Maya Banks - Sweet Persuasion

A sigh of contentment whispered past her lips as he carried her up the steps to his house. As soon as they were past the doorway, he lowered her until her feet hit the floor. He turned her around until she faced him, and he reached for the lapels of the robe he’d adorned her with.

Her mouth opened in protest, but he silenced her with a stern look.

“When you’re in my home, you’ll stay undressed unless I’ve chosen to clothe you.”

She stared dumbly at him as he pulled the robe over her shoulders and let it slide down her arms. Air from the vent above blew quietly over her skin, and she shivered. Her hands went to her arms in a protective measure, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he husked as he pried her hands from her body. He caught her fingers in his and squeezed gently. “You are a beautiful woman, and I have no intention of allowing any of that beauty to remain hidden while you are in my keeping.”

“I have to have permission to put clothes on?” she asked incredulously.

He stared wordlessly at her, telling her in no uncertain terms what he thought of that question.

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

He put his hand to her back and urged her forward. Her bare feet padded across the wooden floor, and while before she had gravitated toward him, to the warmth and security of his body, she now kept a foot of distance between them. Self-preservation.

She wasn’t sure why she suddenly quaked with uncertainty, but now that she was on his turf, doubt niggled at her.

They entered what was obviously the master bedroom. It was huge, a suite. In the center, a king-sized bed rested. It was a mahogany, four-poster frame that dominated the space. Everything else in the room was secondary to this centerpiece.

To the left a large armoire stood flush against the wall. The wood was a match to the bed, in fact, to all the furnishings in his house. Rich, dark woods. Masculine and warm.

“Sit there on the bed,” he told her.

She walked to the edge and perched gingerly, hands clasped in her lap. He moved with grace and elegance that was a contradiction to the rough, animalistic way he’d fucked her mouth just an hour before. He was indeed a contradiction, one that intrigued her. Outwardly he seemed so civilized, so refined. He was the epitome of culture, a consummate gentleman. And yet there was a caveman buried under the polished exterior. A man driven by his needs and desires. A man who quite simply wouldn’t accept less.

He opened the armoire, and she heard a slight rustle. A moment later he turned around, a small package in his hand. Curious, she stared as he opened the box and pulled out a gold circlet.

The bed dipped as he settled beside her, not one but two bands in his grip.

“Turn around and look at me,” he directed.

She shifted and turned, bending one leg and dangling the other over the side of the bed.

“I opted not to use a collar on you.”

Her hand flew to her neck as her eyes widened. She knew of the practice of collaring slaves, but it seemed so . . . barbaric.

“However, I am greatly pleased by the idea of you wearing the mark of my ownership, so I bought these.”

He held up the cuffs, opening one. His free hand trailed up her arm and stopped midway between her elbow and her shoulder. Then he clasped the cuff around her arm, the metal cool against her flesh.

It was a beautiful piece of jewelry. Feminine and thin. Not thick or bulky. It was about two inches wide with intricate designs etched onto the face. And it fit her perfectly.

He reached down and caught her foot in his hand and raised it to his lap. Again, his fingers trailed over her flesh, sensual and soft. He opened the other cuff and secured it around her leg, just above her ankle. The anklet was a perfect match to the one on her arm, and it conjured images of a harem girl, adorned in gold, as she danced for her sultan.

“For as long as you belong to me, you will wear my mark,” he said. “You won’t remove them, not even to bathe.”

She glanced at her arm and then down to her ankle. She felt exotic, not at all like herself, and wasn’t that the purpose of this? To step outside herself and live a fantasy?

Another giggle threatened to escape, and she swallowed it back. How absurd was this? She was sitting naked on the bed next to a man who’d just shackled her for all practical purposes. Shackled her and commanded her to stay naked while she was in his presence.

Clearly she was loopy.

“First, a shower,” Damon said as he studied her closely. “I’ll have a tray brought up, and we’ll eat in bed afterward.”

“Tray brought up?” she croaked. Did he have servants who would be witness to her nakedness? To the fact she was acting as his slave? Good lord, would he want to have sex with her in plain view of anyone walking by?

“You’re starting to panic,” he reprimanded. “Relax and allow me to take care of you, Serena.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose and then let it out in a long exhale. “I’m sorry. I won’t question you again.”

He smiled. “Yes, you will. Of that I’m sure.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the satisfied glint in his eyes. “And what will you do?”

“I have my methods of punishment,” he said in a silky, sexy-as-hell voice.

“You’re not exactly encouraging me to be good,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “No games, Serena. That isn’t what this is about. If you want games of cat and mouse, disobedient slave to punishing master, you’re better off with someone else. As much as this is a fantasy and not your reality, in the time you’re with me, it will be real. In all ways.

“I want your obedience. I expect it—no, I demand it. I don’t relish nor will I enjoy the idea of punishing you. So if you seek to bait me so that you enjoy the thrill of discipline, you’re sure to be disappointed.”

She nodded. “I understand.” She glanced down at the band circling her arm again. Unable to resist, she raised her other hand to touch the beautiful designs. “Why did you choose this instead of a collar?”

“Because I want you to wear the sign of my ownership in public as well as private, and a collar . . . I don’t seek to embarrass you, nor do I desire to make our relationship public. It’s a private matter between the two of us and not open for speculation. All that matters to me is that you know that you belong to me. What others think or not is irrelevant. I’m not so insecure that I need you to overtly scream to the world that you are my slave.”

Her chest squeezed, and without thinking, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She buried her face in his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat to get rid of the catch.

His hand swept up her arm to rest on the band. “You’re welcome. I like seeing the evidence of my possession on your body. It pleases me and will please me every time I look at you and see my gift on your arm and your leg. I need no satisfaction beyond that.”

Slowly he pulled her away and then stood, taking her hand with him. He tugged until she rose to stand beside him.

“Come now so I can see to your shower.”

She looked at him in surprise, but he just smiled in return.

“In time you’ll learn that I’m very serious when I say that I plan to see to all aspects of your care and keeping.”

Serena stood in the shower under the spray of water as Damon undressed outside the glass door. Her gaze was drawn to his muscular body. Lean, hard, perfectly tanned with not a single flash of whiter skin.

His cock was impressive even in its semierect state, set amidst the dark hair at his groin. This was a man who clearly took care of himself, and it didn’t detract from his manliness whatsoever.

He was, in a word, beautiful. Rugged. All male. He wasn’t a knuckles-dragging-the-ground he-man Neanderthal type with more muscles than brains. He was several inches taller than her, but not so tall that she had to strain to look up at him.

He stepped inside the shower, and before he ever touched her, her body went on alert. Her nipples beaded and strained outward as though begging for his touch. Her pussy pulsed and tightened. She wanted him. Her need was powerful and overwhelming.

There was nothing sexual about his ministrations as he gently set about washing her. His long fingers glided over her skin, spreading soap bubbles in their wake. When he’d covered every inch of her body, including her most intimate areas, he turned his attention to her hair.

Methodically, he lathered her hair, massaging her scalp with firm fingers. After he’d rinsed, he worked in conditioner and gently pushed her back away from the spray.

Then he handed her soap. “Now you will wash me. Use only your hands. I would feel your touch on all parts of my body.”

Her pulse skittered and jumped like a drunk trying to play hopscotch. With trembling fingers she took the soap and worked it in her hands until she had a good lather. She set the soap aside and tentatively put her hands to Damon’s chest.

He closed his eyes the moment she touched him. Emboldened by his response, and her own pleasure at touching him, she began to stroke her hands over his shoulders. Then down to his taut abdomen.

She skipped his groin and his now turgid erection and soaped both his legs. When she knelt on the floor of the shower to soap his feet, his hand touched her head.

She glanced up, worried that she’d done something wrong, but she saw approval shining brightly in his eyes.