Page 54 of Mine To Break
Chapter Twenty One
Standing in the bathroom of their honeymoon cabin, Colby stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.
He stood there, nude, fully erect—even though she hadn’t touched him. Hair growing out from the military buzz cut he’d worn for years. A fresh, tender scar on his abdomen, still held together with medical glue and God only knew how many internal stitches. Out of necessity, he’d been forced to abandon the wedding tradition of carrying his bride over the threshold, for fear he’d tear something open. Mal had promised to let him do it at some point, once she decided he’d healed enough.
Onceshedecided. Not him. Not even his doctor. His wife. His Mistress. His sun.
Because his whole world revolved around her now. Happily.
She’d told him to go into the bathroom and stay until she called. And he’d gone without a single word of complaint.
“Come on out, sugar.”
He gave one last, lingering look at himself in the mirror, searching his face for any trace of indecision or regret, but he saw only a dark gleam of eager hunger shining back at him. Opening the door, he did pause a moment to drink her in. She wore another unexpected gown, this one made of a light, thin white material, still very old fashioned looking, with ribbons and ruffles and buttons, mostly left undone down the front to bare the soft, paler skin of her full breasts. He’d thought Mistresses wore black latex and corsets with thigh-high boots. And yeah, maybe he ought to ask for that, because Mal would look hot in anything. But right now, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the outline of her curves in that gown.
“You like?” She asked softly, giving him a slow twirl. “Vicki made it, inspired by Victorian shifts and petticoats.”
His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, making his voice sound strange. “I didn’t know you liked Victorian clothing.”
“I didn’t either, until I saw it. Vicki did a million sketches to distract me while you were in surgery. I’m going to ask her to design all the costumes forPony Games,if she’s up to it. I think it’ll be fun.”
She came toward him, a slow, sexy stroll that hypnotized him. If he hadn’t already been hard, he’d have probably passed out from the blood rush to his groin. He fisted his hands at his side, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. His fingers burned to see how far down the buttons ran down the front, and how far he could get before the whole nightgown just slipped right off her body to puddle on the floor.
“You remember what I told you that first night at the restaurant?”
Like when she’d given him those first orders, to eat his food. Or when she’d asked him why he was there. But he had the feeling that she meant… “You said you’d get to be the woman to break me.”
She didn’t reply or move a muscle, but stared back at him, silent and firm and he knew what she wanted.
The dog sat at his mistress’s feet, because that was where he chose to be. Not because she forced him.
It was easier than he’d ever dreamed to bend his knees and sink to the floor as he stared up at her. The wood floors were cold beneath him, but her smile warmed him to the core.
“How do you feel? Truthfully?”
On his knees, it was harder to mouth back a cocky response full of male ego, which was probably exactly why she’d put him here. He listened to his body, feeling for any internal twinge or pain. “Good. Tender, like I wouldn’t want to take a punch to the stomach. I wouldn’t want to run too far or too hard. Unless you were waiting at the end.”
She frowned, biting her lip, as if she didn’t think he could take whatever she’d planned. Risking punishment—which alone should be enough to reassure her that he felt fine—he leaned forward and rubbed his face against her stomach. Her arms came around his head, her fingers stroking over his skull and shoulders. “Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is hurt you, let alone put you back in the hospital, on our honeymoon, no less.”
Rolling his eyes up to see her face, he lipped the thin linen of her gown, playfully tugging at it.
“Hmmm. I think you should have dessert first.”
Happily, he muzzled his way toward the vee of her thighs, but evidently that wasn’t what she meant at all.
“Stand up and come over here, sugar. I’ve got dessert set out for you.”
She offered a hand to him, which he took as he stood, any excuse to touch her without risking the Mistress’s wrath. He followed her to the kitchen. At the bar, she’d scooted the two stools out of the way and set out the pan of blackberry cobbler.
“Hands behind your back.”
He crossed his wrists in the small of his back and she bound his hands. Good. Maybe she was going to feed him. Even better, maybe she’d just scoop a big pile of cobbler onto her pussy and let him eat it off her. Double the dessert.
She must have read those thoughts on his face because she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’m not a fan of food mixed with sexy times. For one thing, someone’s gotta clean up the mess later, and another, I just want to eat my food and enjoy it.”
“I’d still enjoy the hell out of it.”
She arched a brow. “Maybe. Until I got an infection because of food where it shouldn’t be.”
