Over the Line (21 page)

She screamed.

Before she could lose her balance, strong arms wrapped around her, steadying her. Next to her ear, Master Michael whispered, “Welcome back.”

“What the hell?”

He turned her to face him. “You’ve been lassoed,” he explained. “It’s the best way to get the attention of a little subbie and remind her who she belongs to.”

She wanted to say she belonged to no one, but, damn it, when he looked at her like that, her resistance evaporated. She should get away. Now. But she didn’t. “I—”

“Say yes, Master Michael.”

“Anything you say, Sir,” she compromised. Her heart still raced, but she had to admit she liked his unusual greeting. “That’s a hell of a welcome.”

“Wait until you see what else I have in mind.”

Damn, he made it so difficult to want to walk away.

He was patient while she showered and changed, and when she went downstairs, sashaying into the kitchen on spiky heels while wearing a garter belt, stockings and leather bustier, she had the pleasure of watching his mouth fall open.

“New?” he asked, sliding a glass of light beer onto the counter.

“For you, Sir.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I missed you.”

“I thought about you,” she admitted, taking a purposeful step towards him, playing the diva. “I almost masturbated.”

“Almost?”

“I didn’t.” She raised her hands. “Honest, Sir.”

“I’d have had to spank you if you had.”

“Really? And how would you have done that, Sir?”

“I’d have sat on that chair.” He pointed.

“And then, Sir?”

“I’d have taken you over my knee. Like so.”

Quicker than she could have imagined, he reached out and snatched her from the ground. He was sitting and had her over his knee in under three seconds, trapping her legs and bringing his hand down on her rear.

She allowed her body to go limp as she surrendered. She wanted this, needed it, wanted him.

He gave her dozens of spanks, blazing across her buttocks and that tender flesh right below the cheeks.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sir.”

Before she fully understood what was happening he picked her up again.

“I should go away more often, Sir.”

“I think you should never leave.”

She was saved from a reply when he sat her on the edge of the table. He forced her legs apart then pressed on her chest, until she was lying on her back. He pulled a condom from his pocket and dropped his jeans.

“Sir has one thing on his mind.”

He looked down at her.

His eyes were dark, and a lock of brown hair fell over his forehead. His eyebrows were drawn together in a straight, determined line. He made her shiver with anticipation, and maybe a sprinkle of nerves on top. She’d seen him in a lot of moods, but this one, pulsating sexual energy from the moment she’d arrived, was new.

“Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you like you were missed, little subbie.”

“Fuck me like you missed me, Sir.”

Before entering her, he put on the latex sheath and spanked her pussy half a dozen times, making her moist. She thrashed her head.
Hell.
She wasn’t sure what had got into him, but it excited her.

He parted her legs, holding her ankles and dragging her forwards so that her butt was no longer on the table. She hung suspended, having to count on him to keep her safe as he fucked her. That was heady.

Repeatedly, he slammed into her, moving her around, satisfying her. “I want to come, Sir.”

“Take it.”

She was lost. The pain from the over-the-knee spanking, the slaps to her pussy, the sensation of weightlessness, the trust she had for him and the days without had left her dizzy.

He moved quickly, propping one of her legs with his shoulder. She was still exposed completely to him, and he pushed on her clit.

With choking sobs, she climaxed.

But he didn’t seem satisfied. “Give me more,” he said.

He continued to stroke and tease as he thrust, driving her to another shuddering orgasm. On and on he went, continuing to hold back as he relentlessly sought everything she had to give.

By the time he ejaculated, her pussy felt raw and tender. A sheen of sweat covered her, and all her muscles quivered. “That was…”

“Worth the wait?” He looked down at her.

His hair was damp, and his breaths were laboured.

“You really did roll out the red carpet, Sir,” she said.

It took her a moment to regain her footing after he helped her to stand.

He went into the small bathroom and when he got back, his pants were fastened. He looked respectable, but damn it, still so appealing.

“Would you like to shower while I decant a bottle of wine and finish making dinner, or would you like to be the sous-chef? Watching you dice and chop while dressed like that is definitely intriguing.”

“Oh. You did mention dinner. Thanks for that, but I need to get home.”

“I see.” His eyes turned the colour of iced emeralds, and she felt suddenly chilled. “Thanks for the fuck?” he asked.

She took a step back. “I’m not sure what the issue is, Sir.”

“You stopped by for sex.”

“And?”

“That might have been okay if we had discussed it first.”

“Why would we?” She rubbed at the goosebumps that had suddenly formed on her skin. She’d sensed this was coming. As they spent more time together, he felt he had the right to make more demands of her.

“I beg your pardon. I thought since you spend half your time here that we did have a relationship. Clearly my mistake.”

Fuck.
They had fallen into a routine of sorts and she loved the hot scenes enough to keep coming back. All of that had set up false expectations.

“I am not interested in anything other than sex with you.” She met his gaze then wished she hadn’t when she saw the combination of anger and frustration there. There appeared to be underlying hurt too, and that bothered her most. Softly, she said, “I never agreed to be your submissive, or anything else. I thought you knew where I was at.”
Good sex, even really good sex wasn’t worth that to her.

“Don’t let me get in your way.”

“I… I apologise…” She debated adding the honorific and decided against it. Calling him Sir would confuse them both.

She turned and went up the stairs. He didn’t follow. At one time, he would have watched her, maybe even given her a spanking to encourage her along, but not now.

When she came back down, bag in hand, he was nowhere around.

Her heart heavy, wishing they could have exchanged another few words but also, like him, recognising the futility, she walked to the SUV and climbed behind the wheel. When she arrived at the gate, Pedro was there to let her out. Obviously Master Michael had given the man a heads-up. As she drove through the exit and lifted her hand in farewell, she noticed Chewie was close by, grazing on some weeds.

Sydney accelerated and looked in the rear-view mirror until she could no longer see Pedro.

Determinedly, she concentrated on the drive.

And it wasn’t until she was back on the interstate that she allowed her emotions to surface. The realisation she may never see him again taught her one thing—the pain she’d seen reflected in his eyes was nothing compared to the sensation that suddenly constricted her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

Chapter Nine

“Call her.”

“Who?” Michael looked up from his office computer screen and saw Pedro standing in the doorway.

“
Señorita
Sydney.”

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

“I knocked.”

No doubt
. When he worked on a spreadsheet, he had to focus totally. He didn’t like numbers, and he often didn’t like the results at the bottom of his columns.

Since Pedro wasn’t going away, Michael sat back in his chair.

Pedro grasped a slightly chewed hat between his hands. Michael figured he knew the culprit. He still had to replace his best hat, and now Pedro’s, too. This could get expensive. “What?” he asked the trusted ranch hand. Apparently the man had something on his mind.

“You’re thinking of her.”

“Who?”

“
Señorita
Sydney.”

No chance. He wasn’t a man who obsessed. He accepted reality and got on with life. Ranching could be brutal. Most winters, he lost cattle to the weather. And spring birthing came with its own risks. He’d grieved for his parents and the fact that his sister and her children didn’t want anything to do with the land he loved. And he’d survived it all.

The in-your-face, bratty Sydney only wanted a fuck buddy. He could deal with that as well as the fact that what she wanted conflicted with what he demanded.

“You have been driving yourself like a crazy man. You’re hardly eating. You’re not sleeping much. You’re doing my chores.” Pedro went silent for a moment. “You’re thinking about her.”

“Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Did you forget everything you learnt working with horses?” With a respectful nod, Pedro left.

Michael picked up a pen and drummed it on the desk.

Sydney had driven away without glancing behind her. Then again, he didn’t much like ultimatums, either.

Part of Michael doubted he’d ever hear from her again. But Christ, the sex had been good, even for him. Getting her off gave him a hard-on.

He’d played with plenty of subs through the years, but since his wife, he’d never had one burrow deep beneath his skin like Sydney had.

So what the hell was he going to do?

Pedro had been correct in his observations. Michael had not touched the spreadsheet. He’d simply been staring at it. It hadn’t given him any answers yet.

And no matter how he looked, nothing changed.

He dropped the pen and leant back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head.

And he asked himself a question. Why the hell did she matter? She was a sub. He’d met other women at the Den, some he’d had great times with. There was no doubt that the sexual connection between him and Sydney buzzed with as much energy as a mountain lightning storm. It was intense, immediate, scorching.

To him, it was more than just that, though. He enjoyed verbally sparring with her, liked her vibrancy, her passion for freedom. When she was here, going for walks, splashing in the river, incinerating marshmallows, helping with dinner, sitting around a campfire sharing memories, she breathed life into the Eagle’s Bend Ranch. He understood how complex she was and respected her enough not to want to change her.

She might believe, honestly believe that sex was all they shared.

But he knew better.

He’d seen her playing with Chewie when she thought no one was looking. Her blue eyes softened with kindness when she spoke to Pedro. On a recent visit, she’d pulled some weeds out of a flower bed while he’d cooked hamburgers on the grill.

Suddenly he understood.

She didn’t keep coming back because they had great sex. She liked being here, with him. To her, there could be no greater threat than that.

Sydney had told him about the man who had put a collar on her. While she hadn’t shared all the gruesome details, it was clear she’d had to compromise who she was, and she was intent on not letting that happen again.

Funny. The woman spent her life careening from one adventure to another and she refused to discuss her fears with him. She was so determined to protect herself that she didn’t see there was another way, a way for her to have it all—fantastic, edgy sex, a submissive relationship, independence and love.

Love?

He surged to his feet and paced to the window.

Love?

Fuck it all.

That was his problem, why he’d been distracted and irritated, why he was working so many long, physical hours. Somewhere along the line, despite his best intentions, he’d fallen in love with her.

He stared into the distance.

He’d come to a number of realisations in a short time. So now what? Was he willing to let her go without trying? Or was he willing to fight for her, for them? If so, how?

Waiting for her to contact him didn’t seem to be working.

Pedro had asked if Michael had learnt nothing in his years of working with horses. He had. Patience. He waited for them to come to him, but he often enticed them. Was that what Pedro had meant?

* * * *

It took Michael a full week to come up with a plan.

He grabbed his cellphone and called the Den. Damien was sympathetic to Michael’s frustration but, citing privacy issues, he refused to give Michael her address.

“I can call her and ask for permission,” Damien offered. “Leave it up to her.”

Since she hadn’t yet contacted him, she might be afraid Michael planned to show up at her condo. He wanted her to come to him, not turn skittish. “No, don’t do that.” Michael shook his head. “If I have a package shipped to the Den, will you forward it to her?”

When Damien didn’t answer, Michael continued, “Shoes. Nothing nefarious. Chewie ate one of her sandals. It’s only right that I replace them.”

“That sounds fair,” Damien agreed. “Shoes? Just shoes?”

“Shoes.”

“Sexy ones?”

“Not this time.”

Damien was silent for a moment. “Clever.”

“I hope.” They chatted a few more minutes. “Ship them overnight or courier them, will you? Bill me for the expenses.”

Damien agreed before Michael ended the call.

Enticement.

He went online and spent over an hour searching out the right pair, almost exact replacements for the ones Chewie had destroyed.

Almost a week later, he was in the barn when his cellular signalled an incoming message. A quick glance at the screen confirmed it was from Sydney.

He blinked. The moment of truth. His plan had either worked or failed completely.

There were no words, only a picture of the shoes.

He waited a day before texting her back.

I’d like to see them on you.

Within thirty seconds, she responded.

I’d like to show them to you.

He thought about his response, and he decided not to play fair. He hung a black flogger from a fence post and sent her a picture of it.