Page 14 of Master Key Resort

One-hundred-and-seventy-nine miles out of Vegas, and there were another two-thousand-five-hundred miles between them and Master Key, Florida—give or take a few. The entire trip should take them five days, driving eight hours per day, as long as there weren’t any major traffic jams to delay them. Cordell had asked a mechanic friend to check out his truck the other day, and it was in tip-top shape for the cross-country journey.

In the back seat, Eastwood had finally calmed down in his carrier. Cordell had taken him for rides many times since he’d been a kitten, so he was used to it. There was enough room in the kennel for the cat to move around, but when they made the occasional pit stop, Cordell would have to let him out of it, so he could use the litter box and have some water. He wouldn’t be fed until they got to the pet friendly hotels they were staying in along the way, so he wouldn’t get car sickness and puke all over the place.

He glanced over at Tiffany. Damn, she was so sexy, wearing a cute pair of navy-blue shorts and a white, V-neck shirt that didn’t show enough of her cleavage, in his opinion. The bare skin of her legs had him itching to pull over and yank her into his lap, straddling him. Her white canvas shoes had been kicked off within the first five minutes of their trip, showing him the new, hot-pink nail polish, she’d put on her toes. She had the passenger seat pushed back as far as it would go, with her legs spread out in front of her, resting her feet on a pillow that was usually under her small computer desk. For the past half hour or so, she’d been reading a book on her Kindle about long ago shipwrecks in the Florida Keys. Shortly after she’d moved into the cottage behind his house, he’d learned his little submissive loved history, and researching it was one of her favorite things to do. According to her, she’d seen practically every episode of Mysteries at the Museum, and, often, they’d watch the History Channel and Travel Channel together while relaxing after dinner.

At first, he’d been surprised at how different evenings felt with Tiffany once she’d settled in and become more comfortable around him. He’d never had a sense of domesticity with any of the other subs he’d helped before her, despite having had two slaves stay in one of his spare bedrooms throughout their separate rehab stints with him. During those times, a friend of his from the LVPD had been renting the cottage. And, while not in the lifestyle, Matt knew enough about it not to have been freaked out by Cordell’s Master/slave or Dom/sub relationships he’d witnessed on occasion.

Tiffany, however, was different, and Cordell found himself saying that a lot when comparing her reconditioning to those of the other slaves or subs he’d helped over the years. Heck, none of the women he’d dated could hold a candle to her.

His mind shifted.

Hmm. Wax-play. That was something they hadn’t done in a while. It would have to wait until they were at Master Key Resort though. The last time he’d made Tiffany come with a dollop of very warm wax on her clit, she’d screamed so loudly with her release she’d been hoarse for hours afterward.

And, just like that, he was hard from his dirty thoughts about the pretty sub next to him. Grabbing the cold bottle of water Tiffany had placed in the cup holder for him, he opened it and took a sip. It didn’t help much for getting his cock under control, and he almost considered putting the bottle between his legs. Instead, he counted down from one hundred, then cleared his throat. “How’s the book?”

She glanced at him. “It’s so interesting. Did you know that a World War II German U-boat was sunk about seventy miles west of Key West?”

“Seriously?”

“Really!” Her eyes lit up with excitement, something he enjoyed seeing, and he held back a chuckle of amusement as she grew more animated with her hands as she continued. “Well, it didn’t belong to the Germans then. The United States took possession of it after the war and then the Navy overhauled it and put it to use.” Using her finger to keep her place on the Kindle’s screen, she paraphrased what she saw there. “They studied the design and workings of it too. President Truman visited it when it was stationed in the Keys and was onboard during a dive. Then, in October of 1951, the Chief of Naval Operations ordered it sunk, so they did it during rocket tests from a destroyer.”

“Wow. Is it one of the wrecks that’s good for diving?” He’d been a SCUBA diver for years, with most of his excursions being while vacationing on various islands in the Caribbean and Mexico. He’d gotten certified through the police department. While there weren’t any huge lakes in Las Vegas proper, there were some smaller ones and ponds that were deep enough that divers were occasionally needed for recovering bodies or evidence. LVPD also trained with officers from other local police departments and assisted them whenever experienced law enforcement divers were needed for a larger body of water, such as Lake Las Vegas in Henderson.

“Let me see. Uh ... not really. It says attempting to reach U-2513 should only be done by those experienced in decompression diving due to its depth and remote location.”

He liked how relaxed she seemed to be, which was happening more often lately. It was like getting a glimpse of the woman she’d probably been before she’d met that asshole. “Yeah, I’ll pass on that one, although, it does sound very cool. Have you ever been SCUBA diving, pet?”

“No, Sir. I’ve always wanted to, but there aren’t many opportunities to learn in Vegas.”

The wistfulness in her voice caught him off guard. It wasn’t often Tiffany expressed a genuine interest in something. The more time they spent together, the more she was emerging from that shell she’d been hiding in since that bastard had beaten her spirit. “I’m sure there are at least a few certification schools in the Keys. I’d love to take you to some of those wrecks you’re reading about. Would you like to learn to dive? My treat.”

She gaped at him. “Really, Sir? You’d let me do that?”

Reaching over, he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently. A small tremor went through her arm and goose bumps appeared. He took that as a good sign. “I would hope by now you’d know I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on, sweetheart, and I don’t say things I don’t mean. We’re not having a D/s discussion, this is just you and me, Cordell and Tiffany, talking about something outside of the lifestyle that we both seem to be interested in. Now, answer my question, please. Would you like for me to arrange lessons for you to learn how to dive?”

A smile spread across her face. “Yes, Sir—Cordell—I would love to learn how to dive. Thank you.”

He kissed her knuckles again. “You’re very welcome, Tiffany.”

* * *

Tiffany sighed inwardly,trying not to read too much into Sir kissing her knuckles. He wasn’t being romantic, just tender, as he often was. For not the first time, she wondered if she was making a mistake moving to Florida with him ... well, not exactly with him. She assumed they’d have a similar set up to how they’d been living over the past months. Tori had said there were several cottages on the property that everyone would be using while the resort was being rebuilt. Sir would want his own, and probably put Tiffany in the one next to his, so they could continue with her reconditioning.

She’d improved greatly since accepting Sir’s offer to help her recover from the damage Bruce had done to her psyche. She hated how she’d gone from a strong, carefree, confident woman, to someone who cringed whenever a man tried to flirt with her. A few months after she’d moved in with Bruce, he’d started getting extremely jealous of other men. Anywhere they’d gone, he’d accused Tiffany of flirting with them when she’d barely made eye contact or said a word or two, like “hello” or “thank you.” Some of her worst punishments had been because of Bruce’s insecurities. One time, he’d made her kneel in the corner of the living room for six hours, wearing a ball-gag, with her hands cuffed behind her head. She hadn’t been allowed to put a pillow or something soft between her knees and the hard floor covered with Berber carpet. Naked, she’d come awfully close to peeing right there, but, thankfully, he’d finally let her up because friends of his were coming over to watch some stupid ballgame on TV. Tiffany had never been so grateful for professional basketball in her life. She’d spent the rest of the night in their bedroom, crying and massaging her cramped arms and legs.

“Tiffany, answer me!”

Startled, she tried to yank her hand from the grip holding it, but it tightened, keeping her in place. It took her a moment to realize Sir was the one restraining her and not Bruce. Her body trembled as she choked back a sob.

“Shit,” Sir murmured as he unbuckled both their seat belts. Tiffany hadn’t even noticed they’d gotten off the highway and were parked at a rest stop. After pushing the driver’s seat back as far as it would go, Sir reached over, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and pulled her sideways into his lap, pinning her right arm against his hard chest. Her back was to the driver’s window, and her bare legs lay across the center console. “Shh, pet. It’s okay. It’s me, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clutching his T-shirt, she buried her face in his neck, horrified she’d panicked and thought he was Bruce. “I-I’m sorry, S-Sir.”

“Hush. It’s okay.” He held her tightly, rubbing her free arm, legs, and back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. One minute, we were talking, and the next you were in a bad place, shaking and crying and not answering me. Where’d you go, pet?”

She had to answer him, but whenever she was upset like this, Cordell never rushed her. He let her take some time to regain her composure. She also knew better than to lie to him and try to downplay what had happened. “I-I don’t know why, but s-suddenly I was remembering a—a time when Ma—I mean, when Bruce was punishing me.”

“Why were you being punished?” His voice was low and soothing—with no ridicule or exasperation—as he continued to caress her.

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