Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(39)
“We need to make a covenant.” His fingers made short work of the bra that I’d been so proud to display. When he stepped closer to unhook it behind my shoulder blades, the heat from his crotch hit me like a bullet. His cock was extended and plump, like it had been when he’d turned me over his knee, and my mouth actually watered to re-enact what I’d just seen his nephew perform on another man.
“A covenant of what?” I dared ask. “Ah!” I gasped when he pinched one of my nipples, his other hand sliding both bra and shirt off my hands, tossing them without looking behind him.
“Dominance and submission.” I thought I could see his cock flex inside his well-worn jeans. My nostrils flared as I detected his pheromones, his aroused male scent telling me he was ready to be pleasured.
I guessed at what he meant. “I’m ready to be dominated by you, Father. Your long, thick penis is making me wet. Wondering what you plan to do to me is making me wet. Everything about you makes me horny, makes me wet.”
The edges of his mouth turned up. I’d done well. He fondled both nipples now, but gently, just making soft peaks of them. Arrows of arousal shot directly to my clit, and I wondered what it’d be like to be actually f*cked by this man, to have his entire massive, cut body on top of me, plunging inside me to my deepest, most vulnerable places. It would be a religious experience—my new religion. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. I think you’re the perfect submissive for me, Sister. You get turned on by the visual, don’t you? Watching others perform?”
I had to take a risky dive on this one. “You mean what we witnessed just now, down in the dispatch office?”
“Yes, things such as that. The bodies of men. You go weak in the knees at the sight of a handsome, fit man.”
“Oh yes,” I admitted heatedly, squirming on my stool, pushing my little breasts into his palms. Then I remembered where I was. “If the man is you, Sir.”
“Good.”
Abruptly he stopped fondling my boobs. Before I knew it, he’d somehow managed to cuff both my wrists together and hung me from one of the coat hooks over my head. They were padded suspension cuffs, the D ring allowing me to swivel, and not uncomfortable at all. Being bound in this way, forbidden to touch the glorious piece of man before me who orchestrated the scene, made me squirm even more. When Sax removed his cut and respectfully placed it on the back of a chair, I knew he meant business. His incredibly developed pecs bulged beneath the flimsy cotton of the wifebeater, a fine dusting of downy chest hair peeking out below his collarbone, tantalizing and mouth-watering.
I realized that I felt sexy. I knew I wasn’t much to look at—Lord knew, Roscoe told me that all the time—with my flat chest and wide hips. But having my hands bound helplessly above my head, being admired by such a virile specimen of manhood, I felt downright desirable. I knew the only reason Sax wanted me was because of my background, my seeming innocence, my skill as a sub. He could toy with me whenever he was in town, using and discarding me when a whim struck him to go onto the road again. He was the incurable playboy, a woman in every town.
But something happened in the next five minutes that finally caved my heart in.
“I found this beautiful trinket for you.” Sax must have withdrawn this exquisite collar from his cut. It glistened with gems, and I remembered he was a gemologist. My greedy, vain eyes searched the stones embedded in the black leather collar. Were they real? I felt ashamed of being so covetous.
He displayed it before my eager eyes. I could have stretched out my neck and licked it, it was that close. “Do you understand the responsibility of being collared by me?”
I nodded like an excited puppy. “I believe I do. I must allow only you to play with me.”
“Exactly. You’re a reflection of me, and all of your actions fall back at my feet.”
“Yes. But—”
“Do you accept me as Master, Mentor, and Teacher?” He frowned. I had interrupted him. “What?”
My face flushed with embarrassment, and I looked down at his belt buckle. “But I need you to do the same for me. No other women in other towns. I can’t bear the thought of you playing with another woman. It just tears my heart from my chest, Sax.” I had second thoughts, and added, “Zane.” Maybe I thought it would sink in more if I called him his Christian name.
He did seem to pause for thought, holding that gorgeous collar in one hand. God knew how many women he was toying with around the country. What, really, was I asking him to give up? It seemed only fair to me. If he expected me to dump Roscoe, shouldn’t I be allowed to expect the same from him? But he was asking me to give up one man. Maybe I was asking him to give up fifty women.
It was as though he’d read my mind. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”
My voice was small. “Not really.”
He exhaled. “I didn’t think so.”
If I peeked from under my lashes I could see him stride back to his cut, replace the collar in one of his cut pockets, and withdraw something else. A flogger. I had blown it. Blown it radically. What the f*ck was I thinking? Giving up * old Roscoe was no big deal. From the sounds of it, we were done, anyway. And I had just asked Sax to give up fifty women in fifty cities? What was wrong with me? Give an inch, take a mile! That’s what my spiritual mentor had always said about me. I’d take a mile.