Before he could take more, she’d gripped his hair and pulled his head back. “Ben,” she chided. “I think you know you’re overstepping your bounds.”
“Mmm.” Damn, she had soft lips. And a strong hand—her hold on his hair was damn tight. “Perhaps you’d better lay out the rules of engagement, Ma’am.”
“All right. First, we’re not a D/s couple, so these rules are only for the dungeon.”
His swift regret at the limitation was surprising.
“You employ the proper terms of respect already. Remember to speak only when asked—or if there is a matter affecting your safety. No touching unless given permission. The safeword here is red, which means the scene stops completely. Use yellow if you need something but don’t want a complete halt.”
Forget that halt shit. “I suppose it’s green for all systems go?”
“That’s right. I should ask if you have a problem with my hands—or anything else—on your cock and balls.”
I’d have a problem if you didn’t touch me. A sense of caution amended the words to a polite, “No problem at all, Mistress.”
“Excellent. Now do as I said.”
A stint in the military pretty much wiped out modesty and his sojourn in a hospital had eliminated the rest. In front of the St. Andrew’s cross, Ben stripped down. He had a massive erection, but he figured the good Mistress might’ve been annoyed if he hadn’t been aroused.
A black suede overnight-sized bag sat nearby. She’d have her so-called toys in it. His anticipation grew.
Hips swinging gently, she sauntered over and his mouth watered. She was slender, but her curvy ass would fill his big paws nicely.
In turn, she was looking at him with…enjoyment. Unlike some Masters he’d seen, she wasn’t impassive, but openly showed that she appreciated what she saw.
No, idiot, you can’t flex your muscles for her.
Her hand ran down his chest, ruffled the hair, and traced a puckered scar on his right side. “Bullet?”
Luckily, the insurgent had only hit him with a high-velocity ball or he’d bear a fist-sized exit wound. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Her fingers pressed deeper. “It fractured your rib, I see.” Without waiting for his reply, she continued. Soft hands over his belly, around his back and shoulders. Down his arms. His legs. She found all his scars and every bone he’d ever busted. Hell, his doctors had never checked him over so thoroughly.
“Spread your legs.” She tugged on his pubic hair. Cupped his balls and massaged lightly. Her hand closed around his cock—his docs had never done that—and it took every single piece of control not to shoot his wad.
Her fingers clamped down in warning. “Don’t come without permission, Benjamin.”
“Understood, Ma’am.” His voice probably sounded like a rooster being strangled. But, oddly enough, her command let him back away from the edge. His hands, which had clenched, eased open.
And she saw. Her gaze met his, straightforward, no games. “You please me, Ben.”
You fucking please me too, woman. Wisely, he also kept those words shut down.
“Face the cross and hold onto those pegs over your head.”
Each upright bar had an iron peg sticking out. He closed his fingers around them, which put his arms in an upraised V shape. In the pause between one heartbeat and another, he realized the music had changed to the ominous “Let Me Break You” by London after Midnight. The music’s effect in this dark, cold dungeon was far more threatening than in his well-lit entry.
He could hear a woman sobbing and the snap of something—like a whip. His gut tightened, and he pulled in a slow inhalation.
“Your orders are to hold onto those pegs and not let go. No matter what I do. Can I trust you to do that for me, Ben?” Anne’s husky voice drew him back, as stabilizing as the wooden frame supporting his body.
“You can, Mistress.” He gripped harder. He’d die before he let one go.
“I’m going to hurt you, Ben—because this is what I told you I’d do. And because this is what you obviously want me to do.”
Actually, he’d have agreed to anything that would gain him her attention and touch. Pain would be nothing new to him.
“But, because you please me, because this is your first time”—her furry voice touched his ears and stroked over his skin like a many-times-washed fleece—“and because I feel like giving you a lesson, I’m going to give you so much more than mere pain.”
Talk about making him sit up and take notice. Hell, his body was already well past reveille, as if the cells had downed a gallon of coffee. As her fingertips brushed over his ass—which she hadn’t touched before, he realized—his muscles twitched. She pressed her finger deeper, then gave him sweet, sweet pats, like a splattering of rain.