She didn't hesitate. Part of him wondered how much longer he could stand it before he pounded out his release and ejaculated.

He left her there while he went into the living room to light a fire. As flames licked the logs, taking the chill out of the evening air, he resisted the temptation to stroke himself to satisfaction. When he came, soon, he wanted to be deep in her body.

He returned to the kitchen to find her in the exact position where he'd left her.

Her obedience undid him. “On all fours,” he told her. “I want to see how red your ass is.”

She complied instantly.

“Nice,” he said. “The ones on your thighs will make it difficult to sit down tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.”

He abraded his thumbnail across the small welts.

She gasped and pulled away. Before he could correct her, she pushed herself back into position.

“The others, on your butt, are almost completely gone.” He crossed to a high-backed chair and pulled it back from the table. “Crawl over here, mo shearc.” He'd never used the endearment with anyone else. Somehow the “my love” worked with her, for her. “I want you over my lap for a proper spanking.”

“Sir?”

“Do I need to repeat my command?”

“No!”

She crawled, her breasts and ass cheeks seducing him. She looked up at him only momentarily before positioning herself artfully across his lap.

“I'm spanking you,” he said, “because I want to. No other reason than that.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She braced her hands on the floor. Without instruction, she parted her legs slightly.

He saw the slight glisten of her moisture on her pussy, and he smelled her arousal. He wanted this woman.

Torin parted her lips and played with her clit, watching her squirm, enjoying the sounds she struggled to suppress.

Without giving her any warning, he slapped her cunt hard, his hand open.

She gasped, surged away from his hand, then made another softer sigh and wiggled back into position.

He spanked her hard, on her buttocks, on her pussy, on her thighs. He timed his spanks to arouse, not punish.

A minute and a half later she was begging.

“I need…”

“You need…?”

“Will you fuck me? Fuck me, Master.” Her words were breathless. “Fuck me.

Please?”

He helped her from his lap. “Lean over the table. Grasp the far end.”

She followed his directions, and she even turned her toes slightly inward so that her pussy was presented even more attractively. It would take all his control not to come before he'd even entered her.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it near his jacket. He toed off his boots, and he noticed that she moved slightly. “Cold? Impatient?”

“Sorry, Master,” she said. “Just…”

“Yes?”

“I'm impatient; the sub is impatient. I want you inside me.”

“I?”

“She,” Mira said with a sigh. “She. The sub. You know, the woman on the table, waiting to be fucked. Dying here.”

He laughed. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she was into a scene, she couldn't hide her natural personality. And to tell the truth, he didn't want her to.

He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. All thumbs, he pulled a condom from one of the compartments. Seemed the beautiful Mira wasn't the only one who was impatient.

He dropped his wallet, pulled off his jeans, and stripped down, throwing everything onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

His cock was hard, throbbing when he rolled the condom into place. Fighting to restrain himself, he stroked the outsides of her thighs. She sighed. “Do you have any idea how red your ass is?”

“If it looks like it feels, yes, I have an idea.”

“It's lovely.” He traced a couple of the welts before placing a hand between her legs, feeling her dampness.

“Take me,” she said, moving her hips back.

As if he could wait any longer.

Torin bent his knees slightly and pressed his cockhead against her opening.

“Yes,” she whispered.

She was amazingly damp and ready for him.

He took her in a single stroke. He filled her, felt her internal pussy muscles clench around his cock.

This woman could be the death of him.

He reached across her, grasping her wrists.

“Ride me, hard.” Belatedly, she added, “Master.”

He held back his orgasm, making sure she came first. It was more difficult than it should have been.

Torin was known as a generous lover, but with Mira—it was about possession.

He wanted her; he didn't want anyone else touching her, tasting her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Having a woman, any woman, get under your skin was a bad move. The danger increased when the woman was your partner.

“Master!”

He heard her breaths, little gasps of air. He could feel her fighting her orgasm like a good little sub. “You may come,” he told her.

“Torin!”

He drove into her, hard, impaling her with his thrusts. There was nothing gentle or soft about this. It was raw, animalistic, filled with lust. For the moment she was his, and he'd leave her no doubt about it.

She screamed.

Then her body squeezed him tight.

Her climax pushed him over the top. In a hot stream, he ejaculated, the orgasm feeling as if it had been ripped from his testicles.

It was brutal. It was satisfying. It wasn't even close to fulfilling his need to take her.

He withdrew from her. He looked at her for a moment, her midnight dark hair escaping its confines to curl against her neck, her shoulders. She was still pressed against the table. He'd never see oak the same way again.

She remained in place, her hands curled around the edge of the table. The marks of his punishment striped her thighs and buttocks, and her pussy glistened with her moisture.

Oh. Yeah. He wanted her again. And again.

His cock began resurging to life, even though he would have sworn she'd already drained every drop of semen from his body. “Shower?”

“Is water sex involved?”

“Insatiable wench.” He helped her to stand, giving her a moment to regain her equilibrium before once again exerting his dominance by saying, “For your impertinence, you can get your lovely tush back on that table.”

“Master?”

“This time I want you to lie on your back, Mira. Spread your legs. I want to watch you masturbate.”


Mira's breath was shaky.

Her partner, and now lover-slash-dom, demanded more than she'd ever given to another man.

She turned to face him, and it was her first view of him completely naked. Her mouth dried. The sight of him nude didn't disappoint.

She'd known he was lean and muscular—she'd seen him workout in a T-shirt and shorts, but the flatness of his stomach and the definition of his biceps were incredible. She imagined those muscles flexing as he beat her, and she intuitively realized he'd held back a lot when he'd punished her. Torin was a raw, powerful man. He had harnessed that energy when dealing with her. She wanted, recklessly, to know what it was like when he didn't hold back, when he allowed emotion to affect him.

Dark hair arrowed down the center of his chiseled chest, stopping just above the thatch of pubic hair. His cock, even half-flaccid, was impressive. She hungered, suddenly, for him to take her again.

Already the experience with Torin Carter had exceeded any expectation she'd had. She'd used her vibrator several times and fantasized about him, and even those wild imaginations hadn't even come close to the reality of the way he touched her, tasted her, mastered her.

Through the years she'd played with any number of men. Now she realized they'd all had one thing in common. She could manipulate them.

This tall, dark Irishman wouldn't tolerate subterfuge, and that thrilled her as much as it frightened her.

“Now,” he said, his voice was roughened, like a diamond sliding across sandpaper.

“Uh…”

“Problem, sub?”

She was always bold, and it sometimes got her into trouble. “I haven't yet seen Master's hot ass.”

He laughed. Slowly, he turned around.

Oh, dear. God.

His ass was as tight as the rest of him. His thighs were muscular; his calves were well defined.

He was beyond dangerous to her, mentally as well as physically.

He finished the rotation, then nodded toward the table.

Following orders wasn't easy. She wanted to touch him, kneel before him, take his cock in her mouth, and suck it until he was hard enough to fuck her again.

She climbed onto the table and lay on her back.

Wordlessly, he repositioned her, putting her feet on the table and tapping her knees so she spread her legs wide.

This was a much more revealing position, leaving her exposed.

“Do you fuck your ass when you masturbate?”

She raised her eyebrows “Not usually. No.”

“Fuck your ass with your fingers, Mira.”

A frisson of excitement danced through her. No man had ever pushed her boundaries the way he did.

“Show me how you like to be pleasured,” he said.

Feeling oddly self-conscious, she reached between her legs and stroked her fingertips across her pussy. She was damp. Her heart was racing.

Her eyes closed as she searched for a rhythm to take her to release. Then she remembered he hadn't given her permission to orgasm, he'd just instructed her to masturbate. She opened her eyes to find him intently watching her, his arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes were like chips of a glacier. In that moment he looked truly masterful. She felt weak inside, wanting to be dominated completely by him.