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  She didn’t recognize the cheerful chirping at first, focused on the feelings coursing through her body.

  “Answer it,” Rikard ordered.

  Gayle fumbled for the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Gayle! Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” She gasped as Rikard’s thumb joined his fingers, stretching her even further. He wasn’t planning on stopping his assault while she was on the phone.

  A rush of wet warmth filled her, at how completely he controlled her body and its response. His hand slipped further inside, almost up to the knuckles, and Gayle moaned with pleasure.

  “What’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay?” Carrie demanded. She sounded ready to hop on a plane and check out the situation in person if Gayle didn’t give her the answers she was looking for.

  “What’s going on is we’re having sex, okay? Hot, sweaty, kinky sex. And your call came right in the middle of it. Stop calling me. I’ll phone you when I get home, and we can talk then.”

  Carrie was silent for so long, Gayle was afraid they’d lost the connection, then Carrie said softly, “I’m sorry. I was worried about you. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Oh, Carrie, I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re the best friend ever, and I know I asked you to call. But your timing stinks! I’m halfway out of my head with what Master Rikard is doing to me. I can’t talk now.”

  Rikard bit lightly on her neck, making her whimper, and murmured, “Only halfway?”

  “But you are okay, right?” Carrie pressed.

  “Never better in my life.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait for your call tonight. But if I don’t hear from you by nine, I’m still calling the cops.”

  “Great. Wonderful. Call by nine. Got it. Bye.”

  She shut the phone and tossed it onto the table.

  “Open for me,” Rikard whispered. “Open as wide as you can go.”

  His hand spread her opening the last fraction of an inch, then he slid fully inside her, up to his wrist. Her muscles clenched and gripped his hand, as she shivered and moaned.

  Unlike the first time, when he’d reached deep inside her, this time, he immediately started to pull his hand out. The wide part of his hand pressed her vaginal muscle, stretching her fully open again, before he pushed his fist deep inside her once more.

  She gasped, bucking against his hand.

  “Shh,” he said softly. “Let me do all the moving.”

  “Yes, Master.” Gayle spread her legs wide, tipped her hips, and leaned back against his other arm. She was his to control.

  His fist pumped slowly in and out, eliciting soft groans of pleasure with each stroke. Then he began speaking, softly, gently, in time with his hand movements.

  “You’re so hot. So wet. It’s like putting my hand into a steam bath. A paraffin dip. Warm and wet and closing tight around me. So tight. Tighter.”

  She clenched her inner muscles, wrapping them around his fist. He filled her completely, pressing back against her with his sheer size. His knuckles rubbed the wall of her vagina as he slid back and forth. She gasped, her hand once more thrusting into his hair and clenching tightly.

  “Please, Master. Please.”

  “What do you want, Gayle? You were very good, and followed my orders about the phone. You deserve a reward.”

  “Please. Do me faster.”

  His fist stroked steadily in and out, building speed, while his hand on her hip kept her where he wanted her to be. Her gasps and groans became short, sharp cries at the apex of each stroke.

  “Sing for me, Gayle. Sing.”

  Her next cry was a warbled note.

  “That’s it. Sing.”

  His fist pumped harder, faster, driving her cries of passion higher and higher up the scale. With a series of high notes worthy of Mozart’s “Queen of the Night”, Gayle gave a final shriek and came in a shuddering rush. Rikard’s hand spurted clear of her body.

  His mouth closed over hers, his lips tender and gentle as he pulled her lower lip into his mouth to suckle. Slowly, he soothed her down from the heights where he’d taken her. Her trembles subsided, leaving her filled with warm lethargy.

  “I think you need to build your energy up after that performance,” he said. “We should have dessert now.”

  “Dessert?” Gayle opened blurred eyes, then closed them again when it was too much effort to resolve the wavering images into a scene that made any sense. “I couldn’t possibly eat dessert. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “I’ll just have to feed you, then.”

  A ripple of anticipation coursed through the sluggish circulation of her body. He would care for her. Completely.

  “First you dressed me. Now you’re going to feed me. When do I do something for you?”

  “I told you, I believe my role as dominant is to ensure you’re surrounded by luxury, and have all your needs met.”

  “I thought your role as dominant was to blow my mind with incredible sex.”

  He laughed, the sound washing over her in benediction, filling her with joy. “That’s one of your needs, isn’t it? You can satisfy my desires later.”

  Gayle frowned. “Have you had…any…?”

  “Satisfaction?”

  She nodded.

  He lifted his hand from her hip and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Yes. There’s more to satisfaction than simply coming. Helping you with your music was satisfying. Watching you enjoy the meal I prepared for you was satisfying. Having my touch send you into orbit was extremely satisfying.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed into his gentle caress.

  “That being said, I would like you to make me come, hard and long.”

  “Yes, Master Rikard.” She swallowed, inexplicably nervous. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to let me make love to you.”

  She blinked. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Ready for your dessert now?”

  He lifted her off his lap, and set her down in her previous chair. While she stuffed her belongings back into her purse, he washed his gloved hands, then dished the dessert out onto two plates.

  Gayle’s eyes widened at the confection he placed before her. A half pear glistened in a coating of thick golden syrup, topped by a scoop of French vanilla ice cream, the whole thing drizzled with swirling loops of caramel and garnished with chopped pistachio nuts. “It almost looks too good to eat.”

  “It’s just poached pears.”

  “Just poached pears. Like you have them for dessert all the time?”

  “Actually, I had one for dessert last night, and will have one for dessert tomorrow night. The recipe is for two pears, and it’ll keep for two days.”

  “So what do you have the rest of the time? Crème Brûlée?” she mocked.

  Rikard’s eyes narrowed. “What is your problem, Gayle?”

  She threw her spoon onto the table, and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know!”

  Instantly, he pulled her into his lap, tucking her head against his shoulder and rubbing soothing strokes up and down her arm. “Shush, now. Forget the dessert. What’s bothering you?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t understand this. I thought it was an even trade. But you’re doing everything for me. And then you don’t even want me to do anything to get you off, just have sex!”

  “So you’d be happier if I wanted you to kneel and suck my cock until I came?”

  Despite the confused tone of his voice, she nodded. She could taste his smooth length filling her mouth, hot and hard, thrusting deep into her throat almost farther than it was possible to take him. She swallowed, her throat suddenly thick.

  “At least that would make sense.”

  He sighed, and trailed damp fingertips along her jawline. “I wasn’t going to mention this until you were ready to go to bed with me, but I do have a request. I want to take you from behind, so I can see the marks of my whip and my
hand on your skin as I’m plunging into you. I want to claim you completely, and know every inch of your body belongs to me, to do with as I will.”

  Beneath her thighs, his cock rose and pressed against her, illustrating just how much he wanted that.

  His fingers trembled as he stroked them down her throat, then reached inside her bathrobe to skim her breast. “You are my instrument. I will play you, and create beautiful music with you. Through you, my soul will take flight. And in return I will give you all the care a musician lavishes upon his most valued possession. You will want for nothing. But only if you will be completely mine.”

  Gayle shivered beneath his touch, aching to erase the note of desperate isolation in his voice. It was almost as though he expected her to refuse him.

  “Yes.”

  His hand stilled. “Yes?”

  “Yes. I will be yours.”

  For a moment, he clutched her tightly, burying his masked face in her hair. Then he stood abruptly, setting her on her feet and stepping away from her.

  “You don’t know what you’re agreeing to. I’ll ask you again once you understand what I’m asking.”

  Pain lanced through her. “Are you rejecting me?”

  “No! Never that.” He thrust both hands through his hair, the thick elastic band holding his mask catching in his fingers and snapping loudly. He winced at the blow. “Forget dessert. Come upstairs with me. Now.”

  “Yes, Master Rikard.”

  Taking her hand in his gloved one, he led her from the kitchen, shaking his head. “You want to serve me? I’ll show you how to serve.”

  Chapter Six

  Rikard hauled her up the stairs to the second floor, then dragged her into the guest bedroom. Gayle had only a moment to note the décor—a dresser and nightstand of natural oak with wrought iron accents, a wrought iron bed with swirling spires topping each corner post, and matching curtain rods covered with black and white sheers—before he ripped off her robe and pushed her onto the bed.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he spat.

  Gayle scrambled into the center of the bed and turned to face him, crouched ready to spring to freedom if he gave her a chance. “No.”

  He ignored her protest. This was not going down the way she’d expected, and she braced herself to fight if he tried to take more than she was prepared to give.

  “So eager to serve, you don’t care what will be asked of you.”

  He untied the laces of his leather pants with sharp, savage jerks. His pants fell to the floor, tangling with his boots. He kicked them off, his motions full of anger rather than his usual grace. One boot flew across the room to strike the dresser with a solid thud. He wrenched off his poet shirt next, flinging it aside to stand naked before her in only his leather mask and gloves.

  His rampant erection jutted forcefully at her, red and angry-looking.

  She tried one last time to get through to him. “Please, Rikard, what did I say?”

  “That’s Master Rikard. I still wear the mask.”

  “Master Rikard. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. Only tell me what I said, and I’ll never say it again.”

  Terror choked her voice. Carrie had been right. She didn’t know enough about Rikard to trust him. What insanity had possessed her to spend the whole day having sex with him? They were just supposed to be getting to know one another.

  “First you vow you’ll belong only and ever to me, now you promise to never give yourself to me again? I find I’m having trouble believing you.”

  Okay. That’s what had set him off. She could think this through logically. That’s what she was good at. Given a problem to solve, she forced the fear to keep at bay. It helped that he wasn’t advancing on her, merely clutching the nearest bedpost in a death grip and glaring at her.

  “I didn’t vow to belong only and ever to you. All I said was that I wanted to be yours. I wanted to be your submissive.”

  He hesitated, his voice losing its strident tone. “My submissive only.”

  “All right. I’ll give you the only. But not the ever. I wasn’t talking a lifetime arrangement. I was thinking of right now.”

  A shudder rippled through him, his eyes closing as his head bent. He released the bedpost, and took a step backwards. Then another. She noted with relief that his cock had softened to semi-erect. Sighing, he bent to pick up her fallen robe and his discarded clothing. Gayle started to relax. He folded the robe and placed it on the bed beside her, then turned away to set his folded clothing on top of the dresser.

  Softly, he whispered, “Nothing lasts forever. Not even when you want it to.”

  “The accident.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken until he whipped around to face her. “What did you say?”

  “The woman you loved and lost in the accident. She’d vowed to be with you forever, hadn’t she?”

  “Actually, I’d vowed to devote my life to her.” His lips twitched, as if he was trying to smile, but the effort was beyond him. “I would still, if fate hadn’t taken that choice from me.”

  The raw pain in his voice reminded her of the lyrics he’d sung earlier, overwhelming her fear with shared suffering and understanding. He hadn’t wanted to attack her just now. He’d been trying to drive her away. Whether he did so because he was afraid of being hurt again, or from some twisted loyalty to his dead love was unimportant. All that mattered was that her first impression of him had been correct.

  Gayle shifted position, from a crouch to a cross-legged seat, and patted the bedspread. “Why don’t you come sit over here?”

  Rikard’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to get dressed and leave?”

  “No. I want to talk to you. And I don’t want to do it from across the room.”

  Hesitantly, he crossed the room to the bed. He lingered a long moment beside it, then slowly climbed on top and crawled over to where she sat. She watched him with avid appreciation. No longer terrified, the adrenaline flooding her bloodstream had made her incredibly horny. All she wanted right now was to get laid.

  “I still want to be your submissive. I still want you to make love to me, whatever way gives you pleasure. But I can’t say it’s forever. I don’t know. Maybe we’ll discover we’re so good together, we want to make this a permanent relationship. Maybe we’ll find out we get on each other’s nerves and go our separate ways. The only way to find out is to try.”

  He reached toward her, checking his gesture when his hand was still half an inch from her face. “You want to try?”

  She leaned forward, pressing her cheek to his gloved palm. “Yes.”

  His breath caught. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  He clutched her to him, stroking his cool, damp gloves over her heated back in a frenzied effort to press her body closer to his. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue plunging deeply to capture her every soft whimper and moan. His cock rose between them, but he didn’t break the kiss until she was growing lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

  When he finally lifted his head, his breathing was harsh and ragged, as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

  “Say you’re mine,” he rasped. “At least for now.”

  “I’m yours.”

  He plunged into another kiss, the warm leather of his gloves gliding across the thin sheen of sweat on her back. Gone was the slow and careful buildup of passion that had characterized their earlier loveplay. He used no games or skillful tricks to whet her appetite. There was only crushing need, threatening to engulf them both in a firestorm that would burn them to cinders if they didn’t find a way to express it.

  This was not a Master, controlling his submissive’s actions and reactions. This was a man, driven past his ability for self-restraint. This was Rikard.

  She reached for his mask, wanting to remove the symbol of his mastery, freeing them both to be nothing more than a man and a woman, making love. He chose that moment to lift his head again, out of her reach, as he dragged in another gasping b
reath.

  “Let me make love to you,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see my marks on your skin while I love you.”

  “Yes.” She could refuse him nothing.

  Gently, with hands that trembled, he lowered her to the bedspread, then rolled her onto her stomach.

  “Kneel,” he whispered, his hands on her hips guiding her ass into the air as she pulled her knees up, her head pillowed on her crossed arms. Reverently, he kissed the swollen results of his earlier scene play.

  Gayle shuddered, his soft lips reawakening the painful pleasure of his hand and whip striking her ass. Her folds parted, plump and wet, ready for his possession.

  The bed shook as he clambered over to the nightstand and the supply of condoms in the drawer. She heard the packet tear, then his soft groan as he rolled the condom onto his engorged cock. A moment later, he was kneeling between her legs, one hand on her hip, holding her steady, while his other guided his cock to her entrance.

  The tip slid between her folds, then found her opening and thrust deep. They both groaned in pleasure.

  The angle was unlike anything she’d experienced before, his cock pressing hard against her vaginal muscles with every deep stroke. He thrust twice, then groaned low in his throat and folded himself over her, his chest pressed to her back. He kissed the lines of the cat across her shoulders, trailing his tongue over the faint welts and swellings.

  She moaned. “Yes. Please, yes.”

  Sheets of fire cascaded over her skin from where his lips touched her, all that she had felt earlier and then some. She felt her fluids pouring forth, coating his cock and running down both of their legs.

  Rikard reached around to caress her swollen, aching breasts. His blind fingers found the nipples, first stroking, then squeezing them.

  She gasped, her hips jerking in response.

  “Like that,” he groaned. “Again.”

  They found their rhythm, her hips bucking beneath him as he pumped in and out, squeezing her nipples with every thrust. Kisses landed scattershot on her shoulders, his mouth finding new territory each time he lunged forward.

  He moaned, a note of utter purity that nearly stopped her breath with its beauty. Twice more, he thrust in time with his cries. Then he thrust deep and exploded, shaking as his body covered hers.