With This Collar (12 page)

She drizzled a relaxing blend of salts into the water then sank up to her chin.

Lying back on the inflatable cushion didn’t help.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled the plug.

As she wrapped a towel around her body, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She dropped the towel and moved closer.

The lines were faint, but she could see the marks on the backs of her thighs. A light handprint was obvious on her right butt cheek.

She waited to feel the rush of mortification, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt aroused.

Since she couldn’t vanquish the thoughts of him, she surrendered to the inevitable. She grabbed her vibrator and climbed on top of her bed.

She selected the slowest speed and placed the pulsing head against her pussy. Thoughts flashed through her mind. She recalled the way his hand had been beneath her skirt and the determined set of his features as he had brought her off in front of the window in Master Damien’s sunroom. She’d never done anything as scandalous as that.

She lifted her hips slightly as she remembered the sound of his voice, like rusty nails on velvet, as he had ordered her to lie across his lap. Her whole body jerked as she recollected the shock of raw energy exploding across her skin when his palm had connected with her buttocks.

An orgasm built deep inside as she thought of the way he’d efficiently and effectively tied her to the horse.

The climax drew closer, and images moved with warp speed. The harsh explosion of leather on her helpless body, the way he had required her to kneel, and, God help her, the way he had held her head while he’d forced her to suck his thick cock.

With her free hand, she pinched her sore nipples, pulling on them, dragging them away from her body.

She shamelessly moved against the vibrator, then, needing more, pulled back the hood of her clit. The tiny bit of flesh already felt abused. The reminder of the way Master Marcus had used her, smacking her pussy hard, drove her.

Panting, she turned the switch to high. She moved the violently quivering vibrator across her swollen clitoris.

Her body jerked and convulsed as if wired by electricity.

Within a few seconds, the sensations were too much.

Without thinking, she screamed out Master Marcus’ name and came
hard.

She dropped the still-running bullet next to her. She gulped for air. She had never had an orgasm like this before at her own hand.

Julia wasn’t sure how long she lay there, shaking and shivering as she tried to remember how to breathe normally.

The orgasm alleviated some of the restlessness clawing at her. But no sooner had she got her heart rate under control than frustration replaced it.

She’d endured so much at Master Marcus’ hands. How could she go back to normal, missionary sex?

Marcus Cavendish—who wore a leather spanking implement attached to his clothing—was many things, but he definitely wasn’t a nice guy.

She turned off the vibrator and dragged the blankets back over her.

Worn out, she curled into a tiny ball and fell asleep.

* * * *

Far too early the next morning, the alarm jolted her awake. Figured. It seemed like the minute she’d actually fallen asleep, it was time to get up.

She hit the snooze button twice before realising she was supposed to meet Harvey for breakfast.

Harvey.

He fitted her definition of nice guy to a tee.

They’d met online, and the first date had been pleasant. He’d insisted on paying for the coffee and scones, and they’d strolled Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall. He’d been solicitous, and he was passably good-looking, if a little thin for her tastes.

He was exactly the type of man she was looking for. He’d said he hoped he wasn’t being too forward in noticing she was cute. She’d tried to keep the wince off her face. That was a description that best fit bunnies and kittens.

She’d hoped the man she would end up with would find her wildly attractive. She yearned to hear she was sexy and responsive and that her ass was made for a tawse. But a solid, predictable partner wouldn’t say that. And, really, there was nothing wrong with being cute. That Harvey had already hinted that he’d like to take her home to meet his family was a bonus.

With a deep sigh, she turned on the coffee-maker and glared impatiently as the machine spat miserly drips into the glass carafe. She didn’t wait for it to finish before pouring a cup and adding a more than generous splash of cream. Deciding that, if a little was good, more was better, she topped off the cup.

Leaning against the counter, she downed the contents of the mug in several long gulps. Feeling somewhat human, she refilled the cup then headed into the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, she tried to tame her hair. After failing, she opted for a ponytail before opening the makeup drawer. A layer of foundation made no noticeable difference. The first coat of mascara did little to help her look more awake.

She all but trowelled on the eye shadow then applied a second coat of mascara. It, too, was a remarkable failure. Her eyes looked extra small and they were slightly puffy. Despite being on her second cup of coffee, she could barely keep her eyes open.

And it was all Master Marcus’ fault.

Until last night, until she’d screamed as she’d come, she’d been looking forward to meeting Harvey in downtown Denver for breakfast.

For all the good it would do her, she selected a matching bra and panty set from her dresser drawer. Since he hadn’t tried to kiss her after their first date, she doubted he’d be seeing her lingerie.

She stepped into a pair of jeans and avoided looking at her backside in the mirror. It didn’t matter whether or not her skin was bruised or if the outline of Master Marcus’ hand could still be seen.

She pulled on a too-tight sweater and wondered if Harvey would even notice the low-plunging neckline. Regardless, Master Marcus wouldn’t pay attention, either. He’d have the cotton off her body and folded in a pile so fast, it would make no difference what she wore.

Pictures of Master Marcus and Harvey collided in her mind. Since there really was no comparison, she pulled back her shoulders and decided to forget she’d ever met the delicious Dom.

* * * *

She arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late. Harvey was waiting inside the door, and he made a show of checking his watch.

“Did I have the time wrong?” he asked.

“No. Sorry.” She unbuttoned her coat and flicked off the snowflakes.

He didn’t help her remove it or place it on the empty chair. He just stood there, looking at her.

“The roads were a bit slick,” she continued. “So it took a few minutes longer to get here than I thought it would.”

“Are you always late for events? Or are you just not a morning person?”

She was saved from a reply by the arrival of the hostess.

The restaurant was already crowded, and loud. Once they had been seated, a harried-looking server slowed down long enough to ask, “Coffee?”

Harvey nodded. Julia ordered chai. The woman nodded and kept moving.

“I’m just curious.” Harvey moved the condiments to the exact centre of the table. He picked up his menu and looked at her over the top. “Are you often tardy?”

She laid her coat next to her. “Do you often continue to grind on things after someone has already apologised?” she countered.

He sat back carefully, still holding the menu. “You’re being a little defensive, Julia. I was simply making conversation.”

“You’re right.” Last night had made her edgy. “Sorry,” she said again.

“Because I’m always early for events and meetings.”

“I have dozens of faults,” she told him, something snapping inside. She realised there was a difference between a Dominant and an asshole. “Maybe hundreds.”

“I’m trying to be serious here.”

“So am I,” she replied.

The waitress arrived with their drinks. “Ready to order?”

“Yes,” Harvey said.

Julia shook her head. “I haven’t looked at the menu.”

Harvey sighed. “I looked at it before you arrived.”

“On second thought, I have decided.” She unzipped her purse and fished a five-dollar bill from her wallet. She dropped the money on the table and smiled, suddenly feeling lighter. “I want a man who is sunny-side up, with a large sausage, and two hot buns.”

The waitress winked at her.

Harvey gasped. “Now just a minute,” Harvey said. He looked around, the menu still clutched in his hand. “Be reasonable, Julia. I insist you behave yourself. You’re making a scene.”

She grabbed her coat, slung her purse over her shoulder and strode towards the door.

Outside, the gust of wind that smacked her in the face didn’t slow her down. Instead, it invigorated her. As she’d learnt last night, there was something exhilarating about being honest with herself and with others.

The cold, the wind, the icy streets didn’t bother her.

She entered her apartment and took Master Marcus’ business card from the trash. She stared at the eagle emblazoned on the paper, and she recognised it as the same symbol that had been stamped into his tawse.

Her hand trembled. She knew why she hadn’t slept last night. It was because she hadn’t been willing to face the truth—she’d liked the time she’d spent with Master Marcus. She’d enjoyed the way he’d spanked her, made her question her beliefs, and the way he’d cared for her afterwards.

Julia had never been a snuggler. Frankly, she didn’t really understand why anyone would want to. Sleeping was easier alone, without someone else’s weight on you. But he had made her feel safe and protected, even though he was overbearing and obnoxious—the things she most despised in a man.

She reluctantly admitted the truth to herself. She wanted to see him again.

So what the hell was she going to do about it?

Chapter Six

Well, well.

Marcus looked at the identification window on his cellphone.

Julia Lyle.

The night of the wedding, he’d given her his contact information. Although she hadn’t reciprocated, he’d arrogantly believed he’d hear from her. He’d done everything possible to give her a memorable experience. It sure as hell had been hot for him, more intense than most scenes he’d recently participated in.

After a month of silence, he’d determinedly shoved thoughts of her from his mind.

Despite his resolve, he’d had random flashbacks to the sight of her buttocks, upturned over his lap, exposed for his punishment. They’d had a taste of playing together, and every one of her reactions had been honest. She’d been upfront in telling him she wanted nothing more than a one-night stand. Obviously she didn’t need him to complete her life.

And now, when he’d given up hope, his phone was ringing. He waited a full five seconds before answering. “Cavendish.”

“Hello…” She paused for a moment.

The word
Sir
hung between them, unspoken.

“It’s Julia. I met you at Ben and Lana’s wedding.”

“I would have never forgotten you,” he said. He waited for her to speak, letting her set the pace.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said.

Again, she left the honorary title off the end of her sentence.

“I was wondering…” She trailed off. “That is… You said it was okay to contact you.”

He heard the layer of nerves in her voice. It had clearly taken some courage for her to telephone him. “I’m glad you did.” He reached for the cocktail that was on his desk then leant back in his chair.

“I was wondering…” She blew out her breath. “Damn it. For the past few days, okay, weeks, I’ve been rehearsing what I might say. I was kind of hoping I’d reach your voicemail, honestly.”

“You’ve got me, live and in the flesh.”

“I’m not doing very well, am I?”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured her. “If you had left a message, what would you have said?”

“Do you mind if I’m blunt?”

“I prefer that to games.”

“I’d like to see you again.”

“When?”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you,
Sir,”
he corrected. “I do hold to many BDSM proprieties. I expect you to honour them, as well. Unless you’re looking for a vanilla friendship. In which case, I’m wondering why you called.”

He could almost imagine her worrying her lower lip before she repeated, “Whenever it’s convenient for you, Sir. And no, I’m not looking for someone to take me to the opera. I’d like to scene with you again, Sir.”

Her tone sounded different than it had at the beginning of the call. Her use of the word ‘Sir’ had changed something between them, letting her be clear about what she wanted.

She repeatedly surprised and delighted him.

“How many times have you masturbated since we were together?”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked out of the window of his Highlands loft. He loved the view from this vantage, skyscrapers, the amusement park, the events centre. Denver seemed to pulse energy, fed by the Platte River.

He was proud of his place. It had taken six months to remodel the space to his specifications. He’d taken out walls to create a massive great room, opened up the staircase, even enclosed part of the outdoor space so that he had a deck and sunroom. Glass and metal defined the three thousand square foot piece of urban heaven. He’d hosted a couple of parties for clients since he’d moved in, but he’d never entertained a sub there. Until now, he hadn’t wanted to.

“I don’t know. Almost every day. Twenty or thirty times in total, I suppose, Sir,” she finally said.

A sex drive to equal his. “Do you fantasise when you play with yourself?”

“Oh, God,” she said. “This so isn’t the conversation I’d been thinking we’d have.”

“We’ve established that you didn’t call me because you needed an escort to the opera. So answer the question. Do you fantasise when you play with your pussy?”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me about the most recent fantasy.”

She was quiet for so long that he checked the phone to be sure they were still connected.