Master's Flame by Annabel Joseph Page B

want.”
    She didn’t have to think. “I want it. I’m sure of it. Completely sure.”
    “You have no misgivings? No questions to ask?”
    “No. If this is what you want—”
    “Ah, finally, she is thinking about what I want,” he said to the ceiling. “Perhaps there is hope.” He looked back at her, shifting so the bulge beneath his robe grew even more apparent. “I believe in information, in negotiation, so let me tell you this. You will not be my play slave. You will not be my lover, girlfriend, or funslut. You’ll be my real slave. You’ll do what I say, whatever I say. You’ll put aside any wants, needs, desires, and uncomfortable feelings that get in the way of me getting what I want. You’ll eat what I say, you’ll sleep where I say, you’ll wear what I say, and you’ll submit to every single act I choose to visit upon your body, whether it horrifies you or not. I’ll fuck you when I want, I’ll beat you when I want, and I’ll ignore you when I want. I’ll make you wait for my company until you’re in agony, and then I’ll ignore you some more just because it makes me hard to play with your emotions. I’ll do everything in my power to fuck you up because that’s what brings me pleasure. If you want to belong to me, Valentina, that’s what it entails.”
    Every word out of his mouth made her wetter, not that she understood why. She only knew she wanted to be his, and if that meant giving up everything else, well...it was only for a month. It was twenty-nine days more than she’d ever expected him to give her.
    “I want that.” Three words. She couldn’t come up with any more. There was very little blood left in her brain.
    “I’m going to make you sign something. You’re going to give me your word and your consent, and you’re not going to back out of it. You’re not going to be able to cry, beg, or plead your way out of this if we proceed. This isn’t a game. Do you understand?”
    “Yes,
monsieur
.”
    “Yes, Master,” he corrected.
    “Yes, Master,” she said, a thrill shivering through her. He was going to do this. He was going to master her, make her his slave. She could barely contain her excitement.
    He blinked at her a moment, then stood. “Don’t move.”
    She lay where she was on her stomach, aroused by the curt command in his voice. He left the room and returned a moment later with a black marker in his hand. It wasn’t the fine-tipped kind. It had a great big cap on a wide, slanted tip. He gestured her over.
    “Stand up. Stand here beside me.” He pointed to the floor at his right.
    She scrambled off the bed to stand where he indicated, and then her mouth dropped open as he put the pen to the pristine white wall between the two beds. In a large, scrawling hand he wrote
I belong to Le Maître
, along with a beginning date—today’s date, January 15—and an ending date, February 14. With a slash of his arm he made a line.
    “Your full name,
ma mignonne
,” he said, handing her the marker.
    She paused a moment, turning the pen in her fingers. Did she trust him?
    She put the pen to the smooth, white paint and signed
Valentina Maria-Rosa Sancia
, and in a fit of whimsy, dotted all three i’s with hearts.
    He met her eyes with a warm smile, and she returned a giddy grin.
    “May I have my pen?” he asked.
    “Yes, Master.”
    He took it from her and capped it, and tossed it on the bed, then turned back to her, shrugging off his robe. He was so perfect, so strong and finely formed. She took in his proud shoulders, his flat abs tapering down to defined pelvic furrows, and his cock... He was so big and thick, that even hard, his cock pulled downward. It bobbed back and forth as he turned to the nightstand beside the bed and yanked it open.
    “Bend over the bed,” he said, drawing out a condom. “Brace yourself on your arms.”
    Yes, oh God. Yes.
Finally.
She couldn’t wait to have him inside her. All this time she’d dreamed of it, hoped for it. She moved