Afterlife (11 page)

decision to visit Club

More had been evidence of what

taking that step could do

to her. There’d never been anything

across that threshold

except a sickening drop into

disappointment, humiliation

and a complete loss of self-worth.

She was at the bottom of

that wel now, with nowhere left to go

unless someone gave

her a shovel to start digging. And she

was terrified that was

what this was.

He dropped his touch from her chin,

but only to turn his

hand over, offer it to her. When she

placed her hand in it,

his fingers closed over hers.

“Rachel.”

“I can’t, Jon. I’m afraid.”

“Good. An honest answer.” Tugging

her off the bed, onto

her feet, he walked backward toward

her bathroom,

bringing her with him. As he studied

her features, his

serious mouth curved unexpectedly.

“You have such thick

lashes,” he said. “A dol ’s lashes.

And a mouth so soft and

pink, it makes me think of your pussy,

how soft and pink it

must be.”

Words so sensual and graphic at

once. Though she

knew men stil saw her as a sexual

being, there was a

significant difference between

recognizing it and letting it

in. Responding rather than blocking it

off or neutralizing it.

Her reservations, al the reasons she

shouldn’t be doing

this, were going down the drain as if

Jon had reached

inside her and pul ed that plug.

He switched their positions, so he

was backing her over

the bathroom tile, cold on her soles.

Then she was on the

lavender bath rug, which she scented

with that herb so that

the movement of her feet over the

pile brought the aroma to

her.

Stepping away from her, he

nevertheless held onto her

hands until their fingers were

templed against one another.

Sliding free, he turned her vanity

chair around and

straddled it to face her, his forearms

crossed on the top

and thighs braced out wide.

“Take off your clothes, Rachel.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me.” That same tone of

gentle steel and

steady unwavering gaze. He was

pushing that door open

wide inside her and she lacked the

ability to shut it, to

refuse him. “Remove your clothes

and get in the shower.

Leave the door open. I want you to

wash yourself

thoroughly. Do you shave your

pussy?”

When a doctor asked personal things,

there was a

clinical detachment to it that saved it

from being

inappropriately intimate. The way

Jon was asking her this, it

was

in-the-deep-end-of-the-pool

intimate,

but

his

confidence made it appropriate, as if

he had every right to

demand

answers.

Her

quaking

stomach

wasn’t

disagreeing, even as her knees were

beginning to wobble

at what this was doing to her. As

he’d proven already, this

was normal for him. For her it was a

dream, one that she’d

had for so many years it had become

a painful y obsessive

addiction. Her breath was coming

short again, and she

reached out for the shower door to

steady herself.

In an instant, he was back beside her,

pressing her

against the wal , holding her to him.

“I’m sorry,” he

murmured. “You’re so new to it,

aren’t you, beautiful?”

“I’m hardly beautiful,” she managed.

“Especial y at the

moment.”

He cupped her face in both hands,

and he was
so
close.

“Yes, you are. Now, back to my

question. Do you shave

your pussy?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Some of the leotards

you’ve worn are pretty

formfitting.”

“You must have been straining your

eyes.”

“What good is being around lots of

women in snug

clothing if you don’t look?” A glint of

humor in those blue

eyes gave her a shard of reassurance,

then it broke into

butterflies as he brushed her temple

with his lips. “And

since the teacher is the best looking

one…”

She had a good amount of twenty-

somethings in her

classes, with figures much better than

hers, but she

decided she would believe him, just

for a second. She

wasn’t up to arguing.

“No more procrastinating. I want you

to bathe and shave

yourself.” Reaching in the shower, he

turned on the hot

water. She was leaning against his

hip as he kept his other

arm around her waist. His throat was

within a breath of her

mouth, so tempting. She closed her

eyes to quel the urge,

then opened them as he stepped out of

reach again, only

this time he leaned against the sink

counter. “Clothes,

Rachel,” he said firmly.

She swal owed. She couldn’t

possibly, not while he was

watching. “You know, formfitting or

not, those leotards cover

a lot of things.”

“I know. That’s why I want to see it

al .” His gaze roamed

over her then came back up. “Lower

your eyes, Rachel. To

your feet. You’l keep your attention

there unless I give you

permission to look at me. Now take

off your clothes.”

Her stomach clutched at the order,

delivered in that even,

formidable tone. “Jon…”

“Obey me, beautiful. I promise it wil

be al right.”

Unbuttoning the flannel pajama top,

she slid out of that so

her hair brushed her bare shoulders.

He could see her

breasts, the pink tips drawn tight

from the chil , though she

wondered if it was also the heat of

his regard affecting

them. Pul ing the drawstring loose on

the bottoms, she let

them drop so she was standing in her

plain cotton panties

and socks. Then she slid them off, bal

ing them up and

putting them in the hamper behind

her. She turned toward

the shower. She would not think

about the fact she was

standing naked in her bathroom, in

front of Jon Forte. She

would jump in the shower and—

“Stop. Put your hands behind your

back, fingers laced,

and spread your legs shoulder width

apart.”

Her breath caught in her throat. It was

a standard

submissive pose, al owing the Master

access to his slave

however he wished. It made those

butterflies in her

stomach go wild, even as that

throbbing tightness in her

chest and throat started anew. It

wasn’t real, it wasn’t true. It

couldn’t be, because she’d wanted it

for too long. She was

playing a game that had already

passed her by.

She shook her head, fumbled for the

towel on the bar.

“Jon, this isn’t going to work. I can’t

—”

His hand closed over her wrist. He

shut off the shower,

then he wrapped his other hand in her

hair, pul ing at the

scalp in a near painful way, though

his movements

remained calm, unhurried.

“Down.”

She wasn’t sure at first what he

meant, but the pressure

of his hand, moving to her shoulder,

made it clear. She

couldn’t resist him, and suddenly she

was kneeling on the

lavender carpet before him, his hand

tethered in her hair

keeping her up on her knees, her

buttocks brushing her

heels. The steam created by the

shower caressed her bare

skin with heat.

His fingers flexed. “Do you want to

kneel to me, Rachel?

Have you fantasized about it? Don’t

think, just answer.”

“Yes.” Her throat was clogged with

tears again.

“And what did you do when you

were on your knees?”

“I…put my mouth on your… You put

your c-cock in my

mouth.”

“And what did you cal me? What

name did I demand you

cal me when you begged for more?”

Once again, it was stymied, too much

debris washing in

with the very thought. She couldn’t

speak.

“Did you masturbate when you

fantasized about me like

that, Rachel?”

He’d let her have that one, a pass

card. She got the

feeling he wouldn’t give her another.

“Yes.”

“And did you ask my permission to

come?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips. He’d told

her to keep her eyes

down, but she was very aware that if

she looked up she’d

be staring right at his cock, beneath

the fabric of his

trousers. She wanted to see him hard

and thick, swipe

away the viscous fluid col ected at

the slit with her tongue.

You’re a fucking whore…

She flinched, pul ing back from his

touch. “No,” she said

brokenly. “Please don’t.”
Don’t ruin

this.

“Rachel.” Jon was kneeling with her

then, his hands on

her bare shoulders even as she tried

to get away from him,

mortified, vulnerable beyond repair.

“Ssshh. Listen to me.

Hush and listen.”

She stopped only because it was

clear he wasn’t letting

her go, and he was far stronger and

more determined. He

had one knee on the carpet by her

right knee and the other

bent leg hemming in the opposite

side.

“We have a long way to go, don’t

we?” That firm mouth

had a kind curve now, his eyes

compassionate. However,

the intensity remained, indicating his

compassion wasn’t

the pity she dreaded.

“You know that place of utter stil

ness, the one you find in

meditation?” When she managed a

jerky nod, he

continued. “It’s a place where you’ve

let everything that

burdens your mind free. Al those

thoughts, good or bad,

peaceful or disturbing, can wander in

and out of your mind

like an open room. You don’t try to

hold onto anything or

push it out. You release your wil and

simply be. Take a

breath. Slow, even, deep. Let it go.”

She managed it, though her fingers

remained clutched

on his forearm. Her gaze stayed on

her knees, lowered as

he’d demanded.

“You’ve been a submissive for a

long time, haven’t you?”

He didn’t say, “you’ve wanted to be

a submissive”. He

acknowledged that she was one. He

spoke it as truth,

validating it, pul ing back every

doubt, fear, accusation and

ugly word as if it were rusty barbed

wire that had been

bound around that part of herself.

Now he was pul ing the

barbs out, making her bleed.

“Yes. I think so.” Her voice broke.

He put his mouth on the tear rol ing

down her cheek. It

had reached the corner of her mouth,

but she couldn’t turn

her head, make it into a ful kiss. She

was paralyzed, not

knowing what to do.

“Yes. You are. And as far as you’re

concerned, from here

forward, you are ‘one of mine’. You

understand?”

She shook her head. “You never said

what that means.”

“You know what it means.” He

straightened up so she

only saw his legs, clad in the tailored

slacks. Despite his

command, she couldn’t help letting

her gaze lift when she

saw he was loosening his tie further

and unbuttoning his

shirt. “It means I’m your Master and

I’m going to take care

of you, starting right now.”

As the buttons were slipped, pale

marble skin was

revealed. A thin mat of black hair on

his chest artful y

narrowed to that silken line over his

striated abdomen and

disappeared in his slacks. There

would be a tangle of black

coarse hair around his cock, a light

layer over his heavy

testicles, unless he shaved that area.

Despite her words

earlier, trying to push him away, this

was a grown man, not

a boy. And it was clear exactly

which one of them held the

reins.

“Didn’t I tel you to keep looking

down?”

“Please, let me look.” The whispered

plea came before

she could stop herself. “I’ve wanted

to look at you for so

long.”

As he rested his hands on his belt,

her attention zeroed

in on the diagonal lines of muscle at

his waist. “You have

looked at me, Rachel. You and that

wedding ring hoax put

me through hel , every time I’d catch

you checking me out

with those hungry eyes. I had to

exercise some serious