Page 8 of In Love With a Master (Interview With a Master 2)

“More…?” Her voice was hoarse and shaking with lust and triumph as she pressed herself hard against me in invitation.

I said nothing. I kissed her again, this time more fiercely, and Leticia let out a choking cry of desire. Our lower bodies brushed against each other, grinding in a slow, erotic dance of primal need, as my fingers tugged deftly at the loose drawstrings of her blouse.

Leticia threw her head back, exposing the soft, tender flesh of her throat and then gasped. She was shaking, breathing in broken pants. I kissed my way down her neck, pulling the top of her blouse open until it hung from one shoulder and I could see the heaving swell of her breast and the flimsy lace that enclosed it. I slid the strap of her bra down her arm and my mouth hunted her hard nipple. Her breast was warm and firm – enough to fill my palm – and I felt Leticia’s hands weaving in my hair, pulling me to her, entangling her fingers.

I took her nipple between my lips and it stiffened in my mouth like a ripe strawberry. She moaned aloud and then melted in my arms as though made of candlewax while the heat between us spread like a fire.

“I have wanted you for so long,” I gruffed. My hand slid down her back, between the firm, swelling cleft of her bottom, and then reached for the hem of her skirt. Leticia sucked in an urgent breath of anticipation. I slid her skirt higher up the silky smooth skin of her thigh.

“No… Jonah…” Leticia made a breathless broken sound of dissent and began to stiffen.

I stifled her protest with another long, lingering kiss and the tension melted away from within her. I probed her open mouth with my tongue and the sound in the back of her throat became contented and mewling while my cunning fingers traced gentle circles on the velvety soft skin of her inner thigh. I could sense the heat of Leticia’s sex, sensed it just out of reach. I grazed my coaxing fingers an inch higher, and then stopped and stepped calmly away.

Leticia hung like a ragdoll, gasping for breath, shaking and wide eyed. The hem of her skirt was high around her hips, the white cotton blouse twisted and gaping open. Leticia scraped her fingers through her hair. Her lips were puffy and kiss-inflamed. Her body heaved as she swallowed great gulps of air. She clutched at the edge of the table with a trembling hand.

I watched Leticia regain her composure as the hectic flush of arousal slowly receded from her face. She tugged at her skirt and straightened her clothing, her fingers fumbling. I had my hands thrust deep into my pockets, my expression composed and icy calm.

“That was one hell of a kiss,” Leticia rasped.

I inclined my head, smiled.

Leticia looked confused, almost affronted. “Jonah… tell me you felt something! Tell me you were as turned on as I was.”

I smiled thinly. “It was not my intention to be turned on, Leticia,” I said quietly. “I wanted merely to arouse you. That kiss – the way I touched you and how I touched you was all for you – not for me,” and then my smile changed slowly to become wolfish. “Next time we are alone will be for me.”

Chapter 8.

I walked Leticia downstairs and we spent a long time talking intimately in the foyer, standing close to each other, our words no more than a whisper.

“Tomorrow…?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “We should get the interviews completed as soon as possible. Would you like to meet here, or would you like me to come to your apartment?”

Leticia shrugged. She pressed the flat of her palm gently against my chest in a feminine, proprietorial manner. I reached out and tenderly caressed the side of her cheek.

“I’ll come to you,” I said. “Is ten in the morning too early?”

Leticia shook her head. I walked her to her car and watched her drive out through the gates of the estate.

I went back upstairs feeling strangely elated and light-headed. I felt happy. I felt some inner sense of wellbeing that was unfamiliar and elusive. I went to the library and passed an hour leafing through an old adventure-thriller written many years ago. I had read this book before, but I still found myself transported to the freezing, icy depths of the Arctic as the author played out the adventure tale.

When the phone rang I looked up, puzzled for a moment as though I didn’t recognize the sound. I set the book down and strode to the office. I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

There was a moment’s pause and then Leticia’s voice, sounding muzzy and soft. “Hello again… You must think I’m crazy.”

“No,” I said gently. “Not yet…”

I heard Leticia’s smile in the sound of her voice. “Good… I… just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Were they good thoughts?”

Leticia made a contented, sensual hum. “They were very good thoughts,” she said but then her voice became a little harder and her tone changed. “But I have some doubts, Jonah.”

I closed my eyes and took a breath. “About the relationship?”

“No. About the BDSM.” Leticia’s became silent for a moment, as though she were gathering her nerve. “I’m just not sure whether I can be your submissive. I’ve never done anything exotic sexually, and I’m not sure whether being submissive is something that will arouse me and make the sex good for you.”

I sighed and there was a lift of relief in my voice. “Is that the only doubt you have, Leticia?”

“Yes, it’s the only doubt.”

The telephone in my office had a cordless extension. I transferred receivers so I could begin to pace the room. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“No. Where in the apartment are you?”

“I’m laying on the bed.”

My mind filled with a vision of Leticia lying propped up on a mound of pillows. “What are you wearing?”

“Just an old t-shirt and a pair of panties.”

I went to the edge of the desk and picked up the statue of Horus, examining it absently for a moment. “Leticia, do you really want to know whether you are aroused by the idea of submitting?”

Leticia didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

I set the statue back on the desk and drifted in a slow circuit around the office. “Very well. Take off the panties and go to the bathroom. Do it now.”

Leticia sounded horrified. “What?”

“You heard me, Leticia.” My voice became hard and stern. “Go to the bathroom, now.”

There was a long delay, more than a minute of silence before Leticia’s voice came uncertainly to me through the receiver. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m in the bathroom.”

I remember Leticia’s bathroom from the times I had visited her apartment during those first interviews. The bathroom was a small room with white tiles on the floor and around the walls. There was a vanity basin set against one wall with a mirror above it. On the opposite side of the bathroom was a shower behind smoky glass sliding doors.

“Are you wearing the panties?”

“No. I took them off… just like you told me to.” Leticia’s voice was low and quivering.

My voice softened instantly. “Good girl,” I said. I visualized Leticia standing in just a loose t-shirt, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. I imagined her long, brown legs and the cheeks of her bottom peeping from below the shirt’s hem. I kept my voice firm – it was important now that Leticia respond to my commands. “Go and lean on the vanity,” I said. “Then spread your legs wide and look at yourself in the mirror.”

I heard soft, rustling sounds and then Leticia’s voice again, shaky and tremulous. “I have the phone on speaker,” she said.

“Good,” I soothed. “Are you where I ordered you to be?”

“Yes. I am leaning on the vanity basin looking at my reflection.”

“Are your legs spread wide?”

“Yes,” she said with a soft reckless breath.

I got tired of pacing. I sprawled into the big leather chair and swung round until I was looking out the window. “Now close your eyes,” I said. “I want you to visualize me standing behind y

ou, Leticia. I want you to imagine I have just stepped out of your shower. I am wet, I am naked, and I see you leaning over the bathroom vanity. Imagine the hunger in my eyes. Imagine how tempting you look to me with the hem of your shirt riding up around your waist so that I can see the cleft of your sex, and sense the need in you.”

There was a moment of silence where I heard Leticia give a stifled little gasp.

“Are you imagining me?”

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