Page 4 of Master

“I’m not a monster, Sasha. I will not force you to swallow my cock.” He pushes the hair from my tear-stained cheeks and tucks it behind my ear. For as cruel as he can be, in this aspect at least, he treats me better than Trevor—or his friends—ever did. Staring up at him, my throat bobs as I swallow hard, and he shares, “You’re going to do it willingly because you want to show me what a good little submissive you are. Because you want to prove you’re as devoted to serving me as I am to helping you be better.”

Lifting my hands from my trembling thighs, I grip the waistband of his pants. I pull them down his thighs, and his hard length springs free. Wrapping my hand around the base of his shaft, I run my tongue along the ridge of the head before sucking him into my mouth. He groans in pleasure as I quickly slide my lips over his length, repeatedly filling my throat with all of him. Hollowing my cheeks and desperately needing him to come, I suck his cock with such vigor that spittle runs down my chin and over his balls.

“You reallyarefucking sorry,” he grits through his heavy, labored breaths as he fights his need to come. He fists the edge of the counter for balance as he spills his sour seed onto my tongue. I choke it down, hoping to remove the vile taste from my mouth. “That’s it. Swallow every drop of your breakfast.”

Shawn tucks his spent cock back into his pants and gestures for me to get up from the kneeling position. Rising from the floor is nearly as excruciating as suffering through the punishment. Grains of rice fall from deep dimples they’ve made in my skin, and the hollowed pockets of skin throb.

“When I get home from the office and want to fuckmypussy ormyass, what are you going to say?”

“Yes, Sir,” I hastily answer with a quick nod.

“And if I bring home a friend to see what a good girl you are?”

Sucking in a sputtered breath, I try to hold back my tears when I reply, “Yes, Sir.”

A proud smile beams across his face, yet his eyes remain devoid of emotion. “And why is that?”

“Because it’s my job to please you, Sir.”

“That’s better. You might turn out to be a decent submissive yet,” he imparts as he walks from the kitchen. Without breaking his stride, he calls over his shoulder, “Clean yourself up nice for me so I can show you off. Isaac and I will be here about seven.”

CHAPTER FOUR

LIAM

ABOUT SEVEN MONTHS AGO

“Sir,” Jorge announces as he slides a freshly poured glass of Jameson before me. “This is from the blonde in the red dress.”

My eyes drag down the bar, and for a brief, surprising second, I hope to magically find Ella sitting at the other end.

It isn’t her.

Where the fuck did that come from?

It’s been over five years since I’ve seen or heard from her. She packed up her entire life and disappeared without a trace within days of walking from my apartment; she knew before I did that I wouldn’t be able to let her walk away. If I didn’t have tangible proof she was real, I would probably wonder if I had actually dreamed her into existence.

“Jorge,” I huff. “For the love of Christ, if you aren’t fucking kneeling for me, don’t call me Si?—”

“You know I would”—Jorge winks at me—“Sir.” Before I have a chance to argue with his bratty ass, he returns to our paying patrons as Conor and Finn laugh.

I mutter under my breath, “Jesus fucking Chr…”

“I know you fucking suck at this”—Finn elbows me hard—“but this is the point where you walk your ass over there and talk to her.”

The woman lifting her glass and smiling at me is beautiful. That much is undeniable. She’d likely be fun tonight. We might even have fun for a few months. But like Ella put it so eloquently—and I’ve been ruminating about this more than usual for the past few days because of the ache in my left shoulder from a fresh bullet wound—the women I date want to be withme, not worried they’re going to wind up alone and being cared for by my brothers.

“Are you trying to take Declan’s former seat as president of the Grumpy Old Men Blowing Loads of Dust Club?” Finn nudges me again with a chuckle.

After taking a hearty sip of the warm amber liquid, I place the glass back on the bar top before answering, “You do know that I’m not celibate, right?”

“Are you sure? You realize that you’re turning down a definite opportunity to get your dick wet?” Finn raises a brow as he poses the rhetorical question. Making a checkmark with his hand in the air when I don’t respond, he vehemently confirms, “Celibate.”

Squeezing the glass in my hand, I fight the urge to deck him. Finn might be the most vocal about it, but all my brothers give me shit about my virtually non-existent love life.I got a pass fora while—they all know how much I loved her—but that seems to have expired. Apparently, if Declan can move on after mourning his deceased wife, I should be able to get over the woman who broke my heart.

It’s my love life that’s non-existent, not my sex life. By choice, I’m aromantic.Definitely not fucking celibate. I fuck plenty. I just ensure that there is virtually no chance that I’ll become emotionally invested in them. The women I enjoy just happen to be either one-night stands or well-negotiated, short-term Master/slave relationships.

Attempting to change the subject, I gruff, “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”

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