Page 37 of Savage Game
Her heart stuttered at the conviction in his face and in his voice. She shook her head in wordless wonder.
“Three, true, you could use some padding on your thighs, but on a healthy meal plan, enough sleep, and less stress you’re already filling out a bit. Besides, even with your hipbones protruding from your body, the center between those thighs contains so much warm softness, I couldn’t care less.”
She gasped at his carnal bluntness, he chuckled and lifted a shoulder in a casual “so sue me” motion.
“For the remark about being a stick, I should paddle your ass with one. A stick is a dead piece of wood and you’re very much alive. Where wood has no give, you yield beautifully to my commands and my touch.”
Heat singed her cheeks.
“That sums up what you said. Now, let me address the matter of how you spoke to me and make it a list again. One”—he held up his index finger between them—“you don’t talk bad about my kitten. Two, you don’t snap at me.” He lifted a second finger. “And—finally—three, sarcasm doesn’t suit you. At all.”
Charlotte concentrated on his hand and blinked hard. He was right. “I’m sorry, Sir.” She gulped. “I have absolutely no idea what’s the matter with me today.”
“Ah, Kittycat, come here.” He pulled her against his chest and cradled her as tenderly as one would an upset child.
A tear trickled in a wet trail over her cheek. She let out a sob. More tears followed, and then she was crying in earnest.
All the time, Master held her on his lap and shifted backward during her crying fit until he leaned against the headboard. A low comforting sound rumbled beneath her ear and, as she quieted, Charlotte realized he was humming The Rose from Bette Midler. While she listened to the familiar tune, she rested her head beneath his chin, and for this moment, her world was right again.
16
Day Sixteen
“You want what?” She cringed at the sharp accusation in her voice, and quickly lowered her face but tracked his movements through her eyelashes.
Always be aware of the possibly angry man, right?
She whispered a hasty, “Sorry, Sir,” just to be sure.
He gave her an indulgent smile but didn’t make a move. His posture was relaxed. He’d shoved his right hand in his trouser pocket earlier and didn’t pull it out. His left arm hung loosely, fingers pointing down. She perused the rest of his body upwards until their eyes met. He wore a “panic if you must” expression, which might have been condescending, if not for the warmth in his eyes.
All right. She exhaled through pursed lips and let go of the fight or flight rigidity the adrenaline coursing through her body pumped into her muscles. Getting her pounding heart under control would take a bit longer, she guessed.
The scar beside his sparkling eyes deepened and the corners of his mouth curled. “Unless you call out ‘red’ right now, I’m going to flog you.”
Instead of frightening her like the first time he mentioned his intention, his statement now relaxed her. It took her a moment to understand why.
Because he gave me a safeword and just reminded me I’m in control, even when bound, but still…
“Why do you want to hurt me?”
Now he did move closer, but he didn’t touch her. His energy, however, caressed her skin and made her hormones go into overdrive.
Great, now my heart is drumming against my ribcage for another reason.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Kittycat. Any flogger can hurt, but when used with care, they feel more like a massage.”
Uhuh.
He chuckled. “Look at that pout. Do you really have such little faith in me?”
She canted her head, so her hair hid her burning cheeks.
A careful finger tipped her face back up to him. “Can you trust me to do this and not hurt you, or do you need your safeword?”
“I trust you.” The words rushed from her mouth. “It’s just…”
He considered her. “You’re not afraid of the pain, but afraid I’d like to hurt you, is that it?”
