The logic made sense. He’d rather have slept in but didn’t. He’d rather…fuck…her, but wouldn’t. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome. Now wash me so I can begin work, and you can take your own shower.”
Wash his cock. Got it. No problem. She looked down and gasped. How had she missed seeing that? “You have a piercing.”
He chuckled. “So I do.”
Oh wow. A silvery barbell with a ball on the top of his shaft went straight through to underside of the head. Straight through. “Didn’t that hurt?”
“A bit.”
Uh-huh. A bit.
He clucked his tongue. “Kimberly? You’ve been given a task.”
Right. Although her fear had eased, worry constricted her chest. His cock was almost the same color as his skin, thick and long with a slight bend to the left. She gave him a quick glance as she touched it, tensing, half-expecting him to grab her and… But he just watched her calmly with a small smile. Her soapy hand slid around his shaft, slickly up…and she brushed over the metal on the tip. Circled it with a finger, then did the one on the underside. How would those feel…inside?
“Most women like it. A few don’t,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I remove it if it’s a problem or sometimes for oral sex.” He grinned. “Stop playing.”
Realizing she was fingering the silvery piercing, she flushed. But now it wasn’t as impossible to finish, from the head, down over the thick veins, to the springy trimmed hair at the base. He opened his legs. His testicles were large and heavy. Fascinating. She’d had shower sex before, but had she ever washed a man so thoroughly? With this much attention?
When she finished, his face was flushed, and the muscles in his jaw had turned rigid. She knew that expression. Her body tensed, ready to flee.
As she took a step back, he turned and rinsed the soap from his body. When he faced her again, his smile was easy. He lifted her chin with one finger and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Thank you, gatita. Your courage pleases me.” He gave her an infectious grin, and her heart skipped a beat at how dangerously handsome he was. “Your soft hands please me as well.”
Before she could worry about his words, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off. “I left your clothing for today on the bed,” he said a second before the bathroom door closed behind him.
He picked out my clothing? Excuse me?
But she didn’t really care…not right now. She stared at the door as the hot water beat on her back. I did it. Hadn’t panicked. He’d even thanked her. She touched her tingling lips. He kissed me. It had been…nice. Not horrible at all.
She started to pull her pajamas off and stopped. What if he returned? But…he wouldn’t. She just knew that.
* * * *
Raoul pushed away from his desk. His work was caught up, and the afternoon was almost over. So far, it hadn’t been a bad day.
At breakfast, they’d gone over schedules and expectations, then gone to their various chores.
After lunch, he’d tried gentling Kimberly in the same way he would a wild animal—start at a distance and move closer, bit by bit. While he’d worked in his office, she’d sat on a floor pillow beside him, close enough he could stroke her hair.
It had taken almost an hour for her to relax. When she’d tired, he’d leaned her closer, pressing her cheek against his thigh.
He’d planned the method to increase her trust in him; what he hadn’t expected was his own peace at having her close. When her psychologist had arrived and taken Kimberly to the great room, his office had felt empty and cold.
But he’d heard Faith leave a while ago. Time for the next step. He rose and stretched, tucked his shirt neatly into his jeans, and went in search of his little slave. He found her still in the great room. Curled up on the couch, she appeared strained. The session must have been a painful one.
Maybe she’d enjoy his way of defeating stress. “Come, gatita. It’s time for something more vigorous than sitting.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She followed him silently as he walked to the front corner of the house. He opened the door and stepped into the room, then realized she wasn’t beside him. He turned.
Almost as pale as her white T-shirt, she stood frozen in the hall.
“What’s wrong, chiquita?”
She moved a step closer, stared into the weight room, and sagged against the wall. “I thought you were bringing me to a dungeon.”
“Ah.” He shook his head. Poor little slave. “I have a dungeon, yes, but it’s on the south side. After we finish here, I’ll give you a tour of the house.”
Color returning, she followed him into the brightly lit exercise room and wandered around, looking at the bench press, the squat machine, the pulleys. “If you didn’t know what this stuff was, you might think you’d entered a dungeon.” She eyed the cables.
“I suppose,” he said noncommittally, not even tempted to tell her how nicely some of the equipment worked as restraints. Attach that pulley to a submissive’s wrist cuffs, add weight… A couple of the subs he’d entertained actually preferred playing in this room to the dungeon. “We’re going to build up your muscles and endurance.” He eyed her loose shorts and T-shirt. Good enough for now. “In a couple of days, I’ll start you on self-defense.”
“I know a little. My father made me take karate classes as a kid.”
“Really. Why did you stop?”
“I—” When she shrugged, her breasts moved in interesting ways, diverting him for a second. “I…didn’t want to be a tomboy anymore.” Her mouth firmed as if she were remembering old battles.
Odd. Something else to investigate.
“But at this point, I don’t think I could learn quickly enough to worry even a ninety-ninepound weakling,” she added, her brows drawing together.
Had he ever seen a woman who was so pretty even when frowning? “With karate, no. I’m going to give you the benefit of my years of street fighting. We’ll start with some of the nastier tricks—the ones they don’t teach martial arts students, since explaining to a mamá why her son’s eyeballs are on the floor is most difficult.”
“Ew.” She stared at him in horror.
“Or why his few fingers now bend the wrong way.”
Her disgust turned to a speculative gleam as she undoubtedly envisioned slavers who could no longer grip a flogger. Exactly the concept he wanted in her head. She wasn’t a victim; she was a survivor—and one who might do some real damage if the chance ever came.
* * * *
An hour later, Kim’s legs wobbled when Master R helped her off the leg extension machine. His hard grip on her arm was all that kept her from flopping onto the rubber mat like a landed trout. “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” she moaned.
Dammit, why did he have to have such a great smile? “You will, although you’ll groan all the way out of bed.”
“Thanks a lot.”
His laugh was deep, resonating in her bones. “Now I want you to be clear on the rules we discussed earlier. When working together like in the weight room or cooking in the kitchen, I don’t expect you to be formal. Everywhere else, you will ask permission to speak. You will use my title and be respectful at all times. If I am sitting in a room, kneel before you speak to me, and wait for permission to sit anywhere except the floor or on a pillow.”
“Yes, M-master.” The same rules they’d gone over at breakfast. No contradictions. Did he realize how wonderful his consistency was? She winced, remembering she’d sat on the couch in the great room. He hadn’t said anything. “I was on the sofa before.”
“Ah.” He frowned. “Many masters don’t let their slaves on the furniture at all, but I found that awkward and unnecessarily strict.”
“I found.” Every time he reminded her that he’d had slaves before, the pit of her stomach dropped away.
“If there are no doms in the room, use the couch or chairs and be comfortable. If I enter the room, you stand. If I sit, you kneel. Any questions?”
“No, Sir.” So she should have stood up when he came into the great room. “If you break the rules, you will be punished—probably with a spanking. Is that clear?” “Yes, M-master.”
“Very good.” He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek, his gaze tender. “Is there anything you need now or want to say?”
Why would a master ask a slave something like that? And why did it make her feel…off balance? “No, Sir.”
“No? Then let me show you the parts of the house you missed.” He took her hand in his, leading her.
On the second floor were three guest rooms and the master bedroom. At the end, he opened a door and showed her a sitting room overlooking the ocean. “This is your private area for when you need a place to be quiet. If you’re in here, I’ll know you want time alone.”
Before her relief had taken hold, he set a finger under her chin, lifting her face to give her a level look. “Having a space to use doesn’t mean you’ll be permitted to hide in here, Kimberly. As with all things, that is up to me.”