Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

Thus, while she was super frustrated that her climax had been denied her, at the same time she was deeply thrilled by the exchange of power that had created the dichotomy. There was no denying she was born to this lifestyle. She never felt more alive than when in submission.

As she was drying her face and hands, her eye caught the glint of the ring she’d worn since becoming a service slave. Always before, the ring had filled her with a sense of pride and serenity.

Now, she no longer knew exactly what to feel as she stared at the symbolic piece. Did she want to remain the property of all? Or was she ready to take a chance on a single Master?

When she returned to their seats, Master Jack was nowhere in evidence. Though there were only four more hours of flight time, the large console that separated their pods had been lifted, the seats lowered to form two narrow beds. The beds had been covered with neatly folded-back coverlets, an actual foil-wrapped chocolate on each pillow.

Cleo stowed her things away in her overnight bag. She saw Master Jack heading down the aisle from the other direction, a small travel bag in his hand, his blond hair brushed back from his forehead. She nearly forgot her aching, unrequited cunt as she snuggled into the soft bedding beside Master Jack.

She probably wouldn’t sleep a wink, her body too aroused, her mind still spinning. Still, it felt good to stretch out and relax beside this amazing man as the plane whisked them across the ocean.

The next time she opened her eyes, sunlight was slanting in through the windows as the flight attendant bustled about bringing people breakfast. Cleo sat up beside Master Jack, who was already awake and dressed, a copy of the London Financial Times in his hands, a cup of coffee at his elbow.

He turned and grinned at her. “Hey there, sleepyhead. I was just about to wake you. We’ll be landing in less than an hour.”

Cleo yawned and stretched as she got her bearings. “What time is it?”

Jack glanced at his watch. “It’s already nearly eight o’clock in the morning, London time. I’ll order you some breakfast while you wash up. Fresh blueberry scones with clotted cream and a pot of hot tea suit you? Perhaps a rasher of bacon on the side?”

“All of the above,” Cleo replied with a delighted giggle. “Thank you, Sir,” she added, throwing back the coverlet. Man, she could totally get used to this.

As Jack hailed a cab, Cleo closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. It felt both wonderful and alien to be back on British soil after all these months. The air was cool and damp, despite its being summer, and a steady drizzle fell from gray skies. Ah, London, home of terrible weather, Cleo thought with an inward grin.

Jack gave the driver an address on Burnsall Street in Chelsea, just off the Kings Road. Cleo was silently impressed, aware they were headed to a very posh neighborhood. She enjoyed the familiar sites of her hometown as the cab made its way out of Heathrow and wended through the traffic. The cockney driver kept up a steady patter, treating them as if they were tourists. Neither of them made any effort to correct him.

The cab eventually pulled up in front of an elegant apartment building of red brick with bay windows. “Wow,” Cleo blurted, in spite of herself. “You rent a flat here?”

“I own a flat here,” Jack corrected with a smile.

A doorman rushed over to open Cleo’s door as Jack paid the cab driver. Though she had been aware Jack Hartford had done well for himself in investment banking, she hadn’t quite realized the extent of his wealth. She was pretty sure the cheapest flat on the street went for more than two million pounds.

A young man with what looked like Down’s Syndrome appeared suddenly in front of them. He bounced on the balls of his feet with the eagerness of a child. “Hey, Mr. Jack. Where you been, eh? I’ve been checking every morning in case you want the paper or some coffee-to-go extra cream no sugar, but no Mr. Jack. My shirt is brand new. My dad got it special, just for me.” He was wearing a bright yellow shirt with Arsenal Football Club printed on a red shield.

“That’s quite an impressive shirt, Benny. You look very good in it.”

As the small, portly young man beamed, Jack continued, “I was out of town. That’s why you didn’t see me. I went all the way to New York to bring this lovely lady home with me. Her name is Cleo.”

Benny turned his gaze to Cleo. He offered a shy, abashed smile. “You’re beautiful,” he said in a reverential tone.