now get your ass in these cute snow pants before I beat you.” His eyes darkened. “I promise sledding will be a lot worse if you’re sore.”

Sighing loudly, she grabbed the pants out of his hand. She’d go, but not without attitude. “My ass is going to freeze out there,” she mumbled, pulling the snow pants over her sweats.

“Mmm. I know exactly how to warm it up.”

Yeah right. If she turned into a popsicle, he wasn’t touching her.

*   *   *

Her fingers and toes finally thawed in the warmth of the hot tub. “Mmm,” she purred as the jet stream hit her back. “Good call coming here instead of my apartment.”

Across from her, Ambrose chuckled.

“I can’t believe your friend is gone again though. Is he ever home?”

His gaze dropped, and he shrugged. “Now and then.”

“Why bother having a mansion if you’re not home to use it?” She shook her head. “Another reason why rich people are so weird.”

“Yeah.” He sighed deeply, then a twinkle appeared in his eye. “You had fun today. Admit it.”

Going for nonchalant, she said, “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” He scoffed. “I could hear you giggling all the way down the hill.”

So it’d been a little more than just okay. Despite the cold, he’d made her feel like a kid again. For once, she didn’t care how she looked, who was watching, how hard she laughed. They just let loose and had fun, like they were fucking five years old. It was sort of . . . amazing.

“Maybe so.” She reached her foot out toward him, and he caught it between his hands. “But now you owe me. We had your fun. When do I get to have mine?”

“Be patient, little girl.”

Purposefully, she pushed her bottom lip out into a pout, and he laughed.

“Bad girl. Be careful or I’ll lose patience and fuck you right here.”

“Ew.” She grimaced. “Not in your friend’s hot tub. That’s skeevy.”

“On that chair, then,” he said, pointing to the spot where she’d danced for him weeks ago. “I thought you wanted your dozens of orgasms.”

“Dozens? I don’t think it was dozens.” He’d sand her clit off if he gave her dozens. “Even I can’t get off that many times, and I’m pretty damn good at multiples.”

“I noticed.” He winked.

Feeling bratty, she pushed. “Besides, I doubt you’re skilled enough to give me dozens.”

As she’d guessed, his brow arched. “You sure you want to go there, brat?”

“You’re good, but I don’t know if you’re that good.”

Before she had time to react, he pounced. She squealed as he picked her up out of the tub and leaned her over the edge. Fighting was no use—he pinned her down on the cold tile and held her wrists at the small of her back. Her ass was on full display.

Now she was fucked.

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her smile.

“You didn’t expect to get away with insulting me, did you?” With his free hand, he yanked down her wet panties—which she’d insisted on wearing into the hot tub. “Not smart, brat. Your ass is wet and already warm. This is gonna hurt.”

At that, a flurry of smacks rained down on her poor ass, making her squirm and yelp.

Fuck. She hadn’t thought through the wet-butt part. She kicked and connected with him a few times, but it only made him hit harder. She couldn’t stop laughing though. It was the wrong reaction, because he grunted and kept going, but she couldn’t help it.

It hurt, but it was still playful. “Stop!” she cried out, trying to contain her giggles. “Stop! Please!”

He did, then pulled up her underwear. “What do you have to say for yourself, girl?”

Turning her head, she gave him a teasing look. “You are the Lord of the Orgasms, Sir. Your fingers are as big as sausages and give me much pleasure.”

His booming laugh echoed in the pool room. Then he released her hands and scooped her up into his arms. “You’re lucky you’re so funny.”

She squirmed in his arms until she could wrap her legs around his waist and kiss him. He took his time, heating her more than the warm water did. She ground her pelvis against him, feeling her clit swell and beg for attention.

Then he pulled back and stared at her—like she was something worth staring at it. After surviving high school, she’d developed a sense of confidence, but something about Ambrose made her feel fluttery and vulnerable. Not in a bad way—he made her feel sexy, too—but vulnerable, like she was a lamb and he was the hungry wolf about to eat her.

And right now, that sounded pretty good.

She could come to love him someday.

Wait.

She froze. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Did thinking she could love someone mean she already did?

“Come on.” He rose from the hot tub, water cascading down his back and legs. “I brought something with me I want to play with again.”

At the table, he dug into a small bag she hadn’t noticed before. Whatever it was, she was game. Curious and playful now, she left the hot tub to get a closer look.

When he turned around, he held up the belled nipple clamps they’d used last time they were in this room, and smiled.

She knew her eyes widened. Not only because she felt it happen, but she could tell by the satisfied look on Ambrose’s face. Why did Doms enjoy shocking their subs so much?

But nipple clamps? With her skin all hot and vulnerable? Fuck no. And her period just ended, which meant her breasts were still sensitive and sore.

By the look in his eye, she could tell he was undeterred. Backing away, she slowly shook her head.

He nodded and grinned, moving toward her.

Instinct made her fling her arms over her breasts. He laughed, evil and maniacal. A second later, he was on top of her. He clutched tight onto her upper arms and panic hit.

For some reason, all she could think was get away. The idea of those things on her nipples . . . She shuddered. She couldn’t handle it. Not today.

So she ran.

She caught a confused look on his face just before she turned the corner into the bathroom and locked the door.

Panting, she leaned up against the door.

Shit. What was she doing? Why did she run? It was a game she’d played before, sure, but it was usually mutual and for fun. She had just run because she’d been . . . scared.

Was he going to be pissed?

As if on cue, he boomed from outside the door, “Everly, I’m going to retrieve a few things upstairs.”

She gulped.

“When I come back down, you’d better be waiting in the living room for me.”

Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. Maybe he was just getting them warm clothes.

“If I have to wait for you, your punishment will be worse, so I suggest you get your ass out here.”

Crap. Biting her lip, she paced the bathroom a few times. They’d only had funishment so far, not actual, real punishment. Unless the strap incident counted. How bad would it be? Her stomach sank even as her clit tingled with excitement.

God, what was wrong with her? Ambrose wasn’t a Dom to be fucked with, and she’d just pissed him off. This was no time to be horny. Yet she was.

But staying in the bathroom would only end up worse for her. She just had to suck it up, walk out, and deal with whatever came.

When she heard his footsteps move up the stairs, she opened the door and scuttled to the living room. Thinking she’d better look pretty damned sorry, she took off her wet panties and knelt on the ground in front of the fireplace.

The heat from it brought her attention to the fact that he’d turned it on. Probably for her. At least he cared enough to do that. Maybe she wasn’t in too much trouble.

He appeared a few moments later, holding a wooden hairbrush at his side.

Fuck. She hated wooden implements. Floggers and crops and canes were so much more fun. Her gaze stayed on the brush, and she whined.

Moving toward her, he lifted it up. “Don’t like this, huh?”

Gaze on the rug now, trying to look contrite, she shook her head.

“Good. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson, then.” He sat down on the couch then didn’t say anything for a minute.

Too afraid to look at him, she stared at the blue carpet and counted the circles that made up the modern pattern.

“Come here,” he ordered.

She knew enough about Doms by now to win brownie points, so instead of walking, she crawled to him.

When she reached his feet, she looked up at him. There was interest in his gaze, but he seemed to have it firmly under control.

“Who are you now, Sir? The Sultan again? Or are you my professor?”

He frowned. “We’re just me and you. There’s something you should know, Everly. I’m not just the bedroom-only playful Dom. I love bratty subs, but that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with everything. Especially not running away.”

“I panicked.”

“Then I expect you to talk to me about it. You can always safeword. You should know I’m willing to discuss things, that I won’t force you into things you’re afraid of.”

Shame filled her, and she dropped her gaze to the ground again.

“Look at me.”

Ugh. Did she have to?

A finger came under her chin and he forced her head up. She let her eyes meet his, saw the disappointment there. For all her bratty ways, she didn’t really want to upset him. Her eyes started to water.

“You have to trust your Master.”

She nodded.

“We don’t run away from each other. We talk.”

“Okay.” Her voice trembled. He was right. She should’ve just told him her nipples were sore and she was afraid of the clamps today. Running away was stupid, but it’d been an impulse. She wasn’t used to having a Dom who cared about her feelings so much.

“I’m going to punish you sometimes if I feel like you need it. Do you understand that?”

She nodded.

“I expect you to accept your punishment. If you don’t think you deserve it, we can talk about it. But today, you need to be punished before you get your orgasms.”

Unable to look at him, she stared at the ground again.

“Do you agree you need to be punished?”

Nodding again, she grimaced.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Master.”

Gently, he pulled her over his lap. She braced herself for the pain the hairbrush would bring, especially on her already sore ass from the hot tub spanking.

He must have noticed her tense, because he smoothed a hand over her sensitive skin and said, “Relax. We’re just going to talk for now.”

Oh God. Here? Over his knee? She wasn’t feeling very conversational. “Again? Just get my punishment over with, Master.”

“I decide those things, Everly. Do you really want to be getting yourself into more trouble right now?”

“No, Master.” She sounded sulky, even to her own ears.

“Then shut your bratty mouth.”

Sighing heavily earned her a stinging swat. Then he smoothed his hand over it. “Who do you belong to?”

Ugh. So he was going to embarrass her with questions. “You, Master.”

“Who does this ass belong to?”

“You, Master.”

“And your nipples?”

She hesitated, not liking where this was going. Was he going to force the clamps on as part of her punishment? “You, Master.”

“Why didn’t you want me to use the clamps? You seemed to like them the first time.”

“I . . . I don’t know really. My nipples are really sore right after my period, and I was afraid you’d force me.”

“You were afraid of anal before. Did I force you and hurt you, or did I ease you into it so you liked it?”

He had a point. “The second one, Master.”

While he spoke, he stroked her ass and thighs. Was he trying to relax her or turn her on? Or just keep her from getting bored, face shoved into the couch, answering his silly questions?

“So next time you’re afraid or uncomfortable with something, what are you going to do?”

God, the lecturing was worse than any pain he could give her. Couldn’t he just spank her and get it over with? “Talk to you, Master.”

“Good girl.”

His approval felt good, despite the trepidation the hairbrush was causing. The wood glided across her skin, making her flinch.

“I want you to count,” he said. “‘One, I will not run from Master.’ Like that, okay?”

“Yes, Master.” But what if she couldn’t breathe? “How many?”

He paused, making her wonder if he hadn’t thought it through and if that meant worse for her. “Until I think you’re really sorry.”

But I am now!

Whack.

“Ouch!” She flailed, unprepared for the first hit to be so hard. “Don’t I get a warm-up?”

“Not for a punishment,” he answered then tightened his grip on her waist. “Besides, wasn’t the hot tub warm enough?”

Ugh. Dom sarcasm.

Smack.

She grunted.

“Start at one,” he said.

Oh yeah. She was supposed to be counting. “One, I will not run from Master.”

The next one hit right on her sit spot. “Ow! Two, I will not run from Master.”

He hit harder with each one, and her voice went up at least an octave by ten. The pain wasn’t so bad—she’d had worse with the strap and with canes. But for some reason, the counting and the lecturing and the fact that she’d upset him made it a hundred times worse. It felt like real punishment. When other Doms had “punished” her it was in fun or in role-play, not a real, deep down authentic punishment because she’d done something her Dom had disapproved of.

This felt real. With every hard smack, it sank in deeper. She’d hurt him and their relationship by running.

“Twelve, I will not run from Master.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her voice quavered, and her ass felt like it was on fire.

Whack.

A deep sob escaped her and her whole body shook. “I’m sorry,” she blurted in a small voice.

The brush dropped to the ground. “Good girl.” He smoothed a hand over her sore ass and whispered shushing sounds while she sobbed into the pillow.

It hurt, but not as much as she’d expected. The sobs were more about regret than pain.

He let her cry for a few minutes as he rubbed his hand down her thighs, over her ass, and even on her back. Then he lifted her so she was sitting upright on his lap. Unable to face him, she buried her head in his neck. His arms came around her, squeezing her against him.

“You took that very well,” he crooned in her ear. Stroking her hair, he whispered sweet things to her, and eventually her sobbing slowed to the occasional hiccup.

“A-are you . . .” She steadied her voice. “Are you still going to use the nipple clamps, Master?”

“No. You have a legitimate reason for me not to.” He chuckled and pulled her back so he could see her face. “I’m not cruel.”

She snorted. Her ass begged to differ.

“I never want to scare you or traumatize you. You’re too important to me for that.”

He hugged her again and an overwhelming feeling of warmth flooded her.

“How important?” she mumbled into his neck.

He sighed deeply before answering. “Very important.”

“Why?”

“Why? What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one.” She cuddled her face more into his neck, enjoying how his scent calmed her, even after he’d lit her ass on fire. But for some reason, punishment felt like love. What a weird, fucked-up relationship they had.

“Well . . . you’re important because . . .” He hesitated, making her whole body tense with anxiety.

Did he feel as strongly for her as she did for him? Was her puppy-dog infatuation one-sided?

“Because . . . I love you.”

She straightened then grinned at him. “I knew it!”

His brow creased. “Did you just manipulate me?”

“I had to know for sure.”

“Bad girl,” he said, chuckling.

“You can’t be mad at me.” She bit her lip, a knot forming in her gut.

“I can’t?”

“No. Because . . .” With a deep breath, she said it. “I love you too.”

Ambrose grinned, his eyes shining, and so blue she felt like she could dive into them. He watched her like she was the most amazing thing in the world. It was the most wonderful feeling—like she was the most important person in the world to another person. She’d had men say they loved her before, but with Ambrose she could see the adoration on his face. People said that real Dominants often worshiped their submissives, but she’d never seen it for herself. The link that was being forged between them made the other D/s relationships she’d been in seem like pale imitations of the real thing.

He traced his finger over her bottom lip, his gaze never leaving her face. How could it be that his soft touches aroused her as much as the spankings and the sex?

Before she had time to seriously contemplate that, he was brushing his lips against hers, taking her mouth as though it belonged to him. For a long while he did nothing but kiss her, and it was somehow as magical as she always thought a kiss should be.

“You already knew I loved you?” he whispered against her mouth, sounding amused.

“Only because you’ve been showing me that you do for weeks. You make me feel like you love me, which is more important than pretty words.”

Ambrose smiled and stroked her hair. “That’s because it’s true, and sometimes true things are easier to show than say.” He kissed her again, briefly, then set her on her feet. “Now, I need you to hang on to all of those warm, fuzzy feelings, and try your best to remember I love you.” He got to his feet and started to lead her down the hall, back toward the pool area. When they got to the stairs they descended.

“What are you going to do to me?” This didn’t bode well. His words had almost sounded like a threat.

“Well, some mouthy little girl wounded my pride. So now we’re going to spend some time proving her wrong.”

“But . . . I don’t think I like the sound of this.” She thought about trying to lag behind, but he had a firm grip on her wrist and seemed quite determined. “Aren’t you finished punishing me?”

“Did I give you that impression? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you, slave.” He had turned to look at her, and his expression was sinister.

Everly would have come in her panties, if she were still wearing any. No one could look as truly evil as Ambrose did when he had a plan.

She thought about whining, but the bastard would probably like that. Maybe giving him some satisfaction would make him feel more charitable toward her?

He walked her to one of the support columns in the lounge area and backed her against it. “Stay,” he commanded.

Oh God, why did it turn her on so much when he issued commands like she was his pet dog? Probably because she could tell by his expression and the way he held himself that he fully expected her to be an obedient little pet. She waited while he rooted around in his bag, pressing her thighs together to try to give her poor, aching clit some relief.

How did she get herself into this? With a vanilla guy, she just could have said, “Dude, it’s fucking time,” and the guy would do a back handspring then do pretty much anything she asked if it meant he was getting laid. She had a feeling even if she begged Ambrose for relief right now, it wouldn’t divert him from his plan. Masters were so damned stubborn.

Ambrose returned with several silky-looking scarves.

“No, Master, not scarves!” she begged in a mocking tone. “What’s my safeword again? I’m so scared.”

He grumbled something about bratty slaves needing to be taught when to keep their mouths shut, but she stood on her toes and kissed his jaw, then down the side of his neck. He gave an un-Domly purr, and didn’t object when her hand groped at his hard-on. He bit her hard on the neck, and dry humped her against the column, frustrating the hell out of her. She felt a certain amount of satisfaction over the fact that he seemed to be suffering as much as she was.

Desire spiked, and she wondered if she could convince him to forget about fancy bondage shit and just bang her already.

Ambrose spread a staying hand across her upper chest and pulled away from her. “Bad girl. Quit tempting me.”

“But, Master, what kind of slave would I be if I didn’t tempt you?” she simpered up at him, batting her lashes. “I live only to please you.”

He chuckled in spite of himself and shook his head in exasperation. He tied one end of a scarf around her wrist, put it through something above her head, then pulled. Her arm was hauled upward, and he tied the free end to her other wrist. She felt like a sacrifice left for the minotaur. When she looked up to see what he’d looped the scarf through, there was a suspicious-looking O-ring conveniently anchored there. It didn’t seem to serve any other practical purpose.

“You like that? I put that there just for you, for this.” He stepped back and thoroughly eye-fucked her.

She quivered, frowning, ready to start begging.

“Shh. Not much longer, sweet girl.”

He gagged her with the next scarf, tying it behind her head, and used another long one to tie her ribcage against the column, so she was well and truly stuck.

The last length of fabric he shook out and showed to her. “Do you trust me? Can I blindfold you?”

She nodded.

“Can you safeword? Try.”

Her safeword came out garbled but understandable. Ambrose’s wicked grin was the last thing she saw before he covered her eyes and tied the scarf securely.

“Look at what we have here.” He chuckled. “A present! Look at all the pretty ribbons.” Here and there, gentle touches came. Fingers, tongue, the tug of teeth, hands sliding over her skin, small pinches on the ass, plucking at her nipples, tickling the piercing between her legs. It was almost as though he’d hired a team of hands to help out. She widened her stance, silently begging for something more. “Mmm. What a pretty little gift.” His hand went around her throat. “Is this toy mine to play with?”

Everly whined, feeling her sense of self slipping. She nodded her agreement. At that point he could have asked her anything, and she would have done it for him. He played with her gently, teasing, making her quiver and shake. Begging noises came, and when they won her no mercy, she fell silent, other than her breathing, which was loud in her ears. His fingers drifted to the cleft of her ass and followed it downward to her bottom hole.

She whimpered and went up on her toes, but he just followed her movements and did what he pleased, sending jolts of electricity zipping through her. He dribbled something down her ass, and he slicked it back and forth then played there. Something was pushed patiently up inside her, and when it was in, he patted the end of it. It felt like a plug. He fiddled with it, and the damn thing started to buzz deep inside her.

“Oh!”

He chuckled in her ear, and she squirmed, trying to find him with her needy body. Stubbled cheeks grazed her thighs, and a tongue flicked over her slit. Fingers opened her wider there, and his tongue sought out her painfully stiff clit, brushing over it with short, teasing touches, toggling her clit ring until her breaths were ragged gasps. When she’d gotten the damn thing, she’d never realized how much evil a man could do with it.

Just a little more . . . If he would just latch onto her clit and suck for two seconds . . .

Then he was gone, and she shrieked in frustration.

“What’s the matter?” His rough voice growled in her ear. “My toy sounds like she’s suffering. But I’m not hurting you, am I, slave?”

“No, Master.” Her words were garbled but understandable.

“So what, then? Do you need to come?”

Fuck, she’d never had to come so badly in her life. “Yesss,” she hissed around the gag. “Pleeeeease, Master!”

“That’s too bad,” he sighed with mock regret. “At one point I thought I could give you multiple orgasms, but you convinced me I was wrong. Now I may not even be able to give you one.”

Fuck. Okay, well, maybe she deserved that for having said it in a bratty moment, but she’d learned her lesson. Really!

The soft touching started again, and she began to scream and cry. She shrieked in frustration, and he laughed out loud.

“Do you think your little tantrums are going to change my mind? You’re my toy, so that means we’ll play my games. Maybe I won’t let you come at all. Do you think you deserve to come, or have you been a bad, bad girl?”

Desperation seized her. He wouldn’t let her come at all? He couldn’t be serious. But what if he was one of those Dominants who got off on days upon days’ worth of orgasm denial? They’d never really discussed it, and she hadn’t marked it on her list of limits, because she’d never thought of it as a serious possibility.