Master in Shining Armor (Masters Unleashed 4)
“Sir, may I please have an orgasm?” She smiled hopefully and pressed a kiss to his jaw.
When she sat back into the kneeling position, his expression hadn’t changed.
“No.”
“What? Why not?” she grumbled. “I did what you asked.”
“You don’t get exactly what you want every time you follow an order. That’s not how this works.”
She groaned and collapsed dramatically onto her side. “Isn’t there a clicker kind of training like you do with a dog? Something where there’s constant positive reinforcement?”
“My attention—my voice—is your positive reinforcement. Orgasms are for when you really fucking dazzle me.”
She burst out laughing, and he smiled back at her.
“Now stop being a fucking brat.”
“I think orgasm deprivation has negatively affected my behavior,” she said, still laughing.
His expression switched back to stony, and he tangled a cruel hand in her hair and gave her head a small shake. “Did I tell you to stop with the fucking bratting? I’m pretty sure I did.”
She groaned. Why was it so hot when he got bossy?
He seemed to be expecting an actual answer.
“Yes . . .” She watched his expression and he still didn’t appear satisfied. “Sir,” she added. “Sorry.”
He stroked her hair. “Good girl.”
The condescending praise went straight through her, and the fact that her reaction wasn’t just sexual scared her a little. Getting so much pleasure from pleasing a man seemed very inappropriate, but the gleam of approval in his gaze felt like getting an award. The red carpet just looked a
little different. If she could impress him just by apologizing, what would following his commands get her?
He lifted her off the bar. It occurred to her that she was essentially in a public area, stark naked. The stained concrete floor was pretty and cold under her bare feet.
Why did he seem larger when they were alone? It was as though he turned off the bigger, meaner, true parts of himself when he related to people day to day. The real Will under that façade was far more primal and potentially cruel than he ever let on. She felt dainty and vulnerable next to him, and she loved it.
“Follow me. Stay two steps behind my left shoulder.”
He made a weird hand gesture, then strode off.
Oookay.
She padded after him, her footfalls a faint whisper of sound behind the scuff of his boots.
He walked right into the washroom, and she hesitated at the threshold. He turned back and looked at her, then made the hand gesture again.
“This means you follow me. You don’t stop unless I do this.” He made a different gesture.
“Is that some sort of BDSM sign language or something?”
“They’re my own signals. I don’t want you trained to obey anyone other than me.” His smile wasn’t friendly, and he eyed her in a way that seemed . . . territorial. “If you find yourself another Dominant someday, he’ll have to do his own damn training.”
Her nipples still ached from his earlier torture, but it was worse when they tightened in response to his possessiveness.
She was hyperaware of the plug in her ass and of how naked she was. She felt deliciously vulnerable. She couldn’t imagine this being anything but terrifying or creepy with any other man.
As she stood behind him, she watched him wash his big, sexy hands, and the anticipation of what he might do next hung wordlessly in the air.