“Dana will be there with her Master. You’ll be there as service subs. To handle drinks, snacks, and whatever else is needed.” His eyes sharpened upon her. “Whatever I tell you to do, you’ll do.”
“Always, Master.” The response, and the move into that headspace, was immediate. His intent gaze reflected his approval. He lifted his touch to pick up a towel and gestured to her to give him her wet hands. He folded them up in the towel and began to dry them, massaging her fingers through the terrycloth.
“Since you work a half-day on Fridays, I want you to schedule a massage with Sally,”—her co-worker who did massages for the PT patients—“and then plan on coming home, taking a bath and getting a good nap. Nothing but pleasurable, relaxing activities.” He squeezed her hands through the towel. “Just like your usual Friday ritual prep, I’ll provide you any instruction you need. You’ll come to my office at six-thirty.”
He spread the towel over the dishes in the drainer, and wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her up against his body for a teasing kiss, a nip of her bottom lip. “Now, let’s watch some NCIS reruns.”
Really? Being pulled right up against his body, she could tell she wasn’t the only one aroused by their Friday plans. Jon drew back enough to thread his hand through her hair, give it a tug.
“You’re hell to resist, sweet girl, when you have that hungry look in your eye, and your soft body is right here, mine for the taking. But none for either of us until Friday. I want your mind totally on your Master’s desires between now and then. As for me, I want to be fueled by everything I plan on doing to you that night. It will make me particularly demanding.”
Imagining what that could mean only made her desires worse. And NCIS wasn’t a random choice. They both liked the show, but he knew she had all sorts of Dom fantasies about Mark Harmon’s stern Gibbs character. Fuel to the fire, indeed.
Well, she had her revenge at bedtime, since Jon liked her to wear nothing or one of the silky, transparent gowns he’d bought her to bed. She chose a blue-gray one that was like a shimmering storm cloud over ocean waters, the fabric clinging and flowing in all the right ways. She wasn’t trying to make him change his mind. Not exactly.
When she came out of the bathroom, brushing out her hair, he was lying on the top of the covers in nothing but a pair of black sleep shorts while he read something on his tablet. She paused in the doorway, gaze coursing over the fit, muscled body, the light layer of black hair on his chest, the way strands of his dark hair feathered over his brow. The pursing of his sensual lips and crease of his silken brows as he worked out whatever problem he had on the screen.
As soon as she shifted, however, his gaze immediately rose to her, coursing over her from head to toe. She was wearing lace panties beneath the nightgown in the same color and sheer fabric.
“Couldn’t take pity on your Master and wear flannel?”
“My Master didn’t include that in his list of my bedtime clothing choices.” Her lips quirked, and she pointed at his mostly exposed body with her hair brush. “But I could say the same.”
He grinned. “I’m allowed to be a sadist.” Then his expression became more focused and he set aside the tablet, lacing his fingers behind his head as he studied her. “Take off the gown. Leave on the panties.”
He was planning to have her sleep with him that way, another method to drive them both crazy. To ensure that Friday night, she would be so mindlessly aroused she wouldn’t worry about anything. And he would have a backlog of ideas of things to do to her, just as he’d threatened. The plan wasn’t a bad one. Just agonizing, enduring the wait.
She unlaced the thin ribbons, unbuttoned the tiny row of buttons over the straining bodice, and let the gown slide off her shoulders. She could have drawn the whole thing over her head, but if there was one thing she’d learned, her Master liked presentation.
“I am the luckiest fucking man in the universe,” he murmured, his blue eyes suddenly very heated and focused on her curves. “Cup your breasts and toss your hair back, lifting your chin.”
She did it, her fingers slightly quivering, same as her knees did when he issued orders in that thick voice.
“Your nipples are so swollen. Do they need attention, sweet girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
She came to the side of the bed and Jon slid an arm around her hips, molding a palm to her left buttock. He cupped her breast, much as she had, only with a much more significant impact on her senses. She bit back a little moan as he watched her face, the working of her throat and parting of her lips.
“My girl is shamelessly wet, isn’t she?”
She nodded. He curled a finger around her hair, wrapped it to draw her down toward him. She strangled on a cry as he licked her right nipple lightly, oh-so-lightly. And he kept doing it. No suckling, just the friction of his tongue teasing all the sensitive nerve endings. Her hands opened and closed at her sides. She knew he wouldn’t want her to touch without invitation, that he wanted all her focus on this, and how it was making her feel. Sometimes she wished she didn’t know so much about what he expected of her.
The half-humorous, all-desperate thought disappeared into liquid need as he shifted to give the other nipple the same treatment.
When he drew back, the throbbing between her legs was as forceful as her pounding heartbeat. She bit back a startled noise as he slid both arms around her and used his impressive strength to lift and swing her over him. He laid her down beside him, her facing away so he could spoon around her, one arm over the top of her bare breasts, their weight resting on his other forearm, wrapped above her waist. He pushed his solid erection against her bottom.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she said, her breath a rasp, especially when he curled one hand around her throat and tightened it. Another surge of arousal gripped her, and she knew the panties were going to be soaked.
Dropping his other hand, he curled his fist around the Brazilian-cut back and twisted, pulling the crotch up in the front and compressing her clit.
“How do I know if I fuck you now, that you’ll be as hot and wet as I want you to be on poker night?”
“Because I never stop wanting you, Master. Never.” She dropped her head forward as he set his teeth to her shoulder again, only this time he bit her far harder, making her mewl but not pull away. Never.
He changed his grip, pulling the panties to the side, and she let out a moan of relief as his cock slowly pressed into her, sliding into the heated wetness with ease, despite the more challenging angle. Once he was halfway in, Jon banded his arm low around her hips and brought her all the way down on him in a decisive, firm movement that tore a groan from her lips.