Her Master at Last

Morgan smiled at his smug look, doubting his words, but relishing the intention behind them. Tucking her head into his shoulder, she relaxed against him, enjoying the soothing strokes of his hand. Her contentment was short-lived, however, when his hand stopped on her right breast and grasped the nipple clamp.

“Ready?” he asked, but before she could ask what for, he removed the clamp. With a yelp, she slapped her hand over her nipple as the blood flow resumed and sent sharp needles of pain through her whole breast.

Grasping her hand, Jack shoved it aside, took the poor abused bud into his mouth, and suckled. When she relaxed, he hastened to remove the other one and latch onto to it, licking away the pain as she wiggled and panted in discomfort. By the time he had eased the pain, her arousal had been reignited, as was his.

* * *

They couldn’t keep this pace up, Morgan thought, stumbling into the shower the next morning, her sore body protesting every movement. She had been asleep a scant two hours after calling it a night around midnight when Jack had woken her with a sharp abrupt smack on her ass. Laughing at her screech of outrage, he’d pulled up her hips and thrust into her, stating she was the one who mentioned continuing what they started downstairs.

As usual, her body had responded to the demands of his and within moments she was pushing back against him, welcoming his invasion as his hard possession drove the breath from her body.

Leaning her head back, Morgan let the hot water cascade over her face and shoulders, the heat seeping into her aching muscles. She was looking forward to the trip into Bear Creek today and to a respite from Jack’s vigorous lovemaking.

When he rolled out of bed at eight o’clock, a mere four hours after they had both fallen into an exhausted sleep, he had announced with irritating cheerfulness they would be spending the afternoon playing tourist. Thankfully, Jack and Marc had to deal with getting their guests checked out this morning and safely on their way, allowing her to roll over and sleep for another few hours. Morgan finished washing, wincing as she ran the soapy cloth between her legs, then forced herself to step out of the warm shower to dress and go in search of food.

“Are you ready?” Jack asked when he returned to the loft, noticing again how good she looked in a pair of jeans. Down, boy, he silently berated his cock when his first thought was how fast he could get them off of her. He had fucked her twice last night after they closed the club and he needed to give her a rest. Soon they would have to talk about her plans, something they had both avoided the last two days, but would need to address sooner rather than later. He knew she was everything he wanted, and he’d be more than happy to ask her to make a permanent move here, but she needed to be sure. She was young and inexperienced and could easily mistake lust for something deeper.

“I’m ready. Is Marc going?” she answered, grabbing her coat off a rack.

“He’s pulling the Tahoe up front. He’ll ride in with us, then meet us later for dinner. His errands will take him in a different direction, and right past the bakery, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t gain weight, as much as he likes his sweets. I’d weigh as much as you if I indulged as often as he does,” she commented as they went downstairs. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to resist the fat glazed donuts sitting on the kitchen counter the past two days.

“But I could help you burn those calories.”

Morgan snorted. “Your type of exercise would leave me unable to walk, defeating the purpose.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he grinned, h

olding the door open for her. “I’d be sure to rotate between all your orifices so we didn’t cause you any discomfort.”

Morgan settled into the backseat, refusing to comment in front of Marc, although she was sure her red face gave away the gist of their conversation. The drive into Bear Creek took less than half the time it had taken her to reach the lodge due to the now cleared roads, and Morgan got a much better look at the scenery than she had through her snow-blocked windshield.

When Marc parked in front of a small, quaint store, Morgan could smell the enticing aromas coming from it as soon as she got out of the Tahoe. An elderly woman held the door open and greeted him by name.

“I’ll catch up to you later,” he called back as he hastened inside.

“That’s Martha Harper, a widow who has a soft spot for Marc,” Jack told her, clasping her hand and leading her down the cleared walkway.

“I could tell.” Smiling, she tripped after him. The warm sun helped keep the cold air from numbing her face, and there was no wind, which made it a pleasant day to play tourist.

With fewer than five thousand residents, Bear Creek catered to tourists year round and Morgan fell in love with the small town atmosphere and neighbor-friendly citizens. Born and raised in Chicago with its crowded bustling activity, high crime rate, and constant noise, she could see the allure of this laidback existence, the main street with its one traffic light, quiet and peaceful, the business owners and residents friendly and open to strangers. Jack led her into small gift shops that sold goods native to Colorado, pointed out the hundred-year-old library and city building, made reservations for dinner at a restaurant boasting the best steaks and seafood outside of Denver, and then surprised her by directing her into a small art gallery.

“Jack, how are you?”

An attractive woman in her forties greeted Jack with a hug before turning her attention and beaming smile on Morgan. “And who’s this?”

“Stephanie, this is Morgan, the artist I told you about.” Jack almost laughed out loud at the astonished look on Morgan’s face. “Morgan, Stephanie and her husband, James, own this gallery and sell the works of several local artists.”

“I’d love to see some of your work. Jack tells us you’re very talented.”

After sending Jack a piqued look for putting her on the spot, she turned shy, saying, “I’ve only done a few sketches since I’ve been here and I left them at the lodge.”

“I have them.” Jack pulled out a few sheets he tore from her pad and tucked into his coat before they left. “You’ll recognize these, Stephanie, drawn from our loft window.”

“Oh, no, Jack, those aren’t very good. I was just doodling.” Embarrassed he’d show her inferior work, Morgan tried to grab them from his hand, but Stephanie already had a hold of them.

“Oh, my dear,” she sighed, scanning the drawings. “If these are just doodling for you, I’d definitely like to see something you’ve put effort into. I could frame these and get forty dollars each for them easy.”