Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

She kissed him in return, her tongue slipping into his mouth. A sensual moan rose from her throat and it was like gasoline thrown over the flames of his lust. He gripped a handful of her hair, using it to pull her head back. His mouth moved in a blaze down her neck and throat.

When he reached the swell of her breasts, she moaned again, the sound imploring. Releasing her hair, he dipped his fingers into the bodice of the corset and lifted those perfect mounds from their confines.

He noticed the metal barbell jewelry was gone and it pleased him—they hadn’t suited her. Forgetting aesthetics, he drew one engorged nipple into his mouth, sucking it hard as he rolled the other between thumb and forefinger.

At her soft cry, he shifted, flicking his tongue over the other nipple while he caught the first in his grip. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman in his life. His cock was like a bar of steel in his jeans, his balls tight and aching with need.

Afraid he might tear the corset from her body and fuck her then and there, he forced himself to pull away.

She was watching him with hot eyes, her lips parted. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please. Don’t stop.”

The bondage swing was set at the perfect height. All he had to do was move between her thighs, undo his jeans, yank aside that bit of lace and sink his shaft deep into her tight, sweet cunt. His cock was so hard it actually hurt.

Swallowing hard, he wrested himself back under control. When he made love to this woman—and he would, that was no longer in question—it wouldn’t be in a back room at a BDSM club.

“I have to,” he said, his voice hoarse. “If I don’t stop this second, I’m going to lose what little self-control I have left.” Even as he proclaimed this, the temptation lingered, making him waver.

A knock on the playroom door startled them both. “Excuse me,” a male voice called out. “You about done in there? We’re signed up next.”

Eric barked a chagrined laugh, the decision made for him. “We’ll be just a few minutes more, sorry,” he called out.

He quickly applied some salve to her reddened skin and then helped her from the sling.

“Eric,” she said, her eyes glittering. “I don’t want to stop what we’ve started here. I want to see where this goes. Take me home.” She fixed him with an earnest gaze, not a trace of submission in her tone.

Chuckling, Eric replied, “Your command is my wish.”

Chapter 20

While Eric said his goodbyes to the owners, Rowan retrieved her things from the locker and went into the bathroom to change out of her corset and heels. She’d forgotten to bring a bra, but the oversized shirt she’d bought for three dollars at the thrift shop hung loose enough that it didn’t matter.

Your command is my wish.

She liked the way he’d turned the expression on its head. It was a reminder that, while the exchange of power was real, the sub was always the one in ultimate control.

They held hands in the back of the taxi on the short ride from the club to Eric’s apartment. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening. So much for her promises to herself not to get involved with anyone any time soon.

But Eric wasn’t just anyone.

She’d fallen hard and fast for John Garfield, but she understood now her attraction to him had been far more superficial than she’d realized. It hadn’t been the actual man she’d fallen for, but some fantasy of what a true Master was. She’d been blinded by his devastatingly good looks and impressed with his wealth. When things had started to feel off, she’d ignored her gut, deferring instead to his dominant assurance that he knew what was best. In trusting him, she’d lost trust in herself.

Eric was different. He didn’t view her as just some raw material to shape and mold according to his preconceived notions of what a sub “should be.” He had truly listened to her, giving her a safe place to express her fears and concerns.

At the same time, the submissive in her had responded to the Dom in Eric on a visceral level, even while she still wore Master John’s collar. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it at the time, she’d sensed Eric’s passion and sensuality beneath the trainer’s professional demeanor, and that part of her had responded in kind.

That first night at the Masters Club, alone in her bed when she’d stolen that orgasm—it had been Eric’s name on her lips, not John’s.

As they rode up in the elevator to Eric’s apartment, the lingering high from the amazing scene faded as nerves set in. Things were moving awfully fast, even for a BDSM connection. Was she leaping from the frying pan into the fire?