Page 16 of Wanted
Gathering her damp hair, he divided the long strands before twisting them into a loose braid. By the time he finally did take gentle hold of her wrist, her breath was as shaky as her knees.
“Your safeword is red, same as any club.”
She didn’t care what he did to her, she’d cut out her own tongue before she stopped this with a safeword.
One at a time, he buckled her wrists behind her back in the comforting embrace of each cuff. He might just as well have burritoed her in a warm blanket and tucked her safely into bed. Calm like she hadn’t felt in far too long washed through her.
“Too tight?”
She shook her head, not that she’d have cared if they were. She could feel his finger running along the seam despite her assurance, checking for himself to make sure her circulation was not restricted.
“All right,” he said, satisfied. “Sit back down.”
He patted her bottom as she stepped away, and it was such an offhand and yet proprietary thing for him to do. Like he did it to her all the time.
Liquid warmth pooling in her belly spilled lower, tickling her pussy lips as she moved to take her seat. For the first time in well over a year—since before Piggy ran away, in fact—it felt as if life had just returned to normal.
“Obviously, you won’t be able to write, so…” Reaching across the table, he took both her pen and paper and began to fill in the rest of her schedule of expectations. “Five, dinner is at seven. I’ll cook, you’ll set the table and”—he looked at her—“if you’re good, you may serve.”
Fluttering spasms, the closest thing to arousal that she’d felt in almost a year rippled through her sex. Her breath caught against her will, her face growing hot all over again.
“Six,” he continued, seemingly unaware of the blossoms his calm authority was so effortlessly unfurling in her core. “What we’re going to do won’t be easy for you. I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect you to try. Good behavior will win you rewards. Bad behavior will result in a loss of privileges. Do I need to cut your reward short so you can eat? I didn’t cook for you so it could grow cold.”
Pony looked down at her bowl. She couldn’t hold her fork any more than she could hold a pen, but that didn’t seem to bother Marcus. Honestly, it didn’t bother her either. She’d been offered a return to normal and she took it, eagerly. It might not last. Tomorrow he might change his mind again and be right back to I am not your Dom.
Scrambling up to half kneel in her chair gave her the leverage she needed to catch the edge of her bowl with her teeth and pull it closer toward her. She’d have stuck her face in it, eating like a dog if that’s what he wanted. He was commanding her, and she could have cried she’d missed this so much.
“No, no, no,” he said, freezing her before she could snag that first hot bite. Her heart stumbled to a stop with the rest of her. The sting of tears hit the back of her eyes as she prayed he wasn’t so sadistic as to bring her this close just to yank her dream back out from under her. “Dogs eat in dog dishes on the floor and they need all four paws to do it. Are you a dog, Anna?”
She was Pony. She shook her head.
He held out his hand. “Give me your bowl.”
He was. He was taking it away from her. One would have thought as much as she’d cried, she would be all out of tears, but she had to blink hard to fight back a fresh wave. Bowing her head, she carefully picked up the bowl with her teeth and, climbing out of her seat, navigated it into his waiting hand.
“Good girl,” he said, and her grieving heart fluttered. “Sit down.”
Disappointment and gratitude cut her through her in equal measures. At least he’d given her that before he took it all away.
“Did I say turn away from me?” he asked when she started back to her waiting chair. “We’re not done. We’ve only just started, in fact.”
She looked at him and then her chair. Afraid this might be devolving into another punishment and even more afraid that asking for clarification would take it there faster, Pony started to lower herself to her knees at his feet.
“No,” he stopped her again. “Sit here.” Shifting his chair so it faced her rather than the table, Marcus adjusted himself a little straighter in his seat and then patted his lap. “Facing me, please.”
Please, no less. Her stomach knotted, but her heart quickened. The hungering need to be a good girl—anybody’s good girl—carried her right to his knee. It was dampened only a little by the inner voice that whispered what a traitor she was to like it this much. He put his steadying hand on her hip while she eased herself down to perch on his hard thighs. Her master wasn’t even buried yet and here she was, not just doing this but wanting it.
She swallowed convulsively, but it wasn’t just her mouth watering when he picked up her bowl and dished up a bite. He brought it to his lips and she automatically tightened her stomach muscles to muffle its hollow rumble. She didn’t want to diminish his pleasure while he ate her supper in front of her.
Except he didn’t.
Blowing gently, he offered it to her.
Her chest rose and fell so fast. There was a trick here somewhere. She wanted it too much, so there had to be. But when she opened her mouth, he fed her.
As if she were precious.
She broke down, so grateful that she almost couldn’t chew through the keening sobs.
