Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

There was a small clock radio on the nightstand by the bed. Jack glanced at it from time to time as the seconds became minutes. Surely her arms were growing tired, her back stiffening.

“You ready to talk?”

Silence for a long beat. Then, “Respectfully, I have nothing to say, Sir.”

Goddamn it. Jack clenched his jaw to keep from swearing aloud. He needed to stay calm. He was the Master—the one in charge. Rigorous honesty and communication were essential in any BDSM relationship, most especially that of Master and slave. Maybe Cleo had lost sight of that basic tenet of the D/s lifestyle.

Forcing himself to speak calmly and without reproach, Jack said gently, “Cleo, have you forgotten how important communication is in a Master/slave relationship? You claim to be sorry if you behaved in a way unbecoming to your status as a submissive. You promised to do better not ten minutes ago. Yet, from where I’m sitting, you’re continuing to hold back.”

Silence.

Jack gritted his teeth, his resolve only firming in the face of her obstinacy. He lay back against the plump pillows, placing his hands behind his head. If Cleo thought he was going to accept her bullshit protestations that everything was fine and dandy, she’d soon find out he meant business. No more tapping out those bricks one at a time. He was going to tear down the whole damn wall she’d erected between them. He wanted her too much to let this slide. If he toppled the fledgling connection he’d been trying to build with her in the process, so be it.

Another five minutes passed. Then five more. Cleo had shifted so her elbows rested against the wall on either side of her head. Jack didn’t call her out on it. Her legs were trembling slightly now, and her back had to be tired.

Damn it, Cleo. Talk to me!

What could it be that was so difficult for her to share? Was he reading too much into her reactions? Was he going at this the wrong way?

A troubling thought occurred to him. Had he made an incorrect assumption, based on his desires? Had his own longing to reconnect blinded him to the fact she might just not like him very much? Had she only gone along with the auction because her owners wished it? Was she just biding her time until she could get back to her real life?

No. He refused to believe it. The intimacy they’d shared back at the hotel had gone far past a casual contract between scene partners. They had made love. She had given herself over to him with such joyous, loving abandon.

That couldn’t have been an act. Could it? Was he just fooling himself, seeing what he wanted to see?

Jack’s eyes had closed as the thoughts tumbled and collided in his brain. He opened them to look at Cleo in her corner. He sat up abruptly, leaning forward to get a better look. Her shoulders were shaking. He rose to his feet and took a step forward. He heard a small, muffled sob.

All thoughts of standing firm flew from his head. In two strides, he was behind her. He reached for her arms, gently pulling her upright. She was crying audibly now, noisy, snuffling sobs that broke his heart.

Whirling her toward him, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Still holding her, he lay down, cradling her against him on the mattress’s narrow confines. He held her close as she buried her tear-stained face against his chest. His heart filled with pain and remorse for making this sweet, stubborn girl cry. He had no right to force her to share her innermost feelings. Clearly, his dream of claiming Cleo at last for his own was not to be.

He kissed the top of her head as she continued to cry softly in his arms. He no longer had the heart to hold her to the rest of the auction contract. He had no desire to force her into something because of his own confused, unrequited love. He would be a man and let her go. He’d return to London, though he’d been feeling more and more there was nothing there for him any longer.

He would go on with his life and leave her to hers.

Chapter 14

Cleo snuggled against Master Jack’s body as she tried to staunch her tears. It felt so good just to cry—to let it all out after being stoic for so long. And she couldn’t deny, it felt wonderful to be held like this, her face nuzzled against his chest, his strong arms holding her close.

She certainly hadn’t meant to burst into tears. Her plan had been to remain in the corner as long as he required—all day and night if need be. He was a patient Master, clearly, but she was a determined sub.