“Nope. I’m good. Andrea made me sit longer after you left. And when I tried to restock the munchie tables, Z swatted my ass and planted me here.” With a pout, Jessica stroked a hand over her rotund stomach. “Yeah, planted. I swear, I feel more like a potato than a woman.”
Obviously hearing her, Master Z curved his arm around her waist so his palm rested on her baby bump. “If you want to compare yourself to a food, I’d say a peach. Ripe. Succulent.” He kissed the curve of her shoulder and neck, and his resonant voice deepened. “You’re beautiful, kitten, and I love you more every single day.”
As Jessica’s eyes filled with tears, her hand covered her husband’s. Her Dom’s.
A disconcerting yearning shook Rainie.
I want that. Want it all.
But no. She wanted no husband or babies, at least not here in the Tampa/St. Pete area where her past would rise up and bite her in the butt.
She retreated a step and bumped into a body that was totally bone and muscle. Honestly, hadn’t men ever heard of padding?
Lean fingers gripped her shoulders, steadying her. “Just the person I was looking for,” Master Jake said.
Oh, this is just craptastic. Green eyes. Carved features. And a trimmed five-o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. She realized she was breathless. “Can I help you with something, Sir?”
“Mmmhmm. I’ve got some time, so we’re going to work together tonight”—he added the final word as if to let her know she was screwed—”trainee.”
“But I thought the trainees weren’t… No. We’re free to make our own choices tonight.”
To her dismay, Master Z turned to contemplate her for a long, long moment. “You haven’t the appearance of a satisfied submissive. Go with Master Jacob.”
Oh hellfire and hissyfit hyena shoes. “Of course, Sir,” she said obediently and looked at Master Jake. “Sir, do you have an assignment for me?”
“Let’s talk a bit.” He curled his hand around her arm, firmly enough that she felt controlled, carefully enough that she knew he wouldn’t hurt her by accident. On purpose, though…
Despite her avoidance of him, she’d observed him play, something he did frequently and well and with a variety of submissives. His BDSM skills appeared exhaustive. He well deserved the “Master” title he’d been voted into last summer.
And, from the way just his touch had melted her insides into liquid goo, she’d still underestimated him. Unlike the in-your-face authority of other Doms, Master Jake’s power was a lazy riptide, drawing a submissive under his command before she even realized she’d surrendered.
He steered her to a secluded area and pointed to a chair. As she settled onto the leather cushion, he drew the other chair around so they sat face–to–face.
When his long legs bumped into hers, she pulled her feet up onto the chair.
A corner of his mouth tipped up and then he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, shifting right into her personal space.
“What did you want to discuss, Master Jake?” Considering her lack of attire, her manager’s voice proved ineffective. Actually, she rather doubted the “voice” would daunt Jake no matter what she wore.
“Couple of things. I’m curious—your papers show only ‘Rainie.’ Is it your given name?”
“’Fraid so.” He’d checked out her trainee forms. Why? “My mother liked names to convey something. Her name was Carol, but she called herself Sunny.”
“And?” He was too close, his gaze too intent.
She turned her head. At a nearby scene, someone’s single-tail flashed under the UV lights. The thrum of the bass from the dance floor speakers struck her skin almost like impact play. “Sunny didn’t want a baby and cried all the way through her pregnancy. So she christened me Rainie for rainy.”
His snort held disgust.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I felt.” Her mother had often ranted about her unwanted pregnancy, the ghastly labor, and the amount of work raising a child required.
When younger, Rainie had fled in tears from the cruel words. She was a tougher bitch now. Oh yeah.
“Here, I thought Rainie might be an abbreviation for Lorraine or something,” Jake mused.
“Nope. It must frustrate Master Z not to have a ‘real’ name to call me.” Master Z disliked nicknames. Sam was Samuel. Dan was Daniel. Jake, Jacob.
Amusement lit Jake’s eyes. “I bet.”
He kneaded her calf in an absent-minded act she didn’t believe for a second. That friendly, casual attitude of his disguised a very controlled Dom.
The sensation of being touched without permission—and dammit, wanting to be touched—hit a sonorous note deep inside her. Behave, body, or no chocolate for a week.
“Rainie’s a pretty name.” His baritone held a hint of smokiness at the edges. “However, I’ve never met anyone less like rainfall.”
A compliment? Had he just given her a compliment? Her gaze swung back.
His eyes were straightforward…and his long, tapered fingers traced a pattern on her leg.
She swallowed. “You didn’t drag me here to talk about my name.”
“Now, Rainie, I didn’t force you here.” His lips curved up slightly. “But I can arrange to drag you if it’s something you’d like.”
Being dragged.
By Jake. The surge of sheer desire made her stiffen, even as she wanted to melt. But no. No, no, no. No Jake. She shook her head. “I don’t think I’d like that.”
He cocked a brow and made a sound, showing how little he believed her answer.
She tried to steady her breathing. Jake Sheffield had been a gorgeous twenty-one-year-old college student. As a confident, virile Dominant, he was lethal. She’d been right to avoid him.
“I noticed something odd in your files,” he said. “Tell me, when did you last have a serious scene?”
“I—” Even with her gaze on the leather cuffs circling her wrists, she sensed his gaze never wavered. “A few months, maybe.”
“I see. Sweetling, what is it you want from being a trainee?”
The endearment made her heart flutter until she remembered whom she was talking to. Jake.
Why did some memories turn to shadows…and others corrode into rawness? Even after a decade, she could hear her classmates. “Did you see how she stared at Jennifer’s brother?” “The fatty wants Jake Sheffield.” “God, I think I’m going to throw up.”
She shook her head, hoping to fling the thoughts away.
Concentrate on the present, girl. He’d asked a question. “What is it you want?” She didn’t have a ready answer. Her goals had changed. As irritation bubbled up, she glared at him and tried to tug her leg from his grip. “Excuse me, but when did this turn into a job interview?”
His deeply masculine voice held a note of steel. “When I decided it did.”
He pulled her legs off the chair, placing them on the outside of his knees. His downward glance reminded her she wore nothing under the short skirt. At least her large thighs hid her pussy. Mostly.
His hands opened, palms up. “Give me your breasts.”
“What?”
“Now.”
From the raging heat in her face, she knew her cheeks were redder than the lotus flowers in her tattoos. With a hand under each heavy breast, she hesitated. He didn’t move. Well, at least he hadn’t told her to remove her top. She inched forward on the chair. Her legs slid alongside his until her inner thighs aligned with his knees, and his jeans scraped against her tender skin.
Cool air touched the flesh of her labia. Now, she was completely exposed before him. And somehow, with the physical nakedness, the barricades protecting her emotions were splintering.
Leaning forward slightly, she set her breasts onto his cupped palms. Giving him her body. Giving him her soul.
“Very good.” His fingers gripped her breasts over the fabric.
He angled his knees outward, spreading her legs farther apart. Opening her. Her instinctive jerk back was countered by his hold on her top half. She wouldn’t be permitted to retreat.
At the amused look in his forest green eyes, she growled under her breath. The flames streaming up and down her spine, made her want to…to kneel. To beg. To submit.
“You like being controlled. Do you know how much your surrender pleases a Dom?” he asked softly, his gaze on her face, then her breasts. “Lace your fingers together behind your neck.”
How did he know the common hands-behind-the-back position was one she couldn’t easily achieve? Her hair spilled over her wrists as she complied. Her breasts lifted with the movement.
“Very nice.” His resonant voice was as firm as the hands holding her breasts. “I enjoy seeing you in this position, sweetling. Giving me your breasts. Offering your cunt.”
And, oh God, she was. She wanted him to take her, to control her, to have her in any way he chose. As if she knelt on the beach in a heavy surf, the ground beneath her was being swept away, leaving her unbalanced. And she was being pushed right to him. She swallowed, her voice coming out husky. “I didn’t offer. Sir.”
On top of the fabric, his thumbs circled her jutting nipples, making them bunch so tightly they ached. “When a woman’s nipples are this hard, Rainie, I’d say you’re an offering ready to be taken.”