She not only had received little training, she might have no realization at what being a true full-time submissive entailed. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. If she hadn’t been so emotionally fragile, he’d probably enjoy this. He loved teaching.
He’d loved being a master, at least until a while after he’d married. His mouth tightened. That was in the past and nothing to be repeated.
When she took a nervous step back, he wiped the anger from his expression and his mind. Eyes on the job, Sandoval. He pointed to the chair beside him. “You may join me this evening at the table.”
As she sat down, her face was easy to read. Yes, she had much to learn.
“There may be times I prefer to feed you myself, and then you will kneel beside me and take food from my hand.” When a shudder ran through her, he studied her for a minute, trying to read her. Too many emotions there. Fear. Disgust. But was that a hint of anticipation? “The Overseer said you were in the lifestyle before this. Do you know anything about Master/slave relationships in real life?”
“Uh, not much. I dated a few doms, but that was mostly…uh, sex. Fun. Nothing else. I always thought women who wanted to be slaves… Well, it’d be like wearing a sign that said KICK ME. It’s disgusting.” An odd combination of revulsion and pain twisted her mouth.
If she had no experience, why such disgust? From someone else’s past? “So…before all this…you liked giving up control during sex. Perhaps to completely enjoy it, you need someone else in charge?”
Her cheeks pinkened delightfully. “I guess.”
He smothered his smile. “Some women enjoy giving up control for longer periods, not just in the bedroom. There are those who find that making others happy, especially their doms, fills a different kind of need.”
From the cynical twist of her lips, he saw she stuck to her opinion: slave equaled doormat.
“A good relationship is a two-way street, gatita. Submitting and serving is equaled by a master’s need to take control, to protect, to make someone happy.”
She not only didn’t believe him, but she also dropped her gaze again, shielding herself from him. Something else he would not permit. He set his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his scrutiny, feeling the way she wanted to pull back.
This wasn’t going to be easy for either of them, especially if she wasn’t honest with him. Even worse, if he happened to misread her body language during a scene—assuming the Overseer required one—they could have a major problem. “A purchased slave would not have a safe word to stop an activity because they’re afraid, but I am uncomfortable without one. So, if you should say ‘cramp’ or complain of one, I will know you need a break or are having problems, and we will talk.” He grinned. “Yet it won’t look like I’m giving in to something most owners would ignore.”
The relief in her eyes appalled him. To feel grateful for the most basic of BDSM considerations. Well, they definitely had much work to do. He released her.
As he ate, she pushed her food around, her nervousness obvious in the way her eyes checked him constantly and her muscles tensed each time he moved.
Once finished, he leaned back, stretching his legs out before him. “I have two basic positions I wish you to know right away. We’ll work on the others later. The first is kneel, and you did very well with that one. The next is called display, and it’s what I requested you to do in the dungeon.” He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I remember.”
“Stand up.”
After a second of hesitation—something else to work on—she rose.
“Good.” Leaning forward, he tapped her inner thighs to have her open her legs farther, and stood to adjust her position. “Hands laced behind your neck.” He waited for her to comply.
Under his touch, she trembled, and her gaze dropped away. Curling his hand lightly over her shoulder, he waited to see if she was still with him. After a few seconds, her blue eyes cleared, and she looked directly at him.
The trusting had begun. He stroked his hand over her cheek. “You’re very lovely, gatita.”
Her brows pulled together, and she gave him a skeptical stare.
“Do not look at your master as if he’s an idiot.”
A surprised smile flickered over her lips.
Raoul drew his finger down her jawline. “Your skin is beautiful and very soft. Touchable.” He continued down her neck to above her breasts. “Your breasts are beautiful—full and high.”
Her breathing stopped, her lips pressing together. But she maintained her stance.
He trailed his finger between her breasts, not pressing at all, so the fabric of her shirt kept his touch from her skin. When he reached her stomach, he felt the shiver even through the khaki material of her shorts and knew she was aware of him…as a master. As a man.
He said softly, “Your waist curves in and then out to hips that were made to cradle a man, soft thighs to hold a man between them.”
The color rising in her cheeks wasn’t entirely from fear, yet it was far too soon to even attempt to touch her in any sexual manner. “You may relax. Hands at your sides, palms forward.”
In all reality, pretty as she was, he’d prefer to avoid it altogether. Nonetheless, every dom instinct in him wanted to act, to try to heal the damage, and as she was under his care, he must do what he could. So he would move slowly with small touches, verbal play.
“Now, you will remember to ask to speak, no? If we are having a conversation, permission is understood. Address me as Master or Master R or Sir. Nothing else. This, I saw, you have already learned.”
He noticed she’d never called him Raoul either, even at Gabrielle’s home. Did she think of him as the enemy then? Or as her master?
She nodded.
“Most of your responses should be simply, ‘Yes, Master’, but if you’re particularly enthusiastic, you may say, ‘It will be my pleasure, Master.’”
Her expression showed doubt that anything he suggested could ignite her enthusiasm.
“You are to care for the house and meals. A housekeeper comes in on Thursdays to stock the kitchen and do general cleaning. I’ll introduce you, and you may take on overseeing her.”
“I’ll oversee someone else?”
Her incredulity made him grin. She was so very unused to the dance between dominant and submissive. His lips tightened. And that was because she had experienced only the raping away of her power rather than the joy of giving it into loving hands. “A slave might have clothes or not, speech or silence, no responsibility or much. Nothing is set in stone.”
He held her gaze with his and could see her yield to his voice, his authority. Something constricted inside him—she feared his control yet wanted it. How deep did her need run? Light submission…or complete? “The only consistency in the relationship is this: the master decides.”
“But—” Her shoulders hunched defensively.
“That makes you anxious, gatita. Why?”
“I won’t know… I need to know what—”
Did she fear arbitrary punishment? “We’ll go over what I expect from you. The rules. I will never punish you for something you didn’t know or didn’t understand, Kimberly. That isn’t my way.”
Some of the worry faded from her eyes. But not all. Her gaze was focused on the floor.
He considered what he knew of her. Not nearly enough. “I need to know…” she’d said. Needed to know what to do? Some people—and a high percentage of submissives—wanted clear-cut rules. Preferred their duties laid out, liked schedules and lists. He was somewhat that way himself, as were many engineers.
“I think I understand,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll list out your responsibilities.”
The tensed muscles of her shoulders eased. The whiteness around her mouth started to pinken.
Much better. He added, “At breakfast every morning, we’ll plan out your day.”
There it was. He’d won an actual smile.
Kim had been left alone to clean the kitchen— thank you, God—and the time putting dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down the dark granite counters helped settle her nerves. She scrubbed at a stubborn stain, still a bit shaken by her reaction to Master R. When he’d talked to her in that dark rich baritone, telling her she was lovely, talking about her breasts, well… Apparently her hormones hadn’t gone into hibernation after all. Only she wished they had.
The thought of having sex ever again filled her with ice. And panic.
I’m fine. Just keep my emotions calm and cool . She imagined picking up a heavy shield, like something Lancelot would carry. Nothing could get through it.
She stopped in the doorway of the TV room. Like the rest of the house, it had creamy stucco walls and terra-cotta tile flooring. The end tables and entertainment center were of dark wood, a waist-high brick red vase stood in one corner, and throws in autumn colors made the room cozy. A painting of a gorgeous old world sailboat hung over the leather couch where Master R was reading a technical magazine.
He glanced over and smiled. “Barring any other instructions, when I am sitting, you will join me by kneeling at my feet, half-facing me, eyes down.
