Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

Jack felt a terrible sadness for Cleo, and anger with himself that he hadn’t known. Though, in fairness, they’d never really talked about their pasts. If he had his way, there would be plenty of time for that—the rest of their lives, or so he hoped.

He rose to his feet, suddenly desperate to see Cleo. To put his damn cards squarely on the table and tell her just exactly what was in his heart. He wanted her to know she no longer had to hide away in another country just to avoid seeing him. He could give London back to her and back to himself in the process. They would make a life together, Master and slave, Dom and sub, perhaps one day husband and wife…

The rational, sensible part of his brain shouted at him to slow the fuck down. But he was too excited and filled with renewed hope to pay attention. All he wanted to do right now was to race back upstairs and take that lovely, sweet girl into his arms.

“Thanks for talking to me, Dominique,” he said, standing. “I really appreciate it, and I appreciate your understanding and concern for Cleo. She’s lucky to have you both in her life. And I feel like the luckiest man in the world, with a second chance at love.”

Dominique laughed. “Not to burst your bubble, but don’t you think you should talk to Cleo before you make all these grand plans?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed with a chuckle. “That’s just what I’m going to do.”

Chapter 18

Cleo struggled to swim up from the watery arms of a deep dream. She floated near the surface, trapped in that netherworld between sleep and wakefulness. Soft leather closed around her wrists. She heard the snick of metal as the clips were attached. Her arms were lifted and stretched gently over her head against the soft pillows.

She tried to speak, to react, but the undertow of sleep still held her down. More leather wrapped around her ankles. The tug of rope pulled her legs wider. The mattress shifted, someone sitting down beside her. Finally able to break free from the clutches of sleep, she opened her eyes.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, blinking as she focused on the handsome man beside her. “I must have been more knackered than I thought. I guess I did sleep after all.”

“Like a rock,” Master Jack replied with a grin. “And now you’re my captive. I can have my way with you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He waggled his eyebrows and twirled an imaginary mustache.

“Works for me, Sir,” she replied with a giggle of nervous excitement. Her hands were bound against the headboard, the leather cuffs clipped together and secured to the wrought-iron bars. As she tugged at her restraints, that delicious, helpless feeling bondage always engendered in her burned like a flame deep in her belly. At the same time, she became aware of the painful throb in her nipples.

Her distress must have shown in her face, because Jack’s smile fell away as he asked, “You’re hurting? The piercing sites?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I guess the endorphins have worn off.”

“I come bearing treatment and sustenance,” Jack said, nodding toward Cleo’s nightstand. He’d brought several small towels, along with a bottle filled with caramel-colored liquid, beads of moisture condensing on the glass. Though Cleo couldn’t read the label from where she lay, the familiar shape of the bottle made her heart leap.

“Blimey! Is that what I think it is?” she squealed, distracted from her aching nipples by the welcome and unexpected sight.

Master Jack lifted the bottle and turned it so she could see the label. Fentiman’s Dandelion & Burdock, her Aunt Dorie’s favorite soda, and also one of Cleo’s, was a soft drink unique to the UK.

“D&B,” he confirmed with a smile. “I remembered you mentioning it once, back in London.”

“Wherever did you find it? The closest thing I’ve found here is root beer, and it really doesn’t rate in comparison.”

“Come on, this is New York,” Master Jack teasingly chided. “You can find anything here, if you know where to look. Don’t forget, this is my home stomping ground.” He twisted off the cap. Cradling the back of her head in one hand, he carefully tipped the bottle to her lips.

Cleo took a long sip of the delicious, familiar taste of childhood. Suddenly, she yearned for London—Oxford Street during Christmas with all the twinkling lights, the sun setting over the Tower Bridge with Big Ben chiming in the distance, the curries and the markets on Brick Lane, real fish and chips with malt vinegar, the five-berry yogurt pot at Pret a Manger, double-decker busses, even the sprawling, chaotic Tube of the London Underground.

All nostalgic thoughts flew out of her head when Jack leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. She closed her eyes, losing herself in his taste, his touch, his dominant control as she lay naked and bound on the bed.