Page 16 of Master Key Resort

Cordell tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to Alabama’s “Song of the South” on the satellite radio’s Prime Country channel. He’d seen them several times in concert when they’d played in Vegas over the years. They’d been one of his parents’ favorite bands, and Cordell had grown up listening to them. Any time one of their songs came on the radio, he fondly remembered his parents two-stepping around the kitchen or backyard, with his father doing a fairly good job of singing along with Randy Owen.

Glancing at the truck’s GPS display, Cordell noted they had a little less than an hour to go before they reached the hotel he’d planned to stop at for the night. Despite some earlier traffic from a three-car accident, they’d made good time and would be able to sit down at a restaurant for a nice meal instead of grabbing takeout.

Tiffany had caught a nap for about two hours after her meltdown. He wasn’t surprised she’d slept that long between the emotional drop and the steady lull of the tires on the highway. Cordell had spent that time trying to get his anger at Whitlow under control, on top of his body’s response to the kiss he and Tiffany had shared. He hadn’t planned on kissing her until after they’d had a chance to renegotiate their contract. But he hadn’t been able to resist when she’d stared at him with those big, brown eyes of hers, wet from her tears and looking so lost and needy. However, before it happened again—and it would happen again—he needed to talk with her.

Reaching over, he grasped her hand and entwined their fingers, enjoying the righteous feeling of doing so more than he expected. “About an hour to go, pet. Getting hungry?”

He smiled when her stomach responded with a growl before she could verbalize an answer. The giggle that followed had him chuckling too. “Glad to hear it because I’m getting hungry too.”

“You must be tired too, Sir. You’ve been driving all day—your hip must be hurting you.” She hesitated then said, “You know, I could drive for a few hours tomorrow and let you rest. That is if you trust me with your truck.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you for offering. If I need a break, I’ll let you know.” Actually, his hip was killing him, but he had other things to take care of. He drove for another mile before taking the plunge. Not wanting to let go of her hand, he thumbed the volume button on the steering wheel and turned the radio down. “I enjoyed our kiss earlier, pet, and would like you to consider renegotiating our contract to add a few things to it, including more kissing among other things. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Her eyes rounded. “Really? I mean, I-I enjoyed kissing you too, Sir. And, yes, I’d be interested in renegotiating our contract.”

“Good. Before I tell you what I’d like to add, I’d like you to fill out a new limit list. I put one in the glove box for you.”

She opened the compartment in front of her and found the folded papers he’d put in there yesterday. Letting go of her hand, he removed a spare pen from where he kept it attached to the visor above his head and held it out to her. “Here you go. Work on that for the rest of the ride and then we’ll go over it during dinner. Remember, pet, I expect full honesty. Don’t put things on your green or yellow lists because you think they’re something I want to do. Only put them down if they are something you are interested in. And don’t omit anything you’d like to add because you’re worried I might not want the same. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

For the rest of the trip, Cordell tried his best not to pay attention to the little check marks Tiffany was making on the papers. It wasn’t easy, but, somehow, he managed to keep his eyes on the road.

* * *

Slowly,Tiffany made her way down the list of things she was willing to do, might be willing to do, or wasn’t willing to do with Sir, moving a few from one column to another, although most of them stayed unchanged. Sir’s list had been more restrictive than hers the first time they’d negotiated their terms. Sexual intercourse with penile penetration had been one of his hard limits. He’d said it had been the same for all the past submissives he’d helped recover from bad relationships. In the beginning, she’d admired his honesty and integrity about the subject, however, now, she wished he hadn’t been so strict with that rule.

As she continued to check yes, no, and maybe, she wondered which items Sir was going to move out of his hard limit category. The pen in her hand hovered over the page when she got to vaginal and anal intercourse. Even though Mitch had told her that her contract with Sir would not include sex, she’d still put those two in her “maybe” column during their initial negotiations. Should she leave them there or move them over to the “yes” column? Is that what he wanted? No, she couldn’t think that way. It had to be her choice. That was something Sir had been trying to help her improve over the months they’d been together. She had to figure out what she wanted first, and then see if Sir, or anyone else, for that matter, wanted the same thing.

Tiffany put a check mark under green limits for both forms of sex. She wanted him—especially after that hot kiss they’d shared earlier—and had for months now. If he didn’t agree, she’d deal with it, but she would at least make him aware of her desire.

Further down the list was blow jobs. That had been in her “yes” column on the initial contract, but Sir had never asked for one, even though it had been in his “maybe” column. How he’d gone without sex or blow jobs all these months, she’d never know. It was in their contract that neither of them would play or have sexual contact with someone else without the other person’s knowledge and consent.

A few more miles down the road, she’d completed the three-page list. “I’m done, Sir.”

He’d given her permission to call him Cordell in public, since the beginning, but she still wasn’t comfortable using his name. Then, again, it wasn’t often they’d gone out in public together. Most of their interactions had been either at the club or his house. When he’d been in the hospital and rehab, she’d managed to remember to refer to him by his given name when others were around—most of the time. Occasionally, though, a “Sir” had slipped out and had garnered her a few curious looks.

What Cordell still hadn’t done was give her permission to call him Master. He’d said he would only do that when they both felt he’d earned the right to be called that. At the time, Tiffany had been relieved. The title had reminded her too much of Bruce. But it had been a long while since she’d seen him. In fact, the last time she’d seen the manipulative bastard—yes, she felt strong enough now to call him that—was at the wedding Mitch had escorted her too. Tori’s Dom had apparently put the fear of God into Bruce and had threatened to make the jerk dig a hole out in the desert before burying him in it. Tiffany smiled. She really liked Mitch. And Ty too. Her cousin had lucked out, big time, with her fiancés.

The truck slowed, and Tiffany noticed they were exiting the highway. Her nerves were suddenly on edge, and she began rethinking the changes she’d made to her list. Would he be happy with them? What about the items she hadn’t changed? Would those disappoint him?

God, Tiffany, stop overthinking this!

She was surprised when they pulled up to a hotel that looked awfully expensive. When she glanced at Sir, he gave her a smirk and a wink. “Mitch is paying for all the moving expenses.”

Tiffany paused a moment and then couldn’t help the giggle that burst forth. “Does that mean I get to have the Chateaubriand tonight, Sir?”

When he just stared at her, with a blank expression, Tiffany scrambled to think of what she’d said that had offended him. She’d just been kidding, but, apparently, he hadn’t realized that.

Sir shifted in his seat, turning to face her head on. “Did you just make a joke, pet?”

She blinked several times before she saw amusement in his eyes, and then the corners of his mouth pulled upward. Her giggling resumed. “I—yes, I did, Sir.”

A full belly laugh erupted from him. “Well, in that case, Chateaubriand for two is well deserved, in my opinion. Let’s go check in, and then go eat. Eastwood will be fine for a little bit. I’ll come back out for him and our bags. Don’t forget to bring your list.”

Her list. Yup, and just like that, the butterflies in her gut took flight again.

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