Over the Line (20 page)

She smiled. “Very, Sir.”

“I may have to get a second job. Or a new pet. If my nieces wouldn’t be devastated, I’d give her away. Maybe I should get her a companion? Breed her, maybe get some goat milk?”

“There’d be more of them?” she asked, pretending to be aghast. Then she shrugged. “I
have
been thinking about a new wardrobe. I could accidentally leave out all my things, one at a time.”

“You may not like all my replacements.”

“You did pretty well on the shoes.”

He took another drink of his wine before standing to light the grill. “Would you like to eat out here? That way we can use the kitchen table for fucking.”

Her mouth dried.

After dinner, she learnt he was serious.

He carried the plates into the kitchen and she followed with the empty wine glasses. He took them from her.

“Go change,” he said. “I pretended to be a gentleman through dinner. But my inner Neanderthal says I’m done being polite.”

She looked at him.

“Move it, little sub. Now.”

“Yes, Sir.” He slapped her ass to hurry her along.

Upstairs, she took her time stripping. This time, his use of the words ‘little sub’ hadn’t bothered her as much as it normally did, maybe because she was focused on their imminent sex. All thoughts vanished when she caught sight of her torso in the mirror.

There were a few faint red marks on her skin, most of which, she suspected, would be gone by tomorrow. She could also see small indentations from his ropes. That reminder of being tied to the fence and flogged beyond reason thrilled her.

She paused.

At some point while she’d been outside, bound and gagged, subjected to a dozen strands lashing her body, she had stopped to think.

She blinked, trying to recall all the events. He’d been striking her belly. She’d felt strangely peaceful. They’d made eye contact, then…

Nothing.

She couldn’t remember what had happened between then and him telling her to open her mouth so he could remove the gag. She had no idea that she’d been hit hard enough to leave any welts.

Once he’d loosened her arms, he’d swept her from the ground and carried her to a chair. This meant he’d somehow unfastened her legs without her realising it.

Was it possible she’d reached subspace? After insisting such a place didn’t exist?

All she knew was that she’d felt groggy, as if she’d been asleep.

The orgasm afterwards, with the plug, had left her speechless. As angry as she’d been, she hated to admit that he’d been right to keep her on edge. When she’d finally come, the sensation had been more intense than any she’d ever had before.

He’d taken her to unexpected, dizzying sexual heights, making her crazy for more. If he could get over his need for her to behave in a submissive manner, she could enjoy a relationship with him. Coming out here, sceneing, having dinner and a glass of wine when she was in town…?

As she shimmied into the skirt and zipped the jacket, she heard him moving around downstairs. He could wield a flogger and a spatula. Could anything be better?

She slipped on the heels then checked her reflection to be sure her hair looked presentable. The only thing missing was a welt or two on her rear. With any luck, Master Michael would soon remedy that oversight.

When she descended the stairs, he was waiting for her near the table, his belt and four strands of rope in hand.

“Christ,” he said, eyes darkening a shade. “I knew the outfit was going to be hot, but I had no idea.”

“I hope your inner Neanderthal is pleased?”

“Do you want your butt beaten to match your front, or would you like me to just shove my cock in your cunt?”

His words, along with the way he raked his gaze down her body, from her eyes to her shoes, made her shudder. The comment had been bluntly sexual, but his questions sounded serious. He was letting her choose. “If I may, Sir, I want both.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He nodded. “Unzip that jacket. I want your tits flat on the table.

Her pussy moistened.

Like the expert he was, he secured her to the table.

“Those shoes put you in the perfect fucking position.”

He dragged her skirt up over her buttocks.

Before she was mentally prepared, he smacked her ass with the leather. She cried out and pulled against the restraints.

“Would you like the gag?”

“I’d rather scream the house down, Sir.”

“Suits me,” he said.

Unfortunately, he backed off, warming her with a few gentle spanks. “One or two lasting marks are fine,” he said. “But since you’re not being punished, I don’t want your ass black and blue.”

“If that pleases you, Sir.” Earlier she’d been able to say something along those lines and mean it. She was hoping he couldn’t hear the difference in her tone. Since she would soon be taking a couple of college guys on a mountain-biking expedition, she’d love to have a reminder of him every time she sat on the seat.

He finally belted her hard enough that breath whooshed from her lungs. She pulled against the ropes, but he put a strong hand between her shoulder blades and forced her breasts back onto the table.

She lost herself when his actions were this harsh. This treatment was exactly what she hoped to find when she went to the Den. Who know that a gentleman cowboy would be the one to satisfy her?

The strapping continued, and he even caught behind her knees. She roared out her anguish. In reward, he hit her again, harder, in the same spot.

Overwhelmed with pain and gratitude, Sydney started to sob. To his credit, he kept going, the rhythm soothing her and making her pussy wet.

Then she felt his sheathed cock at her entrance. Instead of entering slowly, he parted her and shoved in with a single, impaling stroke.

He put his hand on her nape, immobilising her as he pounded into her.

It stunned her that he was ready for sex so soon after they’d finished, and that it was this rough fulfilled her.

“Come for me, little sub.”

Master Michael used her body so completely she was lost. When he reached beneath her to brutally squeeze one of her breasts, she bucked, granting him deeper access, and when he took it, she yelped and orgasmed.

Bracing himself, he moved his hands to her shoulders. He moved in her with short, quick motions until she heard his tell-tale guttural moan, signalling his climax.

He thrust a few more times, with a little less depth, before digging his fingers into her flesh and surging forward in a powerful motion.

She liked this primal, primitive, driving culmination.

He left her tied in the puddle of tears, her thighs sticky.

This, what she had with him, was what she’d been seeking.

Less than a minute later, he returned and pressed a cool cloth against her. Another thing she appreciated about him. “Thank you, Sir,” she said.

He untied her and helped her to stand.

“I smeared the finish on your table,” she said as he turned her to face him. He’d got dressed, and that made her feel a bit awkward.

“And your mascara. Christ, that’s hot.”

“Wrecked makeup, Sir?”

“That you let go that much, yes. There’s nothing more rewarding than proof of your tears.” He traced the tracks with the pads of his thumbs.

For a moment, she wondered if he might kiss her, and she wondered if she would let him if he tried.

He smiled, leant down and softly said, “I’ll get you the furniture polish.”

She recoiled.

“I’m a man,” he said. “I want to see that skirt ride up as you reach across the table to clean it.”

“Are you serious, Sir?”

“One hundred per cent. I could clean it myself, but… Nah. No way.”

He really expected her to clean up the mess? Evidently, he did. He rested his hips against the counter, and as she worked, he gave a long, slow wolf whistle.

She glanced back at him. “Really? What are you, a teenager?”

He grinned and shrugged. “I may have to get you a French maid’s outfit.”

“No chance, Sir.”

“Was worth a try. What if Chewie—”

“Again, no. This get-up is going home with me, Sir.”

They spent a companionable evening outside. “Are you staying?” he asked.

“Do you have any more of that wine, Sir?”

“I’ll get you a glass, since we aren’t having another scene tonight.”

Although that knowledge disappointed her a bit, she supposed they couldn’t always be having sex, no matter how much she would prefer it. It would keep the relationship clearer to her.

He’d allowed her to change clothes, and he built a fire out front. In response to Master Michael’s wave, Pedro joined them to toast marshmallows. Evidently not to be left out, Chewie trotted over.

Master Michael scratched behind the goat’s ears.

A few minutes later, apparently seeking a new diversion, she jumped on top of a big boulder. Sydney watched in fascination as Chewie looked around, bleated, walked down the far side of the rock then trotted around and did the same thing again. The rock was craggy and had to be three feet tall. “What did you feed her?” she asked.

“Shoes?” Master Michael suggested.

She laughed and popped another marshmallow on a long, thin stick. Pedro was telling a story about Master Michael learning to ride a horse, and she was so fascinated she forgot to constantly turn the marshmallow. Seconds later, the confection was in flames.

She pulled it out of the fire and blew on it. The outside was charred, and the inside was a gooey mess. She wasn’t sure she’d ever tasted anything better.

After putting the stick down on a rock, she sat back in her chair, sipping her wine and listening intently as Pedro told stories of Master Michael growing up on the ranch.

“Enough of that,” Master Michael warned, interrupting what was probably an embellished tale.

“It’s okay,
Señor
Michael. Everyone falls off a horse near a—”

“You looking to get fired?”

“Hay,” he finished. “A bale of hay.”

Both men laughed.

An hour later, with the bag of marshmallows empty and the moon riding high, Pedro said he’d extinguish the fire.

Her compatibility with Master Michael surprised her.

He joined her in the shower, held her tight all night then made breakfast before she left.

* * * *

Over the next few weeks, she kept up her regular life, including the always-challenging mud race, and she visited him a number of times, but they had numerous small disagreements.

So much about him and their time together was fabulous. But at times his expectations threatened to ruin it. She loved new adventures, like being tied to the fence and venturing into the outer edges of subspace. She was even mostly fine with his aftercare, but when he wanted her to behave as if he were her lord and master, making her wait on his sexual whims for her orgasms, she seethed. Other times, he wanted to enjoy her company, look at the stars, take a horse out to watch a sunrise. To her that screamed of relationship, and that threatened her freedom. She’d started to push to keep the focus on sex. But he was making that more difficult.

She’d been in Moab for four days, guiding a family of six on a hiking trip. Never again would she do that in summer, she vowed. She’d pass that business along to a colleague.

Instead of going home, she accepted an invitation to join Master Michael for a dinner. It had been six nights since they’d hooked up, and she was ready to get her kink on. Hot sex, then head for Evergreen and her own bed so she could get ready for her next job.

The drive down the dirt road took forever, and at the gate, she climbed out of the SUV and entered the combination.

She heard a motorised vehicle and looked up to see Pedro making his way towards her.

“I can manage,” she called, waving him off.

Each time she visited, she felt more and more at home. For some reason, this time, that bothered her.

While she’d been in Moab, sleeping under the stars since it had been too freaking hot in the tent, she’d wondered what Master Michael was doing. The cooler temperatures of his land beckoned, and an unwelcome part of her craved the peace and solitude he’d created and wanted to share with her.

And that was the crux of her problem.

Her parents had taught her to embrace life, to seize as many opportunities as possible, and there were still a number of things she’d yet to do. She was committed to living her life on her terms, hitting the road when she felt like it, hanging out with the people she wanted to see, working only for clients she enjoyed.

At the time, getting collared by Lewis had seemed like it would be a kick, a relationship with a twist that had appealed to her. It had taken her more time than she would have liked, but now she was proud of the fact that she’d found the courage to walk out with her head held high. As she’d dumped the pieces of her collar, she’d recommitted to her relationship with herself. Her solo trip to the Bahamas where she’d sipped rum and enjoyed the sun had been celebratory and liberating.

It was tempting to consider staying here with Master Michael. But the potential cost—that of forgoing other life experiences—was starting to give her the chills.

She had climbed back in her vehicle and driven through the open gate by the time Pedro arrived. “You should have waited. But you have no patience.” He sighed.

This had become a regular disagreement between them. He didn’t like her wrestling with the gate’s weight and she liked taking care of herself.

“I heard you coming up the road. Go on. I’ll close the gate.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.”

She parked then opened the back door to get out her bag. This was becoming a habit, arriving at his house after she returned from an expedition. Each time, she had to shove aside all the outdoor gear to dig out her overnight bag which was now filled with sexy clothes instead of the utilitarian garments it used to hold.

Since her arms were full, she bumped her butt against the door to close it.

She was moving towards the house when she was stopped then dragged backwards, all but yanked off her feet while a rope tightened around her upper body.