Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

The languid ease she’d briefly displayed after the flogging had ebbed, and he could sense the returning tension in her body. As she began the exercise, her movements were jerky and tentative.

Eric said nothing, waiting for her to find her rhythm. She had just proved herself to be an extraordinarily responsive woman, with the correct stimuli. He couldn’t wait to see her come, and if he were honest, his interest most definitely wasn’t purely academic.

He was pleased when she eventually relaxed, her knees falling slightly open as her fingers danced over her pretty labia. Her nipples were erect, her cheeks flushed. She was breathing faster now, emitting the occasional soft sigh.

Christ, the woman was sexy as hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so attracted to a trainee.

An owned trainee, he reminded himself sternly.

As she neared orgasm, she drew in a sudden breath, her fingers faltering. A small shudder moved through her.

“Control yourself,” he reminded her. “Wait for my permission.”

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped in that low, husky voice of hers.

Eric’s cock was as hard as a bar of iron. He massaged it briefly through the denim as he watched her struggle for control.

“Move away from the clit,” he directed. “Spread your legs wider and use your fingers like a cock. Fuck yourself while I watch.”

Keeping her eyes closed, Rowan slid one finger and then a second into her cunt. Eric leaned closer, catching the scent of her arousal, musky sweet. Her tempo increased, the fingers pumping faster in and out of her wetness as her breath quickened. She groaned softly, the sound like fingers wrapping around Eric’s cock. He had to suppress a groan of his own, his balls aching.

This was unacceptable. He was a professional, not some horny teenaged idiot. He sat back and crossed his legs, unnerved at his own lack of control. Taking a deep breath, he refocused on his task. He tried to banish his emotions as he resumed his clinical observation of her actions.

She was shaking now, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips compressed in a tight line. It was clear she lacked the control of even a moderately trained submissive, despite Garfield’s claims to the contrary. If they had been further along in her training, Eric would have left her teetering on the edge. But right now, he didn’t want to risk her failing again, so close on the heels of the earlier session.

“Do it,” he commanded. “Come for me, Rowan. Hold nothing back.”

Before the words were fully out of his mouth, she gave a small cry, her body arching up from the mat. Her fingers stilled buried in her sex, her palm grinding against her clit, she orgasmed in a series of long, intense shudders.

Eric watched, awed as he always was by the female climax, which seemed so much more powerful than a man’s.

Finally, Rowan fell back against the mat with a deep sigh.

It took every ounce of self-control not to fling himself down over her and take her then and there.

Nothing like this had ever happened to him. He’d trained dozens of subs over the years, and, while he’d been attracted to many of them, he had never come close to this level of desire.

Whatever his feelings, right now he had a job to do. Closing his eyes, he drew in several long, deep breaths, letting them out slowly. When he felt calmer, he looked down at his charge.

She lay with legs akimbo, her eyes closed, a beatific smile on her face. Her right hand rested on her thigh, palm upward, the other arm flung out to her side. Eric gave himself a moment to drink in the pretty sight, and then got to his feet, doing his best to ignore his pulsing cock.

Rowan lay still, save for a slight flutter of her eyelids. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm.

Eric cleared his throat loudly and gently prodded her leg with the toe of his boot.

Rowan’s eyes flew open. “Oh!” she cried, lifting her head with a startled expression. Color rushed into her cheeks as she stared up at him. “Please excuse me, Sir. I-I think I must have drifted off there for a second.”

“It would seem so,” he agreed with a reassuring smile. The man in him wanted to scoop her into his arms and kiss the top of her head. The trainer in him only said mildly, “You may thank me for the orgasm by kissing my boot.”

Rowan rolled over at once and scrambled to her knees. Crawling forward, she lowered her head and pressed her lips against the boot leather.

As Eric looked down at her, he saw his erection clearly outlined in his jeans. When had he regressed to a fourteen-year-old, for Christ’s sake?

Rowan sat back on her haunches and looked up at him once more, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Sir,” she breathed.