Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) (11 page)

Did I pass out from lack of oxygen or from
pleasure? Does it matter? He seemed to know exactly what to do to
revive me, and he doesn’t appear the least bit perturbed by my
lapse into unconsciousness.

He brushes a lock of damp hair away from my
forehead. “Too bad. I’m afraid I didn’t quite finish.”

I follow the direction of his gaze to his
crotch. His cock still protrudes, erect and glistening with my
juices, from his fly. It’s long and thick and very, very hard. Just
the way I like it.

Although I’m in no condition for more sex—I’m
sore everywhere, although it’s a blissful kind of soreness—I lick
my lips. I know what I want. What he wants.

“Fuck my mouth,” I croak.

He raises his eyebrows. “If you’re going to
stay, you need to remember who gives the orders around here, Slut.”
There’s no censure in his voice, though.

Joy sings in my veins. I’m going to stay!
I’ve won.

But I lower my eyelids demurely. “Please,
Master, I beg you to fuck my mouth.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” He grins
and climbs onto the platform, straddling my head.

I open wide and take his cock into my mouth.
He frames my face with his hands and holds me in place as I close
my lips around him. From there on, I don’t have to do anything
other than act as a willing orifice for him. He does exactly what I
asked and fucks my mouth, driving down into my throat until he
comes with a satisfied groan. As I swallow his seed, I am utterly
at peace.

When he finishes, he pulls out and tucks his
slackening cock back into his pants. Without a word, he walks over
to one of the cabinets on the opposite side of the room—the one he
retrieved the “standard toys” from on our first night together—and
pulls something out. He tucks it behind his back so I can’t see
what it is, although I can tell it’s small enough to fit in one
hand.

I feel a flutter of anxiety. After all the
new sensations I’ve learned to accommodate and enjoy today, I’m not
sure I can handle another.

But when he reaches my side, what he pulls
from behind his back is a familiar, black velvet-covered box.

My collar
.

“Will you wear it and be my slave again?”

My heart squeezes tight. Is there any
question? And yet, I can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s
not entirely sure how I’m going to respond.

From some reserve of energy I didn’t know I
possessed, I bolt to a sitting position and fling my arms around
his neck. “Oh, yes, master, yes.”

While he removes the collar from the box, I
once again take off my crucifix. As he did the first time he put
the collar on me, he unlocks it with the key and slides it in
place. I tilt my head to one side to allow him to lock it.

“I’m never letting you go now, you know.” He
turns the key over and over between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know.”

“And this room—this isn’t the last time we’re
going to use it. If you’re going to stay with me and be my slave,
you have to accept and fulfill all my desires, not just the ones
that are easy for you.”

“I know that, too.” And I’m glad. Because
just as he remade my sexual desires to meet his demands, he’s
remade my experience of pain and pleasure to suit his needs. I’m
not just a shifted landscape any longer; I’ve become a whole new
planet. One that truly is “made for it.”

“Can you walk?” he asks, getting to his
feet.

“I think so,” I answer, although in truth,
I’m not sure.

“Good.” He disappears into the gym and
returns with a white terrycloth robe, which he wraps around me.

The wax that’s cooled and dried on my back
cracks and itches, but I hardly notice as he leads me out onto the
pool deck and up to the railing that overlooks the beach. After the
relative darkness of the playroom, the bright sunlight glancing off
the sand and the waves makes me squint. The scent of salt and sea
hangs heavy in the hot summer air.

He leans his elbows on the railing and looks
out onto the ocean. “I had another slave once. One I loved as much
as I love you.”

My heart does a spinning nosedive into my
belly then catapults into my throat. Did he just admit he loves me?
While in the same breath telling me he once loved someone else?

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away.

“What happened to her?” I ask, because for
some reason, he wants me to know about her. A myriad of
possibilities tumble through my head, the worst one being that
perhaps somehow he killed her in the playroom like he could have
killed me.

He turns the key over in his hand again,
watching the light glint off its smooth, silvery surface. “Her
family thought I’d brainwashed her, like some sort of cult leader.
That she would never have tolerated being my slave if I hadn’t
forced her into it somehow. They kidnapped her and took her to a
psychiatrist. By the time I tracked her down, they’d brainwashed
her into believing I was some kind of monster.”

I touch my collar, remembering my reaction
when he told me the GPS unit wasn’t there because he didn’t trust
me, but because he didn’t trust other people. At the time, I
thought he was just saying that to make the existence of the unit
more palatable to me. Now I know he was dead serious.

“That’s why you wanted to be sure I was here
willingly.”

His gaze still fixed on the key, he nods.
“Janna had never been in a dominant/submissive relationship before
she met me. I went to
Maid for It
because I was trying to be
certain I never made the mistake of getting involved with an
untutored submissive again. I didn’t want to go through that shit
again. And now…with you.” He holds up the key. “I want to keep you,
but I have to be sure you’re never going to leave me. Not even if
your family comes to ‘rescue’ you.”

I slide up behind him, wrap my arms around
his waist, and rest my head against his shoulder. “I’m never
leaving you. Not even
you
can make me leave you.”

A low laugh rumbles through his chest. “You
are a bit obstinate. But what about your family?”

“I texted my brother on the way home from the
airport and told him I wouldn’t be coming back to Mexico, that I’d
fallen in love with someone here.”

“So they’re not going to come on a crusade to
save you from white slavery?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t tell them about
any of that. I’m still ashamed I didn’t realize it was all a
hoax.”

“Aren’t you going to miss them? Don’t you
want to see them?”

“I do miss them, but when I left, I assumed
I’d never see them again. And when I was about to get on that
plane, I realized I’d rather never see them again than never be
with you again.”

He spins around and reverses our positions,
so now he’s behind me with his arm wrapped around my waist and his
cheek resting on the top of my head. “But you would like to see
them?”

“Well, yes, of course I would, but…”

“Do you think they would come to LA for a
wedding? I’d pay their airfare and expenses, of course.”

I twist in his arms to face him. “A wedding?
You want to marry me?”

“Well, for all my pull with the US
government, I haven’t yet managed to get them to recognize the
master/slave relationship under the law, and being married to you
would
make getting your green card a hell of a lot
easi—“

He’s forced to stop talking as I press a
fierce kiss to his lips. Although I’m the aggressor at first, it’s
only a few seconds before he takes over, his tongue exploring my
mouth as his hands cup my ass through the terrycloth. After a long
time, he raises his head and smiles at me.

“I’m glad you approve. Now, there’s just one
more order of business to take care of.”

My brow furrows. “What’s that?”

He holds up the key. “This. I don’t think we
need it anymore.”

Turning toward the beach, he hurls it as far
as he can. It lands in the sand near the edge of the tide line. A
few seconds later, a wave comes and drags it out into the ocean. In
a few minutes, it will be gone forever.

And that’s just what I want. Forever.

The End

An excerpt from
Maid for Pleasure

Available Now!

I
nsurance actuary Libby Beckett is the
epitome of a successful, independent, modern woman. With her six
figure salary, she has a condo overlooking the beach, a BMW, and a
closet full of fabulous shoes. So why isn’t she happy? And why do
her fantasies always involve whips, bondage, and sexual slavery?
Her desires are impossible to explain her buttoned-down accountant
boyfriend, which is why when she stumbles across a website for a
quasi-dating service for submissive women called Maid for It, she
signs up. She’s quickly “matched” to Gavin Huntley, an engineer and
inventor possessed of a small fortune and his own private island in
the Caribbean. After carefully weighing the risks and rewards, as
any good actuary should do, Libby breaks it off with her boyfriend
and heads to Gavin’s island for what she promises herself will be
two weeks to explore her darkest, dirtiest desires. When her time
is up, she’ll say her safe word and, as outlined in Maid for It’s
contract, Gavin will be required to release her.
But Gavin knows what Libby truly needs, and it’s not to be free.
She’s made for pleasure—his pleasure—and he intends to put her to
good use. Forever.

The first time I lay eyes on Gavin Huntley is
when I descend the stairs of the Lear jet he sent to fetch me from
Miami. I know it’s him leaning against the black Mercedes parked on
the tarmac because, although I’ve never met him face to face, I’ve
seen pictures. Over the past month, we’ve exchanged photos by
email. I almost lose my footing on the steps as I recall one very
specific picture he demanded I send him before we sealed our
deal—me naked in front of a mirror with my legs spread wide, my
pussy exposed. The memory both shames and arouses me.

Which is exactly why I’m here, on a private
island five miles long occupied by less than a hundred people: to
give my body to a total stranger for two weeks, until my vacation
time is used up and I have to return to my real, normal life.
Already, just at the thought of the wicked things he’ll do to
me—with or without my consent—I’m so turned on, my knees wobble as
though I’ve become boneless, and I wonder if I’ll wind up slipping
down the staircase and pooling into a puddle at the bottom.

Gavin is every bit as handsome as he was in
the photos he sent me—wavy, dark blond hair, eyes framed by sexy,
black-rimmed glasses, and a wide, full mouth that’s both beautiful
and utterly masculine. Dressed casually in a fitted, dark gray
T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he folds his arms across his chest and
watches me totter toward the tarmac. He’s taller, broader, and more
muscular than I imagined from those photos, but then, he told me
they were taken for business and marketing purposes. I should have
expected they would make him appear more approachable, less
commanding.

But commanding is what I’m here for. To be
commanded. To be dominated, taken, and used.

My mother would be horrified if she knew I
was doing this. She didn’t deliberately have me out of wedlock and
raise me as a single parent because she wanted me to let a man
treat me like a slave. But I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it
for me. For once in my life, I’m doing what
I
want, not what
people expect of me.

Besides, it’s only temporary. When it’s over,
I’ll go back to my condo overlooking Redondo Beach. I’ll drive my
smart BMW 320i to and from my high-paying job at the insurance
agency that’s “always got you covered.”

As I reach the second-to-the-last stair, the
tropical breeze lifts the skirt of the French maid costume I donned
during the flight, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Gavin has
caught a glimpse of the triangle of hair beneath it. I’ve followed
the instructions I received from
Maid for It
, the online
dating agency that matched me to Gavin a little over a month ago,
and that includes wearing nothing beneath my skirt, not even a
thong.