Afterlife by Joey W. Hill Page B

wanted to be
    a submissive”. He
    acknowledged that she was one. He
    spoke it as truth,
    validating it, pul ing back every
    doubt, fear, accusation and
    ugly word as if it were rusty barbed
    wire that had been
    bound around that part of herself.
    Now he was pul ing the
    barbs out, making her bleed.
    “Yes. I think so.” Her voice broke.
    He put his mouth on the tear rol ing
    down her cheek. It
    had reached the corner of her mouth,
    but she couldn’t turn
    her head, make it into a ful kiss. She
    was paralyzed, not
    knowing what to do.
    “Yes. You are. And as far as you’re
    concerned, from here
    forward, you are ‘one of mine’. You
    understand?”
    She shook her head. “You never said
    what that means.”
    “You know what it means.” He
    straightened up so she
    only saw his legs, clad in the tailored
    slacks. Despite his
    command, she couldn’t help letting
    her gaze lift when she
    saw he was loosening his tie further
    and unbuttoning his
    shirt. “It means I’m your Master and
    I’m going to take care
    of you, starting right now.”
    As the buttons were slipped, pale
    marble skin was
    revealed. A thin mat of black hair on
    his chest artful y
    narrowed to that silken line over his
    striated abdomen and
    disappeared in his slacks. There
    would be a tangle of black
    coarse hair around his cock, a light
    layer over his heavy
    testicles, unless he shaved that area.
    Despite her words
    earlier, trying to push him away, this
    was a grown man, not
    a boy. And it was clear exactly
    which one of them held the
    reins.
    “Didn’t I tel you to keep looking
    down?”
    “Please, let me look.” The whispered
    plea came before
    she could stop herself. “I’ve wanted
    to look at you for so
    long.”
    As he rested his hands on his belt,
    her attention zeroed
    in on the diagonal lines of muscle at
    his waist. “You have
    looked at me, Rachel. You and that
    wedding ring hoax put
    me through hel , every time I’d catch
    you checking me out
    with those hungry eyes. I had to
    exercise some serious
    mind games to keep from reacting.
    Those cotton pants
    don’t hide much.”
    “No, they don’t.” A tiny smile
    bloomed in her heart, then
    on her lips, surprising her.
    “Particularly during Sleeping
    Thunderbolt.”
    He gave a snort. “Wel , everything is
    wide awake now.
    This time, you may look. But only if
    you get into a
    submissive kneeling posture. Hands
    laced behind your
    head, ass on your heels, knees spread
    shoulder width
    apart.”
    She complied, mouth dry once again.
    He didn’t give her
    long to look, moving around her,
    pausing outside of her
    range of vision. One fingertip drifted
    up her spine, a tingling
    sensation that made her shiver, arch.
    “Better. Some Masters want the back
    ramrod straight. I
    like this, where your breasts are
    tilted up and there’s a
    strain in the muscles, keeping your
    mind focused. I want
    your mind only on my desire and wil
    , nothing else. Until I
    release you, there’s nothing else but
    that. Understood?”
    “Y-yes.”
    A pause. “I’l let you get away with
    not addressing me
    properly for now, but only because I
    want the pleasure of
    hearing it come spontaneously from
    you the first time, when
    your mind truly lets go.”
    She was thinking her mind had let go
    already, but she
    was wil ing to embrace the
    temporary insanity. When he
    stepped back in front of her, he
    unbuckled his belt,
    unhooked the trousers. She could tel
    he was already
    aroused, because the smooth pleated
    line of the linen was
    no longer smooth. She didn’t know a
    body could reach a
    starvation point so quickly, but it was
    a ravenous ache in
    her stomach, the strain in her thighs
    and arched back
    intensifying as he toed off his
    polished shoes, removed his
    socks with the slacks low on his hips,
    the tongue of the belt
    hanging loose, the buckle making a
    faint clinking noise as
    he lithely bent to set the footwear
    aside. If he’d let her, she’d
    take down that zipper with her