Over the Line (5 page)

“Perhaps I am.”

“Ouch.”

He grinned, taking the sting out of his words. “If you need anything, feel free to telephone us here.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

Master Michael was waiting for her inside the patio doors. He had her purse in hand. Oddly, it didn’t detract from his masculinity.

“I had your car brought around.”

She accepted the small handbag. “Thank you.”

He captured her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“You don’t scare me,” she said, meeting his gaze. His eyes were a deep, dark green, as unreadable as they were inviting.

“Maybe I should,” he said.

The pseudo-threat sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. While he kept her gaze and chin imprisoned, he swept a fingertip across her jawbone. “I’ll follow you,” she said, feigning a calm that had suddenly deserted her. As Master Damien had pointed out, she didn’t go home with men, and Master Michael was nothing like other Doms she played with. But his complexity intrigued her. She’d known him only a short time yet she’d already figured out he was as demanding emotionally as he was physically. The physical part excited her. The emotional one…? That she could do without.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded.

He slowly released his hold then placed his fingers against the small of her back and guided her towards the front of the home. An attendant, nattily dressed as if he were a doorman at a New York City hotel—minus a shirt—wished them a good evening.

That he drove a new but dusty, oversized pickup truck didn’t surprise her. The jeans, cowboy hat and worn leather boots were obviously not just for effect.

She followed him out of the secluded area where the Den was nestled, and they turned left onto Highway 34, heading north. There were distant peaks, seemingly endless miles of high mountain prairie, but very few headlights from oncoming cars. It was as if they had the world to themselves.

Rather than getting nervous, the kind of anticipation that came from the unknown raced through her. She cranked up the stereo, blasting dance music throughout the passenger compartment of her decade-old small sports utility vehicle.

She kept his tail lights in sight, and she appreciated that he drove a bit over the speed limit. About half an hour later, they left the tarmac behind. A large pothole in a bumpy dirt road almost jarred the wheel from her hands.

This definitely hadn’t been what she’d planned when she had shimmied into the leather dress several hours ago. In fact, out here, the dress and shoes seemed ridiculous.

They bypassed a number of turn-offs and she had to drop back in order to not get blasted by the dirt spewing behind his tyres.

A few minutes later, he followed a fork to the right. She was starting to wonder if it was a road to nowhere when he braked to a stop in front of a fence. It was buttressed by massive, rough-hewn wooden poles that soared at least twenty feet in the air. A beam spanned the overhead distance, and a metal sign hung from chains. A large raptor with talons extended was emblazoned on the left side, next to the words
Eagle’s Bend Ranch.

With his hat still firmly in place, the lord and master of the place unlocked the gate before walking back to her vehicle. She rolled down the window.

“Welcome,” he said. “Follow me through the gate. I’ll close it behind us.” He placed his hands on the door and leaned in.

Damn, he smelt good—of rugged, open space.

“Scared yet?”

“Not a chance.”

He grinned then. “That’s my girl.”

The easy familiarity took her by surprise. No one had called her anything like that. Nasty sex words, yes. Syrupy, sugary, hoping-to-get-you-to-bed words like honey and baby, yes. But something that innocuous? Definitely not. It didn’t fit her. So why the hell was she smiling back at him?

Without another word, he turned away. She watched as he climbed back into the truck then drove through, stopping a fair distance away.

She pulled in behind him, then watched in the rear-view mirror as he strode back to secure the chain and lock again.

Now
she was nervous. He’d effectively blocked her escape.

He stopped by her vehicle again.

“The code for the lock is M-Y-H-M,” he said. “Shorthand for my home, so it’s easy to remember.”

She exhaled. “How did you know?”

“Honey, you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds. Not much scares you, does it?”

Sydney slowly shook her head.

“But the things that scare you are debilitating.”

“There you go with the psychoanalysis again.”

“Nah. That’s just casual observation. I’ll let you know what I see when I really have the chance to study you.”

Before she could respond, he’d moved off. She rolled up her window and followed him towards a house. Off to the right were a number of buildings, a barn among them.

More lights came on as they drove, obviously all equipped with motion sensors. He indicated a place for her to park near a large pine tree.

He was there to help her from the vehicle, something she appreciated with her heels and the uneven dirt parking area. “This outfit isn’t exactly the best for ranch wear,” she said, closing the car door.

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

In the distance, she heard an occasional moo that she assumed came from a cow and something that sounded like the bleating of a goat. While she also lived in the mountains, it was as if she and Master Michael occupied two entirely different universes.

He cupped her elbow and drew her towards the house. A huge yard was also fenced, but with horizontally notched wooden poles interlaced with vertical ones. Though it was likely practical, it was also artistic.

With one hand still on her, he opened the gate, taking time to ensure it latched securely behind them.

“To keep Chewie out,” he said.

“Chewie?”

“Long story. She’s a Nigerian dwarf goat.”

“I thought ranches had cows.”

“I run cattle, yes,” he said. “But Chewie is more of a pet. Well, maybe a pest. She would eat all the grass and the flowers and the trees if I let her near the house. Well, and anything else she could find.”

“And the fence stops her?”

“It’s supposed to. I’m thinking of putting up a surveillance camera. Somehow the gate gets opened far too often. Last I checked, she had hooves rather than opposable thumbs, but I wonder…”

The sight of columbines and other wildflowers surprised her. “Are you the gardener?”

“No. That’s thanks to my sister. She doesn’t visit often, but she plants, I don’t know…stuff. Annuals. Perennials. Bulbs. Seeds. Bushes. Shrubs. As if I’m supposed to know the difference? The goat is hers, and she has a horse here, too. The ranch has a couple of hands. They stay in the bunkhouse over there. Don’t worry. We’ll have our privacy. And it won’t matter how long or how hard you scream—no one will come running to save you.”

She looked up. He wasn’t smiling, and there’d been no hint of a tease in his tone. A thrill shot through her. It was as if he knew how to turn her on with only a few carefully placed words.

He opened the front door and ushered her inside.

The home was rustic, with exposed-beam ceilings, hardwood floors, hand-woven rugs and oversized leather furniture. A stone fireplace dominated the living room, and wood crisscrossed in the grate, waiting to be lit. Dozens of photographs, some in black and white, crowded the mantel.

Just that detail highlighted the differences in their priorities. She had a single picture of her parents. In the small framed picture, she was about a year old and asleep in the pack on her dad’s back. They’d been trekking Nepal at the time, if she remembered the story right.

Her condominium lacked the homey touches that his home had. Hers was impersonal enough to be a hotel room. Until now, that had never bothered her.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She followed him into the kitchen, aware of the staccato sound of her shoes on the rustic floors. “Water is fine, thank you,” she said as she placed her purse on the counter.

He poured her a glass from a pitcher stored in the stainless steel refrigerator.

She accepted it with a smile of thanks and slid onto a bar stool tucked beneath a poured concrete island. The kitchen looked like a designer’s dream, with gleaming pots hanging overhead. She rarely cooked, but she appreciated the gas range, the two ovens and miles of countertops.

“I think, Sydney, we should get a few things straight between us.” He moved in closer, standing on the other side of the island.

With her hands wrapped around the glass, she looked at him. He folded his arms across his chest. The brim of his hat, as always, cast him in shadows, making it difficult to read his expression.

“Your feedback, verbally as well as physically, matters to me, so I insist on open and honest communication. I want you to get off, and that’s more likely to happen if you’re interacting with me. I have no interest in just spanking you until you come.”

That sounded all right with her. She took a sip of water and squirmed in her seat. Because he demanded a response, she said, “I agree, Sir.”

“When I request something from you, I anticipate you will either let me know it’s problematic or you’ll do as you’re told.” He raised an eyebrow.

His firm tone brooked no refusal. She took another drink of water to soothe her suddenly dry throat. After releasing the glass, she said, “Yes, Sir.”

“In that case, strip and kneel. Hands behind your neck, head tipped back, chest thrust towards me. I promised you I’d torture your nipples.”

Chapter Three

Maybe he should have heeded Gregorio’s warning.

Michael didn’t consider himself much of a risk-taker. He weighed his decisions carefully and he liked having everything in order. Keeping the family’s ranch after his parents had passed had never been a question. Although his sister had voted in favour of selling, he hadn’t been swayed. His roots went deep into the land. The acreage was as important to him as his next breath.

Yet he couldn’t help his attraction to Sydney’s untamed streak.

Since his divorce, he’d been careful to play only with women he had met at the Den, and most times he scened with subs who wore the house’s purple wrist band and therefore had no expectations of a continuing relationship. They were professionals who knew all the protocols and expectations and could be counted on to behave perfectly.

Sydney, on the other hand, seemed focused on herself. It was all about her, not him, and definitely not about submission.

But he was honest enough to admit that he’d loved the way she’d behaved when he’d had her draped over the fence. Her responses had been real with no artifice. When he’d brought her to orgasm for the first time, he’d known he’d rather spend the evening with her than anyone else, no matter how well trained they were.

He shouldn’t see her as a challenge, but he did.

Slowly, she slid from the bar stool.

The dress hugged her curves, showing off her body. She looked so sexy it was almost a shame to have her remove the garment. Almost.

Michael stayed where he was while she pulled up the leather, revealing her skin a beautiful inch at a time.

He’d seen her naked from the waist down, so he knew her pussy had no hair. Her legs were shapely and, if luck held, her buttocks might still be pink from his belt.

But as she shimmied about, pulling the dress over her head, he took in the whole of her. She had an athletic build, not overly thin, and she had definite curves, along with a waist made for his hands. Her breasts were perfect, not too big, with nipples that were already hard.

She laid the dress over the stool then bent to remove her shoes.

“Leave them on,” he said.

“Of course, Sir.”

For a moment, she stood there and he simply looked at her. Right now, this evening, she was his.

Without being instructed again, she lowered herself to the floor and placed her hands behind her back as he’d requested.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, and he appreciated the betrayal of nerves. She projected an aura of confidence that appealed to him, but that he had some effect on her made him needy. His cock swelled, but he’d had a hard-on for the better part of two hours. He could wait a little longer.

He walked around her, knowing she was aware of the sound of his boots against the wood. To her credit, she didn’t turn to look at him. “Good,” he said. “That will help you earn an orgasm.”

“Earn, Sir?”

“Please me,” he reminded her, “and I’ll make sure you are sated.”

“That’s a tall order, Sir. I’m not sure I’ve ever been that satisfied.”

“Is that another challenge, little sub?”

“No, Sir. That would be wrong. I’m just making a comment.”

He grinned.
Yeah.
He would have been smart to have heeded Gregorio’s warning. “Cup your breasts, Sydney, and offer them to me.”

She did as instructed, drawing them together and lifting them. He crouched in front of her. “Look at me,” he told her.

Their gazes met.

Earlier, he’d noticed that her eyes were ice-blue. But he’d seen her outside—the sun had been fading, and the flickering firelight and torches had hidden the richness of the colour. He wondered if she had any idea how expressive their depths were. Now he saw anticipation there, along with a hint of trepidation. “You said your nipples are sensitive.”

“Yes, Sir. They are.”

He brushed the pads of his thumbs across the tips. She trembled.
Yeah
. If
that
gentle a touch caused that reaction, then nipple play would bring them both endless delights. “I want you to stay as you are, even if you’re tempted to move. Understand?”

She nodded.

“And your slow word?”

“
Tur-tle
,” she said, breaking the word into two distinct syllables. “Sir,” she added.

“That will get you an orgasm denial.”

“Not a punishment?” She scowled.

“That is punishment for you. I think you’d like another spanking, and you’ll get one. But I’m betting that keeping you on the edge and making you practise patience would really be torment.”