When he made her admit that worry to him, he gave her a look from the chair where he’d been sliding on his hiking shoes. Max had left him an overnight bag outside the door, and he now wore jeans and a faded blue T-shirt with an earth-colored representation of the Mandala mudra on it, a pair of hands joined in the circular symbol of wholeness.
“Come here.”
When she came close, he took her hand, pulling her between his knees, and then made her gasp as he put his mouth over the nipple, right on top of the dress fabric. The moist heat dampened it as he suckled leisurely. It didn’t take her long to be whimpering, writhing against him. He kept her still with his hand spread across her ass and gripping her firmly, reminding her of the still uncomfortable places where he’d spanked her with the brush as well as his ruler. After long moments, when she was gasping, he moved to the other, gave it equal treatment until she was making pleading noises in her throat, her p-ssy soaking the lace thong so that the wetness dampened her twitching thighs.
As he lifted his mouth at last, he nuzzled her jutting nipple one more time before considering them both. “I should have brought clamps for these,” he noted. “But I won’t mind devising more organic ways to keep them erect through the day.” Now his gaze rose, and that Master’s expression stilled her. “This is the way I want you, Rachel. I want to see what’s mine, have it soft and ready to handle, whenever I want to touch it. When we sit down at breakfast, you’ll keep your knees parted beneath the table. I won’t embarrass you in public, but your body will always be accessible to my demands. All right?”
She nodded, put her fingers up to her throat unconsciously, before she realized she’d done it.
“Is it easier with the collar?”
“In a way, though I don’t really understand why.”
He took that hand as he rose and kissed it, a touch of his tongue between two fingers. “I think you do. But today, you do it without the collar. Until I give you the one I really want you to wear.”
On that unsettling note, he took her out of her apartment and out into the world. The bagel place was a short walk from her place, but she found herself conscious of everyone they passed. Early morning dogwalkers and joggers, people emerging from other buildings in the apartment complex to get in their cars. People who might know her by sight as she knew them, going about their normal business. But today she felt as if a spotlight was on her, because nothing felt usual at all. As always, Jon seemed to read her mind.
“I’m not sure they’d recognize you. You’re always so tidily put together, and this morning you’re like a gypsy woman. Your long hair flowing about your shoulders, your body moving like a woman who’s been thoroughly taken, all night long. Those beautiful breasts of yours, quivering under that thin fabric, your nipples drawing every man’s eyes. The way you’re walking, your hips swaying as if you’re dancing. Trying to tease me, get me hard.”
She flushed, digging her nails into his palm a little, since he was firmly holding her hand. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are, because you’re aroused and you want me to notice. You’re a good girl, my sweet submissive, and you won’t force the issue, but with every movement, you’re begging for attention. And it’s nothing that should mortify you. It’s a signal that rivets men. Some of the women too.”
She remembered how she’d imagined herself naked but collared, so men would look but not touch, not without Jon’s permission. Her palm was moist with a pleasurable anxiety, but she was noticing things as well. A lot of women were looking at Jon, before their speculative gazes shifted to her. She could almost hear the scream of their thoughts. How the hell did someone like him end up with something like her?
From the frown that creased his brow, she was afraid her face had revealed the thought. Fortunately, they’d arrived at the coffee house. It had an outdoor seating arrangement among a maze of potted flowers, and he chose one of the bistro tables, pulling out her chair and guiding her into it. He helped her scoot inward, but then he flicked his gaze down. When she recognized what he was communicating, the spike of reaction went straight through her p-ssy, made even stronger when she parted her thighs, aligning her knees with the front legs of the chair. The skirt fell past her knees even seated, so she wasn’t revealing anything, but she was acutely aware she was now open to him, and the position pushed her p-ssy down against the rough texture of the warm iron mesh seat, increasing the stimulation.
He nodded in approval, stroked back a strand of her hair. “What do you want? Stay here in the sun and relax while I go get our order.”
She offered to do it, but he shook his head, leaned in and spoke against her ear, taking a moist nip there that shivered down her spine. “You will serve me when I demand it, sweet slave, but right now I want the pleasure of caring for the woman who belongs me.”
She managed to stammer out a preference, then met his mouth in another teasing kiss. Pulling away at last, he squeezed her hand before he moved to the door of the coffee house. When he reached it, he held it open for a woman and her daughter. The mother smiled at something he said, blushing a little as any woman would, faced with the full blast of Jon’s charm and handsome face, that mouthwatering body.
“Go, cougar.”
When Jon had pulled out her chair, she’d noted a nearby female foursome sharing their morning latte. Twenty-somethings with perfect bodies and smooth complexions with no lines. The muted comment had come from them, as did the titters that followed.
Of course, she should have expected it. The first thing a group of women did after noting an exceptionally handsome man was to measure his companion with critical eyes, assess her worthiness of such a prize. But why should she care what they thought? She didn’t. The problem was what she thought gave their mockery power, making her shoulders stiffen, her body hunch defensively. Their reaction only amplified her own insecurities. She wished they’d had breakfast in the apartment. This worked better there, when it was just the two of them.
The girls left as Jon was coming back out. They moved past her, not making much of an attempt to avoid hitting her with their oversized designer handbags and laptop cases. As they offered saccharine apologies, their gazes were straight ahead, on Jon. They brushed by him, giving him flirtatious feline smirks, though he courteously stepped back, offering them more room to pass than they took. Rachel tried to shrug off the feeling it left her, but of course when he reached her, put their purchases on the table, he reached for her hand. “What is it, Rachel?”
She shook her head, folded her hands in her lap instead. “I wish you’d let this just be a fantasy. It’s not going to survive reality.”
“Really? And what’s reality? A group of catty girls who don’t know shit about life yet?”
She flinched. “You don’t even know how old I really am, do you?”
“You’re forty-three,” he said.
“Great. You can tell I’m forty-three.” She gave a miserable half-laugh. “Guess I’m glad I at least look my age, and not older.”
Jon slid his chair closer, his knee flanking hers, and touched her chin, bringing her eyes up to his face. “I know how old you are because Dana told me,” he said, a touch of impatience in his voice. “I don’t know what a forty-three-year-old is supposed to look like, but to me you look like a deeply sexy, sensual, kissable, f*ckable forty-three-year-old woman. A woman with a heart so deep and generous it’s an honor to know her. A woman who’s everything I want, the submissive I’ve been waiting a lifetime to meet. I want you, Rachel.”