She gasped, her eyes widening as they again met his in the mirror.
“I own you,” he growled, thrusting hard into her as he held her by the throat and hair. “You’re mine, Dahlia. My sweet”—he punctuated his words with a thrust—“dirty”—thrust—“sexy”—thrust—“slave.”
She gasped, her body trembling against his as he pummeled her. He wanted it to last forever, but the pleasure was too great, and she was too fucking hot. He came in a series of brutal thrusts before collapsing against her, his heart hammering.
After a moment, aware he was crushing her, he forced himself upright and pulled her with him. He turned her by the shoulders until she faced him. Reaching for her waist, he hoisted her onto the counter between the sinks. After turning on the hot water, he dropped a fresh washcloth beneath the spray. As he stepped back, he placed his hands on Dahlia’s thighs and gently pushed her legs apart.
Her cunt was even more beautiful to him in its newly denuded state, the delicate folds like sticky orchid petals, shiny with her juices. A bit of his semen trickled from her entrance. Reaching for the washcloth, he wrung the excess water and gently cleaned her. He washed himself as well and then tossed the cloth into the sink and turned off the water.
As he stared down into her eyes, he reached for her lovely nipples. He rolled them between his fingers until they were hard as marbles and then gave them a sharp twist.
She winced, tears springing to her eyes, but she didn’t try to pull away.
He released her nipples and lifted her from the counter. Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soft, yielding mouth for several long moments. Letting her go, he fixed her with an intent gaze.
“Now that you’re properly groomed, it’s time for your slave collar.”
Chapter 19
Slave collar!
Heart skittering, Dahlia followed Hayden back into the bedroom. In the center of the room, he stopped and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Present,” he said.
For a second, she didn’t know what he was saying. Then, recalling his instruction, she lowered herself to the thick carpet and spread her knees, hyper-conscious of her newly denuded cunt on full display.
The shaving itself had been both scary and surprisingly sensual. Hayden’s touch had been sure and sexy as he stroked away the hair, his fingers following the razor’s path and sending shivers of pleasure through her. When he’d entered her from behind, she’d nearly come on the spot, wildly aroused by the sexy image of the two of them in the mirror.
Though she’d come close, she hadn’t managed to climax in the brief time it took for him to orgasm. Her clit still ached with the need for release, but she had the feeling her own orgasm wasn’t going to be granted any time soon.
Hayden went to his bureau, opened the bottom drawer and removed something. Returning to her, he held out a small oblong box. Crouching before her, he opened the box, revealing a black leather collar with a steel O-ring at its center.
She flashed back to the red and blue collars the submissives at the Masters Club holiday party had worn and very nearly brought her hand to her neck. She caught herself in time, keeping her hands on her thighs, knees spread, back straight.
“This collar is a symbol of ownership and complete submission. You are never to remove it on your own. I will decide when or if it comes off. Do you accept this collar, slave Dahlia?”
Though she understood the collaring was only a weekend thing, his words still thrilled her deep in her soul.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, her voice a little breathless. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in anticipation of the leather he would buckle into place. Her clit throbbed, her nipples tingling.
“Bow your head and lift your hair out of the way,” he directed.
An involuntary shudder moved through her as he placed the collar around her neck. It was about an inch wide, and softer against her skin than she’d expected. Again, she resisted the urge to touch it, proud of herself for remembering to stay in position.
Hayden got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
She allowed him to pull her upright. Still holding her hand, he led her across the hall to the dungeon. Her pulse quickened in nervous anticipation as he brought her to the St. Andrew’s cross.
“I’m going to heat up a tray of lasagna for our dinner,” he informed her. “While I get it in the oven, you’re going to think about which impact toy you’d like to experience while bound to the cross. When I return, you’ll let me know your choice.”
Dahlia’s mouth went suddenly dry. Her breath quickened at the thought of being whipped like slave m. or caned like Jess on the bondage wheel.