Master Me (30 page)

“If you do that, I’ll walk out,” she’d said, flinging the words at him like stones, a suffocating jealousy and sense of loss choking her.

“Why?” Connor had walked over to her, and pinched her chin between his fingers, tilting her head back. “Because you don’t want to see how far you fall short?”

She’d shaken her hair, the long, dark hair he loved to brush until it clung to his fingers whipping back and forth, strands of it clinging to her tear-wet face. “Because I’m yours and you can punish me if I screw up or I disappoint you, but not like that. You talk about lines, well, that’s one of mine. I won’t share you or be shared. I’m not being…I’m not doing
that
, I’m just—Connor,
please
—”

“And now you sound as if you mean it,” he’d said softly, lifting the wet hair away from her face. “Tell me again. What can I do to you?”

“Anything,” she’d said, knowing that by discovering a new limit, she’d redefined the word as they understood it. Early on in their relationship, they’d spent a rainy Sunday afternoon working out what that word would mean for them, making it shorthand for a page of scribbled, amended notes.

“Yes,” he’d said and had kissed her lightly when she’d wanted more. “Because you’re mine.”

She was, and she was conscious of that every waking moment—mostly—but at times like this, waiting for him to discipline her, she knew it deep down.

The first stroke was from his hand, a crisp, full-bodied slap that drove the edge of the desk into her stomach. She’d stand and find a mark across her belly, bruises flowering later, but she’d learned how to brace herself without tensing too much, which helped.

She counted in her head, ready in case he paused to ask her how many slaps he’d given her, but he didn’t. Nine with his hand, nine with a paddle, the wood feeling rough against her hot skin, then the final two with the crop. She was expecting that white-hot slash of pain, but when it came she still cried out, her mouth hanging open as she panted for breath.

Warmth suffused her as the sensation receded, leaving her tingling from head to toe. It hurt, yes, but God, it hurt in just the right way. It was impossible to explain, even to Connor, who was giving her that incredible high. He’d been on the receiving end, but it hadn’t done much for him.

“Oh, I tried it out, of course, I did,” he’d admitted back when she was full of questions and a dazzled impatience, wanting to try everything, right away,
now
. “I was at a club—no, I’m not a member now, it just got too predictable, somehow. There was a Dom there, a lot older than me, and we got talking one night. I’d only been in the scene six months or so, and it was as new to me as it is to you. I had questions, doubts. I wanted to find the perfect sub, but I was terrified that I’d fuck things up, or hurt her.”

“You don’t seem that way now.”

Connor’s utter confidence was more reassuring than any words could be. Helen had never doubted him when he’d said that he’d never ask her for more than she could give.

“It was a long time ago.” Connor had sipped his wine reflectively. “I decided to try it from the sub’s side. I could use a strap or a paddle on a cushion—and I did—but when it came to using them on a real, live arse, well, I was worried that I’d go too far. So I asked Andrew to show me what it was like.”

“Why him?” Helen had asked, curious. “Why not a woman?”

“Because I didn’t want it to be sexual—for me, anyway, Andrew always had male subs—and I needed to know what a stroke from a man felt like.” Connor had grimaced wryly. “Hurt like hell and I didn’t enjoy it much at all, though there was still something about doing it…I felt as if I’d passed a test somehow. Andrew was great. He took me under his wing and taught me a lot, then he introduced me to Sophie, another Domme, and I got her take on everything.” He’d grinned. “And one afternoon, she showed me that she could hit just as hard as Andrew and that was the last time I’ve ever been in that position.”

“So you don’t get it at all?” Helen had felt a stab of disappointment. “Why I love it, I mean?”

“No, I do,” Connor had assured her. “It’s the submission as much as the physical feelings, am I right? You wouldn’t enjoy it if, oh, if you were out walking in the woods and a branch whacked you in the face, but if I slapped you across the face, you might, depending on how I’d set the scene. And I do see how you can take the pain and make it work for you, but I’m not wired to do that. Giving it turns me on, God, yes, but getting it? No.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Helen had said fervently.

Connor had laughed, his eyes bright with amusement. “Neither do you, sweetheart, but we both need each other to be on different sides of this particular equation, so let’s agree to differ, hmm?”

The second stroke bit deep into her flesh, savage, perfect, breaking her apart and setting her free. She screamed, loving that she could in this large house, surrounded by land not neighbours, and felt his hand on her back, grounding her and bringing the shattered pieces together again.

He didn’t speak for a while, the soft, soothing pass of his hand over her hair and back telling her all that she needed to hear, but the euphoria couldn’t last forever and the desk was really not the most comfortable surface to be bent over. Helen uncurled her fingers from the edge of the desk, flexing them gingerly.

“You took those well,” Connor said, his voice husky, roughened by emotion. “God, I’m going to miss you so much this week.”

He helped her get to her feet and led her over to the couch set against the side wall, upholstered in a dark green velvet and old enough to be comfortable. Helen sat—carefully—inside the circle of Connor’s arm and sipped at the orange juice he brought her, tart and sweet at the same time and blissfully cool. Before he left, Connor would slather her bottom with ointment along each welt, rubbing it in with gentle fingers, would go through his itinerary one final time, making sure that she knew how to get in touch with him, would take care of her until the final moment of departure. Helen should have felt cherished, and she did, but it was shadowed by the inexorable tick of the clock.

Eight days, that was all. She was being a baby about this. Before she met Connor, she’d lived alone and had enjoyed it. This would be eight days to play her music louder than Connor would permit, to watch anything she liked on TV, no matter how trashy and lightweight it was. She could sprawl out on the couch and eat chocolate and get drunk…Connor didn’t stop her doing either of those things within reason, but if she had more than one small glass of wine, he wouldn’t do anything kinky with her at all, and so these days she was practically on the wagon.

“What is it?” Connor took the empty glass from her hand and set it down on an end table. The study was large enough to make even the huge desk seem in proportion, bookshelves running up to the ceiling on two walls. It was designed to be a restful room, though for Helen it was too associated with fulfilling Connor’s fantasies for her to enter it without a thrill of lust. “Normally after a spanking you glow, and I don’t mean just your behind.”

“I’m having a really hard time with the idea of over a week without you,” Helen admitted. “Don’t think I’m being all clingy or that I’m going to mope, because I won’t, it’s just…I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be here in spirit, if not in body,” Connor said.

“Huh?” That earned her a slap on her hip, Connor’s fingers catching the welts so that Helen yelped, not enjoying that smack at all.

“I like my subs articulate, remember,” Connor said.

Helen glared at him. She knew. She’d said ‘huh’ twice during breakfast the month before and spent the rest of the day either gagged or under strict orders not to say a word. It hadn’t been much fun at all, though by the time Connor had relented, he was rock hard, aroused by her obvious dislike of the punishment. Helen was stiffly resentful and sulking. She’d come close to using her safe word that night and Connor had retreated, walking away from her, still hard, but clearly put off by her disinterest. Which had been enough to make Helen realise that one fantasy Connor wasn’t going to fulfil was the one born of reading dozens of lush romances as a teenager. The fantasy where he ravished her, overcoming her resistance with the requisite burning kisses and fiery, unleashed passion.

Connor required consent from her. Complete, unreserved, sincere.

“Fine,” Helen said, aware that she sounded sulky, not dignified. “What does being here in spirit mean? You’ve set up a system of nanny-cams to track my every move? You’ve arranged for a sub-sitter who’ll come in and spank me by proxy every morning?”

Connor grinned and pulled her closer, his hand going between her legs to find her clit with admirable accuracy. Helen closed her eyes as he rubbed it gently with his fingertip, his other fingers curled into the soft, wet heat of her folds.

“Interesting ideas, but no, the only camera in the place is the one we take on trips and no one but me gets to spank you, though I have to admit that the idea of a sub-sitter is definitely a business opportunity waiting to happen.”

Helen arched her hips, encouraging Connor to explore further. They were running out of time. Connor wasn’t a fan of quickies, especially not when he was about to walk out of the door on an overseas trip, but how long would it take to make her come? Not long at all…

“I mean that the letter I’ve just written contains detailed instructions for each day that I’m away. Tonight, you may do as you like, but tomorrow…”

“What kind of instructions?” Helen asked, suspicion growing. “Connor, if you’re in San Francisco, you can’t tell me what to do here. That’s just not doable. The time difference is going to put us on different schedules for one thing and on these trips you never have a minute to yourself.”

That was the main reason that she’d agreed to stay behind. Seeing the States would have been wildly exciting—her trips abroad consisted of a week in Brittany, camping, with the rain teeming down, and a school skiing trip to Austria in a year where the snow was so sparse that her skis had been clattering over icy stones at times—but one hotel room was very much like another and she had a deadline to meet for work. Connor had promised to take her abroad later in the year when both their schedules were free, though, and she had her passport ready and a list of destinations in mind.

“Which is why I’ve written it all down,” he said imperturbably. “When I get back, we can discuss this in more detail with a view to continuing the routine, but since my driver will be arriving in less than twenty minutes…”

“Yes?” Helen asked hopefully, angling her face for a kiss.

His fingers hadn’t stopped teasing her, but the conversation was too distracting for her to really get into being finger-fucked and her spanked bottom was starting to throb in a way that wasn’t as pleasant as the pain had been in the moment that it was given.

“I’ll hit the high spots,” he said. “And you’re forbidden to come until I return, so you’d better make the most of this opportunity.”

“You can’t be serious,” Helen said flatly. “Connor, when you’re not here, I don’t sleep well, and getting off is about the only thing that relaxes me at bedtime, so don’t even think about telling me to drink cocoa or something.”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Connor said, “and that attitude is why we need to talk.”

Helen pushed his hand away. There wasn’t much chance of her climaxing now.

“So talk,” she snapped, sitting up and regretting it when the velvet of the couch, smooth though it was, chafed her punished skin.

Connor gave her a long, steady look. “I’ve spoiled you,” he said, a note of regret audible. “I was enjoying your reaction to everything I showed you—a kid on Christmas morning is subdued compared to you—but I let you down by allowing you to get away with an attitude that most Doms would have found outrageous. I’m not a big fan of some of the traditions such as calling me ‘master’ or ‘sir’ because I prefer to hear you use my name, respectfully, of course, and ordering you to keep your eyes lowered or to kneel when I walk in…no. Just a little too much for my personal taste, though I can see how it’d appeal for a day or so.”

“I like what we have,” Helen protested. “It works for me.”

Connor nodded. “I know. You love getting spanked and being in bondage and the sex is—”

“Hot,” Helen interrupted him to say, unease making her heart pound. “Connor, we make a great couple. You don’t—this isn’t you breaking up with me, is it?”

Her hand went to her neck. Her bare neck. She’d been to a few clubs with Connor and felt seriously underdressed without a collar, but Connor had given her an enigmatic look that only he could’ve pulled off and refused to discuss it beyond telling her that it wasn’t the right time.

“It most certainly isn’t,” Connor said and kissed her, his mouth warm and firm against hers.

Helen moaned into the kiss, her arms sliding around his neck as she returned it. No one had ever kissed her the way that Connor did. He made the world around her go quiet and dim, locking her in the moment.

“Okay, I’m convinced,” Helen said when the kiss ended, her lips tender and tingling. “I’m still not sure what’s wrong with us, though.”

“You’re not submitting to me,” Connor said simply. “You’re not in the right headspace ninety percent of the time, and yes, I know that every sub is different, but even so, there’s a shared attitude that you’re just not connecting with.” He grimaced. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s impossible to miss. When you
do
get there, the difference is incredible. I feel it.”

“Give me an example,” Helen demanded, feeling obscurely insulted by the suggestion that when it came to subs apparently she was bargain basement, not haute couture. “Tell me when I’ve been so wonderful, because I don’t—”

“The first time I put you in bondage,” Connor said, not allowing her to finish. “You pulled at the restraints and they held. You struggled, just to test them, and couldn’t break free.” He cupped her face, his touch tender, his expression matching it. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the look on your face when you accepted that you were held in place by me, because I wanted you in that position, just like that. You took my breath away. That was months ago, Helen, and I’m not sure that we’ve ever really matched that moment. What we’re creating has stalled. I don’t want anything less than the best for you. When I get back, we’re going to work on getting that moment to be the start of something, not a high point, but a foundation.”