Unrestrained (17 page)

“Are you trying to misbehave?”

“No sir.” But she smiled.

“So what you said outside. That you’ll do anything I tell you to do.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t tell you to do my dishes or make my bed.”

“No,” she admitted. When he waited, obviously expecting more of an explanation, she lifted a shoulder. “It’s like the submissives who do the bootblacking,” she said, referencing the particular segment of the D/s community who took great pride in the art of shining their Master’s boots. They could spend an astonishing amount of time discussing how to keep them in top form. “Or the one who always brings her Master his drink from the bar. The sub who folds his Mistress’s clothes precisely according to her specifications before she has him kneel before her, service her with his mouth.”

“You’re not here to be my maid or my nurse, Athena.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think they do it for that reason, either.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m telling you to keep the distinction in mind.” He nodded to the dryer. “Hang up my clothes, then come down to the yard. We’ll have lunch after you help me with the dogs. They’re raring to get out a little bit, since they’ve had to be in the kennels this morning for Rusty’s adoption.”

Using admirable muscle control and balance, he picked up the crutches and fitted them under his arms. “I liked hearing you call me Master.”

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against hers for another lingering kiss. She barely breathed, hands closed into balls against his chest in the small space between them. He hadn’t given her permission to touch him, and the order he’d just issued had switched her mind to the submissive mode, waiting for his cues and direction. Whereas so much of the past few minutes had felt wrong, precarious, now things felt right. She badly wanted to straighten her fingers, touch him, but waiting for his permission to let her do so just made the wait all the sweeter.

“There’s a lotion in my bathroom. It’s not sweet smelling like yours, but use it, since you washed my dishes. I expect my sub to keep her hands soft, and that dish soap will strip tar off paper.”

He moved past her, back out the door. She tried not to worry or hover, though after he started down the steps, she did watch him through the blinds. He managed the stairs by putting the crutches in the opposite hand, taking hold of the railing and hopping down each stair so capably she could tell he’d done it plenty of times. Just as he’d said.

When he returned with six of the dogs, she noticed how they maintained a couple-foot buffer around him, more than they did when he was walking on the prosthesis. Part of it was what he was, of course. With their enhanced faculties, animals could detect a lead alpha with little difficulty. It resonated off Dale such that even the comparatively handicapped senses of humans couldn’t miss it. Even so, the dogs’ extra attention when he was hampered by the lack of the prosthesis made her love them even more. She was going to help him find every one of them a wonderful home.

After she hung his clothes in the closet, she couldn’t help moving back to the bed and lifting his pillow to her face. She inhaled a deep scent of Dale before she adjusted sheets and cover again. Even with his bed unmade, his blanket had been folded at the end of the mattress, suggesting he slept only under a sheet. He also had the windows open. The junkyard was filled with metals and gravel surfaces that absorbed the heat of the Louisiana sun, so she expected he received more than his share of warmth from that, but he didn’t seem dependent on a controlled climate, regardless. She found an air-conditioning unit in a closet.

When she came back outside and descended the stairs, only one dog remained with him. The others probably had dispersed with the “free” command, so he could give this one his undivided attention. It was a mixed golden retriever with three legs.

“This is Perry,” he told her. “Lost his leg because somebody shot him with a BB gun. It was too infected to save when he was rescued. My hope is that karma kicks in threefold and all the shooter’s appendages rot off.”

She considered that. “Wouldn’t threefold mean he loses three limbs, not all four?”

“The rest would be a bonus,” he said. “And if he lost all of them, it would be five.”

She chuckled at that. Dale smiled in return, and she thought he looked very fine and masculine, standing there with his eyes squinted against the sun. When he reached out, touched her face, she could feel her eyes softening on him. His expression relaxed further. They were all right. She supposed they’d weathered their first fight, of sorts.

“You said you wanted my help working with the dogs?” she asked, before she embarrassed herself.

He nodded. “With Perry specifically. Ball throwing helps him keep his muscles in shape. He gets the basics of it, but he starts to gets a little distracted after two or three tosses.”

“No ADHD medications for dogs?” she asked.

He snorted. “No, with dogs we do it the old-fashioned way. Instead of using drugs, we teach them to pay attention. In SEAL training, facing a few hundred push-ups or additional boat drills in fifty-degree water if you fuck up tends to focus you. I go with a bit nicer approach with dogs, but repetition works for them as well. Anyhow, speaking of attention”—he gave her a narrow look and she tucked her tongue in her cheek—“if he doesn’t go for it, you run and grab it. Make it seem like bringing it back to me is the coolest thing ever, so he’ll start competing with you to go get it. When he brings it all the way back to me, we both make over him like crazy. Goldens thrive on approval, but his confidence has been shaken. You okay with that?” He gave her a critical look. “You look like running’s part of your workout regimen.”

His eye for detail continued to impress her, and the veiled compliment was bolstering. “Yes. And swimming. I haven’t done my workout today, so this will catch two birds in one net. Right, Perry?” She bent down and tousled his ears, and Perry laughed up at her, mouth open and eyes bright. Even so, she saw a wariness in his expression that most well-loved goldens didn’t have, evidence of the confidence problem Dale mentioned.

“Just don’t throw it over the fence, Mr. Overachiever,” she teased Dale. “I don’t scale barbed wire.”

“Don’t worry. My throwing is a bit hampered” He wiggled the crutches under his arms. “Though I can throw it far enough to enjoy the way you run after it. If you get rid of that shirt, I’ll enjoy it even more.”

She laughed, but then his expression changed, making the sound catch in her throat. He nodded. “I mean it. Take it off, Athena.”

Her blouse was a rose-colored flowing fabric that hid the fact her bra was a pale pink satin thin enough to show the shape of her nipples, especially if they were aroused. The sheer upper panels of the cups were wide enough to give him a hint of areola. When she shed the blouse, his gaze lasered in on that area. She didn’t know a straight man alive who had an attention disorder when it came to breasts.

He directed her to hang the delicate garment on a hook inside his truck, parked beneath the apartment. As she moved back toward him, he was fondling Perry’s head, but he tilted his own toward her.

“That’s right, Perry. She’s all ours. It’s a good day, isn’t it?” He put out a hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “God, I’d love to see you run without the bra, but I’m not a total sadist. Most days. You dressed up for me. The panties match?”

“Yes sir.”

He nodded. “All right, then. Let’s see if we can give Perry a good workout.”

Now familiar with the dusty gravel of the junkyard, she’d switched from heels to canvas sneakers in the car. She was glad she had, since she wouldn’t have been suitably prepared to help him otherwise.

Perry went after the first few balls enthusiastically enough. When his attention started to flag, she began to race him. Just as Dale had predicted, he embraced the competition. She had to be quick footed, because he’d even try to trip her to get to the ball first. She accused the dog of foul play, even as she laughed and dodged around him, trying to outwit his three legs with her two. Sometimes she encouraged Perry to jump at the ball, try to wrestle her for it. She was going to have to use her sticky roll in the car to de-fur her skirt, but she didn’t care.

Despite the frivolity, she never forgot the deceptively lazy regard of the man watching them. Each time she and Perry ran back to him, and she saw his attention sliding over her body like sun rays, it spiked her adrenaline.

Dale finally called for a water break. He offered her a bottle from a cooler he had next to the steps and directed Perry to a bowl under them. As Perry lapped enthusiastically, she twisted her hair up on her neck, held it there while she fanned herself with the other hand. The position necessarily tilted her upper body and when Dale turned toward her, his blue-green gaze sharpened. She realized she wasn’t the least exerted by her competition with Perry. Her body was fueled and vibrating, needy for Dale.

The object of her lust crooked a finger at her. As she came to stand before her Master, he slid his knuckle down her sternum, into the damp cleft of her breasts. “I think that will do for the day,” he said. He snapped his fingers, bringing Perry to his knee, then lobbed the ball out over the cars. “Perry,
free.
Go play.”

Perry took off, barking joyously. He was answered by dogs from various parts of the yard, so he headed off toward whatever adventures they’d found. Dale slid his touch to the small of her back, hooking his thumb in the waistband of her skirt so his fingers traced the elastic of her panties beneath.

“Turn your head away from me, Athena. Hold your hair off your neck.”

Some tendrils had escaped, so now she scraped those together, held them up against the heavier mass twisted on the back of her head. His lips pressed against her throat, making her sigh with pleasure. When his thumb slid over the satin cup of her bra, over the nipple, she rocked against him.

“What do you want, Athena?”

“Whatever my Master desires.”

“He wants to hear what you’re imagining.”

“You . . . inside of me.”

She saw that enigmatic look cross his face again. This time, she wouldn’t mistake it for the wrong thing. She met his gaze directly.

“When you look at me,” she said softly, “you could have no limbs at all. It’s not your physical strength that commands me, Master. It’s you. Please.”

His jaw flexed with emotion and arousal both, making her want to strain against his hands, show him her need. He tightened his grip at her waist, an implied command to keep her still. “Go upstairs,” he said, low. “Take off everything but the bra and panties. Kneel by the bed.”

S
he wanted to help him up the stairs, but she knew he wasn’t going to let her take care of him, at least not that way. The way he
would
let her take care of him had her mounting the stairs quickly. As she slid into the apartment, she was already unhooking her skirt. She shimmied out of it, the socks and canvas sneakers, and put them all neatly in one of the kitchen chairs. Then she moved into his bedroom and sank to her knees. She parted them and laced her fingers behind her head, keeping her eyes down. Since he’d liked the way her body had arched when she’d held her hair on her neck, she chose this position over other possible permutations of the submissive posture, like palms flat on the floor or at her sides.

She heard him coming up the stairs, one at a time. Her gaze moved to the nightstand. Going on instinct, she scrambled across the room to put the antibiotic ointment and extra stump socks into a drawer. She also moved the prosthesis into the closet and closed the door, coming back to her kneeling position just as the door opened.

When he entered the bedroom, she kept her eyes lowered, wanting to give him the chance to catch his breath and be everything he wanted to be for her. The crutches and his one leg braced themselves in front of her.

“Look what someone left me while I was away,” he murmured. “A gorgeous sex slave.”

She trembled as he slid a finger along her bare shoulder, hooking the bra strap and caressing her collarbone. “Are you wet for me, Athena?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Prove it to me.”

She slipped her fingers into her panties and rubbed them against her slick lips. Lifting her hand, she rose onto her knees, still keeping her eyes down. He clasped her wrist, making her quiver harder when he drew her fingers into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Nice, but I want you even wetter. Masturbate while I get undressed. I want to see you touch your breasts, play with your nipples. Keep your eyes on your body, not on me.”

She wanted to offer to undress him so she could feel the shape of him beneath her hands, but his tone of voice said she was expected to be silent, obedient. She vibrated with the desire to serve. She put her hand back into the panties, knowing the thin fabric and the spread of her thighs would show him the movement of her fingers over her cunt. With the other hand, she reached into her bra cup, cradled her breast, moving her fingers over the nipple as she squeezed and kneaded. Her body rocked up at the stimulation, her ass rotating against her calves as she sank back down on them again. A gasp slipped from between her lips.

“Don’t get too enthusiastic, slave. Your orgasm belongs to me.”

“Yes, Master.” From the squeak of protest and the scrape of metal, she knew he’d taken a seat in the kitchen chair. She heard the thump of his jeans as he skinned them off, tossed them to the floor. His shirt landed on top of them. He must have taken off the boxers with the jeans, because when he settled onto the bed, she had the brief impression of a bare, muscular haunch. He propped the crutches by the nightstand. Then he dropped a scrap of cloth on the ground next to her knee.

“Put that on.”

Everything inside her protested. It was a blindfold. She wanted to see him, wanted to learn every curve and plane of him by sight as well as touch. She wondered if he wanted her to wear it because of his amputation. She hesitated, putting her fingers on it.

“Please let me see you, Master.” She didn’t want to break the mood, or push him into a place he wasn’t ready to go, but she also wanted past this hurdle. She never wanted it to interfere with their time together again. She wanted to prove to him it truly didn’t matter. He was a warrior who’d lost a limb in battle, that was all.

Long moments passed. Since she assumed he was thinking it over, she let her hair down so it spilled over her shoulders, down her back. She put one arm behind her, bracing herself so she could arch up and undulate with greater flexibility against the manipulation of her fingers on her sex. Slipping her slick fingers into her mouth, she then brushed those wet fingers over a prominent nipple, pushing the bra cup back with her knuckles so he could see her do it. “Please, Master,” she breathed, hips lifting up as she dropped her hand between her legs again. “I need you inside me. Please.”

She wouldn’t look until he said it was okay, but she wanted to be immolated by the heat she was sure would be in his eyes. He was the type of Master who would be intensely turned on by begging, that whole alpha-male-testosterone thing. She was the type of sub who loved to beg, so it worked out perfectly, didn’t it?

“Come here.” The animal growl of his voice confirmed it, and she had to restrain herself to keep from scampering to the bed like a puppy, as eager to please as Perry.

He’d stretched out on the mattress, so her gaze fell on the arch of his right foot. Aware of his weighted silence, of the time he was giving her to look, she slid her attention slowly up that toned calf and then moved over to the other leg where it began, just below the knee. She knew the worst thing she could do was try to school her reaction, make it anything less than honest feeling. His left leg down to his knee looked like any other leg. Well, the leg of a man with Dale’s level of fitness. Muscled, a light sprinkling of hair.

It was paler than the other leg, but the stump probably wasn’t supposed to be overexposed to the sun, such that he took more care to protect it. She saw the scar, the seam where the skin had been lapped over the end. She also saw abrasions, several sores on the pale skin. Perhaps that was the reason he’d had the topical sitting out, and why he wasn’t wearing the prosthesis.

“May I touch you, Master?” she asked. Though his apartment was small, her voice echoed in the utter stillness that cocooned them both.

“Yes.” His voice was thick. Still her Master, still certain of himself, yet there was another note to it. This was new to him as well, which made it all the more precious to her.

She molded her fingers over his knee, slid them down to the stump. She didn’t touch the sore spots, mindful not to cause them any further irritation. Shifting onto the bed, she sank to her knees between his, which he spread further to accommodate her. She braced her hip against his right leg, rested her hand on his left knee again.

“I’m so glad that you’re alive.” She didn’t try to disguise the keen emotion in her voice, and when she lifted her gaze, she most wanted to see his face. As gorgeous as his body was, all virile male, his cock in a promising semierect state despite the emotional distraction, she needed to see what he was thinking and feeling.

He was staring at her face, so when she raised her lashes, their eyes locked. His expression held something deep, painful, powerful, but he wasn’t displeased. He was . . . maybe he didn’t even really know what he was right now. She just knew it was right, whatever emotions were weaving them together. Staying in the clasp of that brilliant, unfathomable gaze, she let her fingers drift down her sternum, to her abdomen. His gaze held hers an extra moment, then he followed her fingers to where she slid them over the outside of her panties, drawing his attention to how the panel had become soaked with her response. She caressed herself, catching her lip in her teeth at the sensation of pleasuring herself before him, at his command.

“Take off the bra.”

She obeyed, reaching behind her to unhook it. She dropped it off the side of the bed.

“Bring those gorgeous tits to my mouth. I want you to hold them while I suck on them.”

Her breath shortened at the demand. She straddled him, sitting down on his abdomen, sliding back so his stiffening cock pressed against the seam of her buttocks. She wanted to get rid of the panties, too, slide her wet folds over him, but he hadn’t ordered that yet.

He’d recognized this part of her almost instantly, and that had given her the confidence to admit she’d known it as well, though it had been unacknowledged for so long. Even so, every time he summoned it from her, she was amazed at how quickly she could be immersed in this, a need to be totally under his command, anticipating every word, every look, her body trembling and eager.

“Beautiful,” he said, and she knew he was talking about that as much as how she looked. He was absorbed in it. Every level he took a sub under his command was another level he could reach in his own desires. She marveled at the revelation, even as his gaze flicked up, giving her that rough impatience that thrilled her.

“I’m waiting, Athena.”

She grasped her breasts and leaned forward, moistening her lips as his gaze riveted on them. He gripped her hips, held her steady. Parting his lips over one nipple, he bathed her with the heat of his breath alone, no other contact, such that a measured flick of his tongue at last made her jerk violently. Her reaction became even more implosive as he kept doing it, so restrained. Her pussy wept and her nipples got harder, tighter.

“Please . . .”

He drew back, studying the strain in her face, the wildness she was sure was in her eyes. “Stay right where you are.”

He lifted onto an elbow, reached into the crack between the top of the mattress and the headboard. He came back with a knife, a six-inch blade he must have scabbarded there. “Do you trust me, Athena?”

“With anything.”

“Then don’t move.”

He slid the flat of the blade down her sternum, over her navel, then the tip of it was caressing the flesh above the waistband of her panties. When he reached her hip, he hooked the elastic. The panties parted, the steel cutting through the mesh effortlessly. He ran the blade over the top of her thigh, then moved to her opposite hip, doing it to the other side.

“Arch your back. I want those breasts on display.”

She obeyed, taking a firmer grip on the curves, lifting them so the nipples tilted up at a more provocative angle.

“That’s my girl.” He pulled the panties free and set them aside, along with the knife. She glanced at them on the nightstand, the military-grade knife with its heavy black handle and guard, the thin swatch of her ruined panties draped over it, then her gaze was back on her Master.

He turned his hand over, sliding it beneath her so he cupped her pussy fully. She lifted up into that cradle, pressing her lips together as his fingers spread over the base of her buttocks and his thumb stroked her clit, sliding down to part her labia, tease inside those sensitive walls. Then he used the pressure of his palm to make her stand on her knees. The wet tip of his cock slid down the seam of her buttocks, then between her legs, to lie straight and stiff along his belly beneath her.

He withdrew his hand. “Bring your breasts back to my mouth. I want you to rub yourself against my cock like you’re trying to make yourself come. Tell me when you’re close, but you won’t come.”

“No, Master. Not without your permission.”

“Damn straight.”

She closed her eyes, loving that possessive growl.

“No more talking. Your only focus is my commands.”

She leaned down, anticipating his mouth once more. As she did, her clit came against the hard shaft for the first time. It made her internal muscles convulse, milking out more slick fluid to ensure the slide along his length was more pleasurably excruciating. He tortured her the same sensual way as before, teasing her nipple with his breath, then the flick of the tongue, here then gone, followed by a slow lick around the areola. His hands landed back on her hips, their strength aiding her as she slid herself down his length, keeping her back elongated and arched so he had full access to her breasts.

Her pussy pressed against the heavy weight of his testicles, then she was sliding back up again, all the way to the friction of his ridged head. She wanted to keep going, wanted to close over him and sink down, let him penetrate her to the root, but that wasn’t what he had commanded.

She cried out as he closed his mouth over her right nipple. It increased the pressure of her grip on her breasts, such that the peaks became even more sensitive, especially the one in the hot cavern of his mouth. When he began to suckle, her hips moved more frenetically against him. He gripped her buttock with the other hand, working her over his cock, not letting her hold back in the least. Her response built hotter, faster. He switched to the other breast, tormenting them equally.

The man definitely knew how to walk and chew gum at the same time. And probably juggle and figure out the theory of relativity. He worked her hard and fast against his cock, then directed her to make slow, sweeping circles over him, her ass rubbing against his upper thighs. Throughout all that, he never stopped suckling, licking, biting at her nipples and breasts. She was rocking on him, moaning, pleading in incoherent little noises. Her body vibrated, coiled . . .

“Master . . . I’m too close . . .”

He clamped both hands on her waist and lifted her, shifting them so quickly and with such impressive strength her breath caught for a whole different reason. He’d lifted himself to a seated position on the side of the bed, and she was face down over his lap, the hinge between her thighs and hips hooked over the thigh of his half leg, her upper body draped over the other leg. One of her hands caught his calf, the fingertips of the other sweeping the floor. Those fingers convulsed as he spanked her hard, the sting and the power of her near climax making her writhe and gasp. His cock was a tempting steel bar against her stomach.

He rubbed firm circles over her abused flesh as he squeezed a breast with the other hand, fondling the nipple where it pressed against the side of his leg. “Who do you belong to, Athena?”

“You.”

“And when you climax, who orders that?”

“You do, Master.”

“Only when I command it.”

“Yes sir.” Oh, but she was hurting for it, and him holding it out of reach only made the need worse.

“Spread your legs wider,” he said brusquely. “You hold still. No wiggling.”

When she complied, he started spanking her again, only now he alternated between her ass and short swats of her wet pussy. Trying not to move was utter torture. She felt like an explosive device, the pressure to detonate unbearable.