The Master
Page 39
“Nothing pleases me more than to hear that.” He stroked her cheek and smiled. “I am honored you trust me enough to gift me with your tears.”
She felt so soft and inviting in his lap. How easy it would be to lower his head and taste her. But not only could he not afford to kiss her, she’d also been through an emotionally intense scene. He reached behind the couch and took the waiting orange juice.
“Drink for me, little one,” he said, holding the straw up to her lips.
When half the juice was gone, he fed her chocolate. Then she finished the juice and snuggled deeper into his embrace. He ground his teeth together, hoping she didn’t feel his hardening cock. He’d planned on her being sassy and insolent, but the affectionate side of her surprised him. And the combination drew him in.
He held her for a long time before shifting her a bit. “I need to care for the welts, little one. Can I put you on your stomach here on the couch?
She nodded lazily against his chest and he moved her as gently as possible so she was positioned on her belly with a pillow under her head.
“I’m going to massage you,” he said. She already appeared calm and relaxed, but he massaged her back and shoulders, moving slowly toward her waist, skipping over her backside and easing any possible tension from her legs.
Only when he was assured that she was as relaxed as possible did he take ointment and ease it over the marks he’d made. She flinched at the start, so when he finished, he went back to massaging her.
He loved the way she felt under his hands. Soft and pliable, sighing when he touched certain places. He wanted to feel her skin on skin, nothing in between him and her body. But she was so self-conscious about her back, and he’d promised her he would wait for her to tell him when she was ready for him to see. He placed a hand on either side of her waist and started to pull the dress down.
“Please stop,” she whispered.
“I’m just pulling your dress down, little one, nothing more.” Surely she didn’t think he’d take the dress off.
“I know.” She took a long breath. “Please take it off instead.”
“Sasha . . .” he started, but didn’t know how to finish.
“I want you to. I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore.” Her voice was pained. “Please, Sir. Touch me.”
Calling himself every bad name he could think of, he slowly inched the dress up. He shouldn’t be doing this. She was too emotional at the moment. But she’d said please and he wanted to see her so badly. And when she’d said, “Touch me,” he was done for.
Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. Feel you. See you.” He took the zipper pull at the top of the dress and lowered it. “Thank you, little one.”
She pushed up on her arms, slightly lifting her chest to help and he dragged the zipper completely down and pulled the dress over her head.
He froze when he saw her back. Covering her beautiful skin was a web of scars. His chest constricted and his breath caught in his throat. Thinking of how the scars got there—the force of the whip, the inexperience of the wielder—he shook his head.
“Sasha, I . . . I . . .” He tentatively touched one of the larger lines.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Her voice was pained. “Everybody says that and I hate it. Like they could have done something. Like they could have stopped it.”
With both hands he palmed her shoulder blades. “I wasn’t going to apologize.” He lowered his head to the top of her spine and brushed his lips across the scar there. Against her skin he whispered, “I was going to say, I wish I could have taken it for you.”
A soft gasp of surprise shook her shoulders and without giving it further thought, he trailed his lips down one long puckered line. By the time he reached the swell of her hips, her skin was covered in gooseflesh.
“Oh, god,” she moaned.
In response, he lifted his head and traced another scar with his finger, softly peppering kisses along the way. Taking his time, he gave each mark the same treatment, lavishing her skin with tender touches and warm kisses. When he finished, she was trembling.
“Please,” she whispered in a coarse voice and turned slightly so she could see him. “Cole, please.”
“Oh, Sasha.” He cupped her cheek and brought his lips down on hers. Her taste was a combination of sweet from the juice and salty from her tears. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling her closer so he could have more.
She twisted in his arms, her own attempt to draw them closer, but she winced at the movement and he cursed his disregard of her backside.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .” he started, pulling back.
But her arms stopped him. “Don’t stop.” She shifted toward him again and he saw her try to cover the pain. “Please?”
Her eyes held the look of longing he so often noticed in her expression. And how could he turn her down, this exquisite beauty who knew so much pain and asked for so little? The truth was, he didn’t want to turn her down. He wanted to hold her and bring her so much pleasure, the painful memories slid away, never to be remembered.
He stood beside the couch, his mind decided. “Not on the couch. Let me take you to the bedroom.” She moved as if to stand, but he put a hand on her shoulder. “I said, let me take you.”
“I can walk.”
“And I can whistle ‘God Save the Queen,’ but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it right this bloody second.” Before she could protest further, he gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the couch.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he carried her down the hall to his room. With her head tucked under his chin, he could smell the lemon mint scent of her hair. He wondered if her skin smelled the same and kissed the top of her head.
He gave a silent prayer of thanks the house was small. Holding a naked Sasha in his arms, impatient to touch her, and curious about her smell was chipping away at his control. He joined her on the bed once he had her reclining on the middle of his mattress.
He put a hand on either side of her head so he was leaning over her, smiling down at her. “Ah, yes, this is much better than the couch. I’ve dreamed about having you naked and in my bed.” His voice fell an octave. “And in my dreams, I always start like this.”
He lowered his lips to her neck and started to explore her body. In the last month, he’d learned and observed so much of her. He knew of her reactions and how she responded to certain things, but naked, she was an entirely new person. From the swell of her breasts to the gentle slope of her collarbones, his fingers were hungry for the feel of her and his mouth was thirsty for her shape. Earlier in the day she gave him her tears, but now he craved her moans, her gasps of pleasure, her breathy whispers, and he took and reveled in every one.
She felt so soft and inviting in his lap. How easy it would be to lower his head and taste her. But not only could he not afford to kiss her, she’d also been through an emotionally intense scene. He reached behind the couch and took the waiting orange juice.
“Drink for me, little one,” he said, holding the straw up to her lips.
When half the juice was gone, he fed her chocolate. Then she finished the juice and snuggled deeper into his embrace. He ground his teeth together, hoping she didn’t feel his hardening cock. He’d planned on her being sassy and insolent, but the affectionate side of her surprised him. And the combination drew him in.
He held her for a long time before shifting her a bit. “I need to care for the welts, little one. Can I put you on your stomach here on the couch?
She nodded lazily against his chest and he moved her as gently as possible so she was positioned on her belly with a pillow under her head.
“I’m going to massage you,” he said. She already appeared calm and relaxed, but he massaged her back and shoulders, moving slowly toward her waist, skipping over her backside and easing any possible tension from her legs.
Only when he was assured that she was as relaxed as possible did he take ointment and ease it over the marks he’d made. She flinched at the start, so when he finished, he went back to massaging her.
He loved the way she felt under his hands. Soft and pliable, sighing when he touched certain places. He wanted to feel her skin on skin, nothing in between him and her body. But she was so self-conscious about her back, and he’d promised her he would wait for her to tell him when she was ready for him to see. He placed a hand on either side of her waist and started to pull the dress down.
“Please stop,” she whispered.
“I’m just pulling your dress down, little one, nothing more.” Surely she didn’t think he’d take the dress off.
“I know.” She took a long breath. “Please take it off instead.”
“Sasha . . .” he started, but didn’t know how to finish.
“I want you to. I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore.” Her voice was pained. “Please, Sir. Touch me.”
Calling himself every bad name he could think of, he slowly inched the dress up. He shouldn’t be doing this. She was too emotional at the moment. But she’d said please and he wanted to see her so badly. And when she’d said, “Touch me,” he was done for.
Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. Feel you. See you.” He took the zipper pull at the top of the dress and lowered it. “Thank you, little one.”
She pushed up on her arms, slightly lifting her chest to help and he dragged the zipper completely down and pulled the dress over her head.
He froze when he saw her back. Covering her beautiful skin was a web of scars. His chest constricted and his breath caught in his throat. Thinking of how the scars got there—the force of the whip, the inexperience of the wielder—he shook his head.
“Sasha, I . . . I . . .” He tentatively touched one of the larger lines.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Her voice was pained. “Everybody says that and I hate it. Like they could have done something. Like they could have stopped it.”
With both hands he palmed her shoulder blades. “I wasn’t going to apologize.” He lowered his head to the top of her spine and brushed his lips across the scar there. Against her skin he whispered, “I was going to say, I wish I could have taken it for you.”
A soft gasp of surprise shook her shoulders and without giving it further thought, he trailed his lips down one long puckered line. By the time he reached the swell of her hips, her skin was covered in gooseflesh.
“Oh, god,” she moaned.
In response, he lifted his head and traced another scar with his finger, softly peppering kisses along the way. Taking his time, he gave each mark the same treatment, lavishing her skin with tender touches and warm kisses. When he finished, she was trembling.
“Please,” she whispered in a coarse voice and turned slightly so she could see him. “Cole, please.”
“Oh, Sasha.” He cupped her cheek and brought his lips down on hers. Her taste was a combination of sweet from the juice and salty from her tears. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling her closer so he could have more.
She twisted in his arms, her own attempt to draw them closer, but she winced at the movement and he cursed his disregard of her backside.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .” he started, pulling back.
But her arms stopped him. “Don’t stop.” She shifted toward him again and he saw her try to cover the pain. “Please?”
Her eyes held the look of longing he so often noticed in her expression. And how could he turn her down, this exquisite beauty who knew so much pain and asked for so little? The truth was, he didn’t want to turn her down. He wanted to hold her and bring her so much pleasure, the painful memories slid away, never to be remembered.
He stood beside the couch, his mind decided. “Not on the couch. Let me take you to the bedroom.” She moved as if to stand, but he put a hand on her shoulder. “I said, let me take you.”
“I can walk.”
“And I can whistle ‘God Save the Queen,’ but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it right this bloody second.” Before she could protest further, he gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the couch.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he carried her down the hall to his room. With her head tucked under his chin, he could smell the lemon mint scent of her hair. He wondered if her skin smelled the same and kissed the top of her head.
He gave a silent prayer of thanks the house was small. Holding a naked Sasha in his arms, impatient to touch her, and curious about her smell was chipping away at his control. He joined her on the bed once he had her reclining on the middle of his mattress.
He put a hand on either side of her head so he was leaning over her, smiling down at her. “Ah, yes, this is much better than the couch. I’ve dreamed about having you naked and in my bed.” His voice fell an octave. “And in my dreams, I always start like this.”
He lowered his lips to her neck and started to explore her body. In the last month, he’d learned and observed so much of her. He knew of her reactions and how she responded to certain things, but naked, she was an entirely new person. From the swell of her breasts to the gentle slope of her collarbones, his fingers were hungry for the feel of her and his mouth was thirsty for her shape. Earlier in the day she gave him her tears, but now he craved her moans, her gasps of pleasure, her breathy whispers, and he took and reveled in every one.
