With This Collar (Mastered) Page 17

  “I could tie you to the bed again.”

  “Thanks for the nice weekend.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

  She heard the lace of threat in the single word. He was strong, handsome, seductive. The way he continued to stroke her skin banked her desire. “Very nice,” she amended.

  She pulled away and gathered her lingerie. She grabbed a pair of yoga pants from the closet, and when she reached for one of his T-shirts, she looked up to see him lazing against the doorjamb, wearing just a pair of jeans that were unfastened at the waist. He filled the entrance. King of his domain. He made her weak, aware of her femininity. She had to leave before she never could.

  Determinedly she squared her shoulders, reached up and unfastened the collar, then put it on a shelf.

  They both had to recognise the importance of her symbolic gesture.

  “I’m waiting for you to admit the truth to yourself,” he said, his voice calm in contrast to the fire in his green eyes.

  “You’re presuming a lot.”

  “You like to wear my collar.”

  “It chafes,” she said. Lied. “I need to go home.”

  “Julia—”

  “Look, Marcus. Let’s not confuse this,” she told him, intentionally addressing him informally so she could keep some emotional distance and not let temper get the best of her. “I like playing with you. You’re a good Dom. I’ve found a little pain gets me off. But I’m not looking for anything more. And if you’ll admit the truth to yourself, it’s really all you want, too.”

  Marcus dragged his hand through his hair. For the first time since she’d met him, he appeared to be at a loss.

  “I can see myself out.”

  “Damn it, Julia. You can run from me, but not from yourself.”

  “It’s late,” she said. Her smile felt fake and poised to shatter.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, stepping aside.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  He just stood there, regarding her. “Was there any part of that statement that seemed like a question to you?”

  “No,” she said, giving in.

  She left her shoes where they lay.

  Wordlessly he followed her downstairs.

  She took her coat and boots from the closet and pulled them on, aware of him watching. After shoving her underwear into her purse, she fastened every button and cinched the belt as tight as it would go. He pulled on a fleece jacket and a pair of moccasins. The attire made him look impossibly more badass. A man who could be dressed so casually and still wear an air of command was a force to be reckoned with. She was grateful she was escaping while she still could.

  He palmed her keys and she swallowed her protest.

  Even the parking garage was cold. Standing on ceremony was going to get her a case of frostbite. That’d show him how independent she was.

  He unlocked the SUV door and helped her inside.

  As she started the car, he said, “You dropped this on the floor.” He pulled out her thong and offered it to her.

  She snatched it from his hand, grateful that no one was around to see them.

  “You know my number,” he said, leaning in closer, overwhelming her with his scent and the small pulse ticking in his temple. “When you need a beating and you’re willing to crawl to me and beg for it, call me. I won’t be as easy on you as I was this time. I will demand and expect you to own who you are. I want you on your knees while you’re admitting the truth to yourself as well as me. That you’re a sub—my sub. Don’t come back until you’ll wear my collar.”

  She started to shake. “I’m just looking for a playmate.”

  “Your lies won’t work for me. And you’re wrong about me, girl. I am willing to admit the truth. I want a sub who doesn’t rely on me for all her needs, but that doesn’t mean I want to flog her and fuck her and send her away. The right woman, one with real guts, is worth taking a risk for. Life doesn’t come with guarantees. But being a goddamn coward doesn’t help.”

  The cold seeped around her, through her, even though she’d turned on the heater.

  Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door and walked off.

  Trembling, she backed out of the spot. When she hazarded a glance over her shoulder, he was gone.

  The drive home felt interminable. What had she done? His words burned through her, a contrast to the night’s chill.

  She went through her bedtime ritual on automatic since she was unable to think clearly. Even though she’d added an extra blanket to her bed, put on long, thick, fuzzy pyjamas, she slept fitfully.

  When she woke Monday morning, she her body ached. Her shoulders were sore. Her nipples tingled. Her ass hurt. Even her pussy throbbed. Everything was a reminder of the day before.

  Anxiously, hoping against hope that Marcus had tried to contact her, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. There were no missed calls, zero text messages, and only half a dozen unwanted emails. She tossed her phone in frustration and dropped her head back on the pillow.

  What had she expected?

  She’d repeatedly told Marcus she only wanted to be his playmate. At every turn, she’d asserted her independence. Of course he wouldn’t contact her, and she should be grateful he was respecting her wishes.

  So why did she feel more alone than she ever had?

  After work, she went to the gym.

  When she was back at home, she felt as if she were at a loss. She didn’t know what to do now that she could orgasm all she wanted and didn’t have to plan time to kneel on the floor. She’d never have to feel that dratted collar again. She was rid of it and all its implications.

  All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.

  At times, she felt freer when she wore it. It did change her mindset. The rules were clear, the understanding was concrete.

  Absently she reached up and traced the path where the leather had lain.

  It was good to be rid of it. At least, that’s what she told herself. Damn it. Damn, damn, and double damn.

  Why the hell had he had to complicate things? She’d been enjoying their time together until he’d ruined it.

  She paced, bored and restless, slightly confused, angry with him and his high-handed dictates. She was better off without him. Now she could find a nice guy and get on with her happily ever after.

  The week dragged, and the weekend loomed like a horrible, empty spectre. Thankfully one of the girls from work called, begging her to attend a dinner party next Sunday. There were an odd number of guests, and if she didn’t come, Sarah’s brother would be the odd one out.

  Since Julia had nothing else to do and she knew she’d go mad if she continued to stare at the blank phone screen, she accepted. She arrived early enough to help Sarah with some last-minute preparations.

  Barry, Sarah’s brother, definitely fitted Julia’s definition of a nice guy. He was polite, helped clear the dinner dishes, refilled her wine glass, and kept up inane conversation about his job. She promised him she wasn’t bored by his descriptions of recharging an air- conditioning system.

  At the end of the evening, he walked her to her car.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked.

  “Thank you for asking.” She tilted her head back expectantly.

  He leant forwards and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.

  And she felt…nothing. No stir. No response. But she smiled. A lot of first kisses weren’t spectacular. That didn’t mean anything.

  “Would you like to go out sometime?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I would.” She gave him her phone number, and she felt warm when he texted her twenty minutes later to tell her he’d enjoyed meeting her.

  She arrived home and felt restless. The message from Brian—Barry—had been nice, but she was still hoping she’d hear from Marcus.

  Since she didn’t have to kneel, she went straight for the shower. She detached the showerhead from its holder and turned the spray to pulse. She parted her still-smooth lab
ia, closed her eyes, and directed the warm spray towards her pussy.

  Even though she held the spray there for a few minutes, she couldn’t quite get off.

  She leaned her forehead against the tile and imagined Marcus lashing her breasts. She’d been glad that he’d let her face him. As he’d beaten her, his eyes had darkened. As she’d cried out, his eyebrows had narrowed and he’d carefully watched her reactions. She’d seen his cock grow harder, but even more startling to her had been his absolute focus on her. He’d hurt her, but every flick of his wrist had been intentional, every stroke deliberately placed.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t orgasm. Damn him.

  Giving up, she dressed in her nightclothes, went into the living room, and turned on the television.

  She lunged for the phone when it beeped to let her know a message had arrived.

  Barry. Again. This time he asked if she was free Tuesday night.

  She responded that she was.

  He asked where she would like to go.

  She sighed and let him know she was happy with anything.

  Another five messages followed, each with a different option.

  She selected one, a casual, neighbourhood pizza parlour.

  By the end of the evening, he’d sent seventeen messages, and they still hadn’t settled on what time he was going to pick her up. Finally she wrote back, telling him to arrive at six. The exchange had exhausted her.

  Even after that, he sent two more messages, letting her know he was looking forward to seeing her.

  By the time Tuesday arrived, she wasn’t sure she still wanted to go out with him. She knew it shouldn’t have surprised her that he arrived five minutes early. She invited him in, then excused herself to finish getting ready. When she returned to the living room, he was ensconced in front of the television, remote in hand.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

  He muted the volume. “It was worth it. You look beautiful.”

  She smiled. Maybe it would be all that bad. She was being hard on the man. Being with Master Marcus had made her set her expectations too high.

  At the restaurant, Barry let her choose the wine, and he went along with the type of pizza she liked. When conversation turned to a more intimate nature, she was bold. Master Marcus had urged her to be honest in her desires. So she told Brian—Barry—that she liked to be spanked.

  He paled and gulped down most of his wine.

  “Like over your knee,” she said. “On my bare butt. With a paddle, or a hairbrush, or something.”

  “I’m not sure I could do that. I’d never want to hurt you,” he said.

  “It turns me on,” she assured him.

  “I…” He gave the server his credit card. He drove her home in silence, and he gave her another sweet kiss outside her door.

  Twenty minutes later, he sent a text thanking her for her company and asking if he could see her Friday night. Since she’d skipped the last Friday After-Work Gang gathering, she said Saturday was better.

  He immediately said that was no problem. And he recommended three different movies, one of which was a chick flick. She stared at her phone. A chick flick? Really?

  Since she was determined to only date nice guys, she agreed. He asked if she preferred a matinee or an evening show. And the endless rounds of negotiation started again.

  As she dressed on Saturday night, she selected some of the marvellous lingerie she’d bought to scene with Marcus. Rather disappointingly, she realised that Barry would likely never see her undergarments since he hadn’t tried to do anything more than give her a peck goodnight.

  As always, he was early. As always, he was wearing a plaid shirt. He had on the same brown loafers and requisite casual pants.

  She reminded herself that just because he worked as a mechanical engineer didn’t mean he was uninteresting. It meant he was smart, solid and reliable. The last week he had proven to be all three.

  He didn’t complain that she wasn’t ready to go. Instead, he turned on the television.

  Two dates and they were already in a rut?

  She knew Master Marcus would have flogged her for her rudeness.

  She invited Barry in after the date. She wasn’t accustomed to making the first move, but she would. “Kiss me?” she invited.

  He took a matched pen and pencil set out of his breast pocket and placed it on the coffee table. He wrapped his arms around her. She dug a hand into his hair and pulled just a little.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Sorry.”

  He kissed her, open-mouthed, but with no tongue. She wasn’t exactly sure how he managed that or how she was supposed to react. Tentatively she took the lead, and he pulled back instead of matching her.

  “Are you, uhm, still into that spanking thing?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Would you like to try?”

  “I did a little research.”

  She opened then closed her mouth. “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s a little odd. A lot of people think it’s perverted. But some psychiatrists don’t think there’s much harm in it. So I guess, if it makes you happy, I’m willing to do it to you.” He sat on the couch. “Over my knee, you naughty girl.”

  She didn’t point out that she still had on jeans. Feeling awkward more than excited, she lowered herself into position.

  He blazed a dozen or so impressive smacks over her rear. She was annoyed.

  It had hurt. He’d done nothing to psychologically exploit the sensations.

  “How was that? My hand freaking hurts,” he said.

  She pushed herself off his lap and sat next to him. “Thank you, Sir,” she said.

  “Sir?” he asked. “Look, Julia, I will spank you if you want, but really, uh, the sir thing isn’t working for me. I keep wanting to look around for my dad, you know? Can we skip that part? Is that okay?”

  Julia nodded, not quite knowing how to respond.

  “Would you like to go to bed together now?”

  “I… It’s a little soon in the relationship. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

  “I totally understand.” He smiled. “Whenever you’re ready, Julia, Mr Happy will be ready for you.”

  Mr Happy? She’d laugh, but she knew he hadn’t meant that to be funny. He’d named his penis, and, with some men, she might find it adorable. But Mr Happy? She wanted a cock. “You’re welcome to hang out for a while.” Even as she extended the invitation, she wished for revocation rights.

  “Do you have any whisky? Maybe some chips or pretzels?”

  She went into the kitchen. Somehow this made her feel more subservient than anything she’d done with Marcus.

  When she returned with Barry’s snacks and whisky, she discovered he’d once again turned on the television. He selected a comedy show then asked if that was all right with her. But he turned back to face the screen without waiting for her answer.

  Milquetoast. She heard Master Marcus’ word as if he’d spoken it aloud.

  She joined Barry on the couch. She laid her head back and couldn’t get thoughts of Master Marcus, in his black T-shirt, jeans and boots, out of her head.

  Even though a perfectly nice man was sitting next to her, she was fantasising about a man who attached a tawse to his belt loop. What was wrong with her?

  When Barry finally stood and stretched, revealing his belly, she said, “Don’t forget your pen and pencil.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Dish,” Lana told Julia. “I want to know what the hell went wrong between you and Master Marcus.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Julia said. “We wanted different things.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Lana said. “It’s not like you to vanish off the face of the planet.”

  When Julia didn’t respond, Lana gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, crap, Jules, I’m sorry. That bastard dumped you? Marcus the Malicious.”

  “No.” Despite herself she smiled. “Not exactly.”

  The b
arista called out their drink orders, and they each carried their extra-large lattes to a small table in the corner of the quirky coffee shop. Since it was still early on a Saturday morning, they had some privacy.

  “He’s…” Julia paused, made a show of sipping her latte, and debated what to say. Of everyone she knew, Lana would understand. “Complicated.”

  “Oh, honey, I think you’re making it complicated. Men? They’re fairly straightforward. They know what they want and they’re considerably less shy than we are about asking for it. So, break it down for me.” She took a huge bite out of her pastry and sighed with delight. “Sweets always go with break-ups,” she said.

  “He wants me to move in.”

  “Oh, so he lives in a dump?”

  “No.” She sighed in exasperation. “He wants to collar me.”

  “And he has bad taste in jewellery? Ben could help him out.”

  “Lana, can you be serious?”

  “Sorry.” She picked up her cup. “This is me shutting up.”

  “I enjoy going over there and playing with him, but the idea of being involved in something permanent…” She trailed off and looked at Lana’s collar. The metal winked in the subtle overhead light. Even more than her wedding ring, the collar spoke of obligations and expectations.

  “You still want a nice guy?”

  “I thought I did.”

  “And?”

  She told Lana about the experience with Brian—Barry.

  “Barry the Boring.”

  They both laughed.

  “What are you afraid of?” Lana finally asked.

  “Of losing myself,” she admitted, taking another sip. “I hate the entire idea of being a submissive.”

  “Really? I think you’ve got a seriously messed-up idea about submission. Submission is not synonymous with being a doormat. Do the math, Jules. On what planet does asking for what you want make you subservient?”