To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(23)

Her brows pulled together, and she gave him a skeptical stare.

“Do not look at your master as if he’s an idiot.”

A surprised smile flickered over her lips.

Raoul drew his finger down her jawline. “Your skin is beautiful and very soft. Touchable.” He continued down her neck to above her breasts. “Your breasts are beautiful—full and high.”

Her breathing stopped, her lips pressing together. But she maintained her stance.

He trailed his finger between her breasts, not pressing at all, so the fabric of her shirt kept his touch from her skin. When he reached her stomach, he felt the shiver even through the khaki material of her shorts and knew she was aware of him…as a master. As a man.

He said softly, “Your waist curves in and then out to hips that were made to cradle a man, soft thighs to hold a man between them.”

The color rising in her cheeks wasn’t entirely from fear, yet it was far too soon to even attempt to touch her in any sexual manner. “You may relax. Hands at your sides, palms forward.”

In all reality, pretty as she was, he’d prefer to avoid it altogether. Nonetheless, every dom instinct in him wanted to act, to try to heal the damage, and as she was under his care, he must do what he could. So he would move slowly with small touches, verbal play.

“Now, you will remember to ask to speak, no? If we are having a conversation, permission is understood. Address me as Master or Master R or Sir. Nothing else. This, I saw, you have already learned.”

He noticed she’d never called him Raoul either, even at Gabrielle’s home. Did she think of him as the enemy then? Or as her master?

She nodded.

“Most of your responses should be simply, ‘Yes, Master’, but if you’re particularly enthusiastic, you may say, ‘It will be my pleasure, Master.’”

Her expression showed doubt that anything he suggested could ignite her enthusiasm.

“You are to care for the house and meals. A housekeeper comes in on Thursdays to stock the kitchen and do general cleaning. I’ll introduce you, and you may take on overseeing her.”

“I’ll oversee someone else?”

Her incredulity made him grin. She was so very unused to the dance between dominant and submissive. His lips tightened. And that was because she had experienced only the raping away of her power rather than the joy of giving it into loving hands. “A slave might have clothes or not, speech or silence, no responsibility or much. Nothing is set in stone.”

He held her gaze with his and could see her yield to his voice, his authority. Something constricted inside him—she feared his control yet wanted it. How deep did her need run? Light submission…or complete? “The only consistency in the relationship is this: the master decides.”

“But—” Her shoulders hunched defensively.

“That makes you anxious, gatita. Why?”

“I won’t know… I need to know what—”

Did she fear arbitrary punishment? “We’ll go over what I expect from you. The rules. I will never punish you for something you didn’t know or didn’t understand, Kimberly. That isn’t my way.”

Some of the worry faded from her eyes. But not all. Her gaze was focused on the floor.

He considered what he knew of her. Not nearly enough. “I need to know…” she’d said. Needed to know what to do? Some people—and a high percentage of submissives—wanted clear-cut rules. Preferred their duties laid out, liked schedules and lists. He was somewhat that way himself, as were many engineers.

“I think I understand,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll list out your responsibilities.”

The tensed muscles of her shoulders eased. The whiteness around her mouth started to pinken.

Much better. He added, “At breakfast every morning, we’ll plan out your day.”

There it was. He’d won an actual smile.

* * * *

Kim had been left alone to clean the kitchen— thank you, God—and the time putting dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down the dark granite counters helped settle her nerves. She scrubbed at a stubborn stain, still a bit shaken by her reaction to Master R. When he’d talked to her in that dark rich baritone, telling her she was lovely, talking about her breasts, well… Apparently her hormones hadn’t gone into hibernation after all. Only she wished they had.

The thought of having sex ever again filled her with ice. And panic.

I’m fine. Just keep my emotions calm and cool . She imagined picking up a heavy shield, like something Lancelot would carry. Nothing could get through it.

She stopped in the doorway of the TV room. Like the rest of the house, it had creamy stucco walls and terra-cotta tile flooring. The end tables and entertainment center were of dark wood, a waist-high brick red vase stood in one corner, and throws in autumn colors made the room cozy. A painting of a gorgeous old world sailboat hung over the leather couch where Master R was reading a technical magazine.

He glanced over and smiled. “Barring any other instructions, when I am sitting, you will join me by kneeling at my feet, half-facing me, eyes down.

That’s disgusting, her cynical part said. But her inner self…was silent. That wasn’t right. Shouldn’t everything in her disagree with subservience? A tiny shiver went through her as she knelt, grateful for the softness of the Oriental rug.