She bit back her amazement over the fact that he knew her favorite band and nodded to acknowledge his limit. “What should I call you?”
“Master. For the next three days, I am your master.”
She couldn’t stop the pleased smile or the excitement unfurling in her chest. As usually happened, her profound sense of duty managed to take the lead. “Master, you should know that I’m on birth control and that my last tests came back clean.”
His mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile or a reprimand that never manifested. She hadn’t asked for permission to speak. “And I’m sure you know all about my tests.” At her nod—she handled all his mail and appointments—he continued. “Untie your robe.”
An auditory response wasn’t necessary. She complied with his order, loosening the sash and letting it dangle at her sides. The robe remained stuck to her body.
With one finger, Sean traced a path between her breasts and urged her robe apart. The warmth of the silk fell away. For the first time, Marcella stood exposed to his view. She held her breath and hoped he liked what he saw.
His gaze roamed every inch of her skin. Heat bloomed in the trails he left, though he no longer touched her. With agonizing slowness, he rounded her body. She felt his hands at her shoulders. The robe whispered a caress down her arms and pooled at her bare feet.
Sean’s breath tickled behind her ear just below her hairline. He inhaled deeply, confirming that he had been enjoying her scent all along. Marcella’s heart leaped and floated at this evidence of his interest.
His teeth grazed along the base of her neck. “Are you sure about this, my sweet slave? A hundred people will watch me tease and torture you. They’ll watch your luscious body writhe and arch. They’ll listen as you whimper with need. They’ll watch your juices run down your thighs. You think I’m the draw, but you’re wrong. They’re coming to see you, Marcella. Are you really an exhibitionist?”
She wanted to shake her head, but she didn’t want to move away from the teeth and lips that played over her shoulder and up her neck. “No, Master. I mean, yes, Master, I’m sure about this. No, Master, I’m not an exhibitionist.”
His fingertips etched trails parallel to her spine. “I thought not. I will allow you a blindfold.”
She exhaled, and tension drained from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tightly her nerves were wound. “Thank you, Master.”
He pressed his lips to her shoulder, a brief acknowledgment of her thanks. “I’m going to bind you several ways tonight. I might use the flogger, but I mostly want to see how you respond to different stimuli.”
Light, feathery touches played up and down her arms. She wanted to sag backward to rest against his chest, but she knew that would not please him. Then his touch disappeared. She resisted the urge to turn her head and follow him with her eyes.
Darkness stole her vision. He adjusted the strap, securing it under where she’d piled her hair. Using only the soft pressure of his fingertips, he nudged the small of her back. “Walk forward until I tell you to stop.”
With her vision compromised, her sense of balance wasn’t the same. She took small steps, counting six when Sean told her to stop.
“Raise your arms above your head.”
She felt her breasts rise as she lifted her arms. Wide leather cuffs encircled her wrists, and he tightened the buckles one at a time. Anticipation coiled just above her pussy. Bondage was definitely one of her triggers.
A motor whirred to life. The bar to which the cuffs were attached rose, forcing her almost to her toes. Cool leather closed around her ankles, and the tug and pull on the cuffs indicated a spreader bar held her legs apart.
Long silence filled the air, and her pussy grew moist because she knew he was looking at her, checking out every inch of her body. She waited patiently while her master looked his fill, which was his due.
“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I’ve never seen a sexier woman in my entire life.” She felt the heat and smooth skin of his chest as he brushed against the pebbled tips of her breasts. She jumped in surprise. “And you’re mine, Cella. All mine.”
“Yes, Master. I’m yours.” She understood the psychology of why he said the things he said. He had staked his claim and established the emotional atmosphere that permeated the dark of her blindfold. The vehemence underlying his tone lent a truth to his statement that couldn’t be faked. She very badly wanted to be his.
Cupping her face, he urged her head back the tiniest bit. At five-eight, Marcella was only three inches shorter than her dream man. The way he’d stretched her most likely put them almost eye to eye. If he removed her blindfold, she would find herself gazing right into his golden eyes. Or might they be edged in green now?