Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

As he came more fully awake, he experienced the shock of her loss all over again in that brief moment before his brain recalibrated, returning him to the present. Yet, the enveloping fog of raw grief that had shrouded him for so long had been lifted, leaving only a quiet sadness deep in his heart.

He lifted up on one elbow to regard the sleeping girl beside him. She lay on her back, one hand flung over her eyes, her lips softly parted. The sheets were scrunched around her waist, leaving her beautiful breasts bare.

He leaned closer, inspecting the piercings. They were healing well, her nipples no longer swollen, no signs of bleeding or any discharge. He made a mental note to have her soak her nipples in a salt-water solution once she awoke, as they hadn’t been able to perform proper piercing care during travel.

The sparkling white opals were delicate and beautiful, just like Cleo. He resisted the urge to lean over and kiss her, not wanting to disturb her rest.

Climbing quietly from the bed, he padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water was heating, he brushed his teeth and got out his shaving kit. As he shaved and showered, he thought about how he wanted things to play out over the next few days.

He cautioned himself not to rush things. This was their chance to test out a potential D/s connection back on their home turf. Perhaps this evening they’d head over to the London Masters Club.

Once Cleo woke, showered, did her piercing aftercare and dressed, they decided to grab a bite at a nearby café Jack liked. The clouds had lifted, the sun shining as if Cleo had brought the good weather with her from New York. Over sandwiches, a glass of Guinness for him and a cup of hot, milky tea for her, Jack kept the conversation purposefully easy and casual. He was startled to realize just how much he enjoyed being plain old vanilla with Cleo, something they’d never shared in the past.

It was the difference between a strictly BDSM connection and an actual relationship. Master and slave were only part of the equation. If he wanted something lasting and real with Cleo, they had to move beyond the confines of a BDSM dungeon. Her agreeing to fly back with him to London and stay with him in his home was definitely a good first step to making that happen.

As Cleo lifted her teacup to her lips, sunlight glinted off the Masters Club slave ring she wore on her right hand. Jack’s impulse was to order her to remove it at once. He didn’t like what it represented—that she was owned by all Masters Club Doms who cared to use her. No—he wanted her all for his own.

He resisted the impulse, however. She’d already met him more than halfway by agreeing to come with him at all. He needed to be patient and see how things played out before making any further demands for fidelity.

After paying for the meal, Jack said, “I had the housekeeper clear out the fridge before I came to New York. There’s nothing in there right now except some condiments and a six pack of beer. How about we go over to Waitrose and pick up some groceries for the house? There’s one over on the King’s Road. There’s also a produce stall nearby we can check out.”

“Sounds great,” Cleo said as they both got to their feet.

At the produce stall, they bought fresh vegetables, along with some beautiful peaches and a bundle of plump green grapes. When they entered Waitrose, Cleo stared around, her eyes bright with anticipation. As they pushed the cart down various aisles, she was like an adorable little kid, the way she got so excited over various brands she said she had missed since moving to New York.

“Oh, look. My absolute favorite,” she exclaimed, grabbing a small glass jar of Marmite, a savory spread for toast. To Jack, it both looked and tasted like engine oil, but a lot of Brits seemed to love it, having apparently been weaned on it. Turning to Jack, she said eagerly, “Can we get this?”

He laughed, taking the jar from her and placing it in the cart. “Of course. Get whatever you want.”

While Jack focused on staples like milk, bread, eggs, cold cuts, sparkling water and juice, Cleo seemed intent on filling the cart with junk food. She bubbled with excitement as she added a bag of Twiglets, a box of Jaffa cakes, some Tunnocks Tea Cakes, a sticky toffee pudding, some salt and vinegar crisps, a package of McVitie’s Milk Chocolate Digestive Biscuits and, of course, a six-pack of Dandelion & Burdock.

He regarded the five-foot waif with amusement and delight. “I had no idea you were a secret junk-food addict,” he teased.