“Like that, do you?” His voice was almost a growl, but he brushed the smooth metal against her cheek, continued in a deceptively milder tone. “The velvet collar gave me the exact measurement I needed, and so I adjusted it yesterday and put it on a mold to test it for scratching or pinching. I won’t say I want the fit to always be comfortable,” his eyes gleamed, “but I want you to always want to wear it.”
The problem wasn’t wanting to wear it. She wanted it so badly, she could already feel it on her throat. But still she hesitated. In response, he shifted again, laying the collar next to her. He settled his hand in its place, letting her feel the fingers press there. She lifted her chin instinctively and he registered it, with a flare of desire in his gaze. He slid back out, just an inch or two, then back, slowly compressing her *, sending a ricochet of reaction through that area and deep into her womb. He was so deep and shallow inside her at once, it was maddening.
“You already know it when I put my hand at your throat, Rachel. Don’t deny the truth. Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll put this on you. After that, you won’t ever shake me.” His fine ebony brow lifted, his eyes sparkling. “Though, for the record, you’re not going shake me even if you refuse it.”
He bent now, hand still on her throat, and his mouth paused over hers. When her lips parted, he increased the pressure of that restraint, keeping that barely there distance between their lips. “You know I’m gentle and patient, but I’m also a Master. I’m not going to let you run from me, or yourself. I think you want and need that. Almost as much as I want and need you.”
She wet her lips and glanced toward the collar. He’d been working on it for months. This wasn’t a whim. It was…everything to him. It was in his face, his intensity. She was afraid, but how could she possibly turn her back on what might happen, what could be offered here?
Will you refuse your Master, Rachel?
He was her Master. She knew it. Who was she kidding? She was going to have to trust him, no matter her fears.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely over a breath, but she found the courage to meet his gaze. “Yes. I’m yours, Master.”
That sculpted jaw tightened further, his brow drawing down as he moved, made her gasp. “This is mine? This p-ssy?”
She nodded, her cheeks heating a little at the directness of it. He bent, kissed the top of her breast, then dipped to suckle her nipple, giving it a sharp nip that drew a little cry from her as his cock thickened, shifted. “These breasts?” he asked, ruthless.
“And the heart beneath them,” she promised. “Every part of my body, my heart, my mind, my soul. Goddess help me, it’s always been yours, Jon. Please, don’t let me…don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t.” He moved again, that slow, small thrust and withdraw that was building to such a painful pressure in her lower belly. “The way you ran from me the other night? That won’t happen again.”
“No, Master.”
“And you’ll accept punishment for it.”
Gladly.
His lips quirked. “You squeezed around me like a fist, sweet girl. You need the punishment, don’t you? Ask for your collar, and your Master will give you everything you need.”
She swallowed. “Please, let me wear your collar, Master. I’m sorry I took the other one off.”
His expression softened then, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m sorry that evening got ruined. I expect we’ll have to do it again, give you plenty more memories to erase that one.”
Thinking of how many times since then her mind had returned to everything that occurred before Cole appeared, she thought she might not want all of it erased. But…a different sensual encounter with Jon and the Knights? If he needed to feel better about it, then the least she could do was help.
Since her lips were trembling against a smile, he didn’t have trouble reading her mind. He gave her a narrow look, but there was a warm humor in his eyes that added to the mélange of positive feelings building in her—love, arousal, happiness.
“You might be an even bigger monster than Dana.”
She wanted to chuckle, but he was done playing. He did that deep press again, trailed the collar down her sternum, teasing the pendant over her stiff nipple, then he replaced it with his mouth, a firm lick there, a quick press of lips over the nipple to pinch it into his mouth, give her moist heat.
“Jon…” It was a long, breathy sigh, and her legs pressed together, squeezing him inside her. The desire surged up in her, impatient and not wanting to be banked any longer. Her gaze fastened on that collar. “Jon, please. Master. Please put the collar on me so I can be yours.” So I can be free.
“I like hearing you beg.” He slid it under her jaw and she lifted her chin again as he brought the clasp together at her nape. It fit snug and perfect on her throat, sending a spiral of reaction down from the contact point. As he’d said from the beginning, it was no light, barely there collar. It had the weight and significance she craved, that she’d always wanted. It stiffened her nipples further, tightened her lower abdomen, pulled at the muscles in her thighs and curled her toes.
The sapphire rested at the base of her throat. As he bent, he placed his lips above it, so she tilted her head farther back, arching the rest of her up to him. “Mine now,” he said, his voice thick with emotion and fierce resolve at once. “My slave. My love.”
“Yours,” she whispered, and hoped for it, with all her heart.
Yes, she might not survive losing this, having her belief betrayed, but the truth was, as much as she feared that, she simply wasn’t strong enough to give him up. She had to be his, and had to trust that he would love her forever, just as he said. But for now, she would settle for each day because that was all she could handle. Trust would grow slow, but if she believed, the rest might come.
He folded himself over her now, arms on either side of her, hands beneath her, their bodies flush together, every naked inch. She could feel her arousal not only lubricating his path but trickling between her thighs. It took quite awhile to come this way, and the pleasure of it became unbearable, an excruciating sweetness to every stroke. He didn’t falter, keeping it slow and easy as the position required, though his shoulders and back began to be slick and gleaming with the perspiration of withheld release.
His muscles flexed beneath her hands as she held his shoulders and he coiled around her the same way, their bodies one writhing animal, moving in a rhythm that connected to the earth. The sun beams coming through the rice shades had angled so they were in her eyes, and she buried her face in his throat, feeling his collar on her, his fingers sliding along it, touching and pulling it, confirming its presence and meaning, increasing the restraint at her throat and her arousal at once.
She was crying out now, every stroke like a tiny orgasm, but still not quite there. His. She was his. His slave, his submissive. She would do everything to give him pleasure, follow his will, his desires, and find her own, have the courage to grip them again. This acceptance was the true Wild Thing pose, for she found the strength in this moment to embrace that power and freedom, to believe this was her birthday, a chance to renew all the dreams she’d had and believe in them again, as if she’d been given a cake with the candles of all the birthdays, past, present and future.