She nearly came out of her skin as he touched her arsehole, pushing in, rimming it gently. “Oh, my god.”
“No, love. Just your Master, and I will have this from you. I’m going to fuck you right here when you’re ready. You’ll wear a plug to sleep tonight. I’ll have you ready for me in a few days.”
She felt herself clench down.
He slapped at her sensitive skin. “Don’t you keep me out. You let me in. I told you not to stop. Do you need another spanking, love? I can do this all night long or you can ride my cock and take your orgasm.”
He would do it. He would haul her off him and spank her again and begin the process over and over until he got what he wanted. With a low moan, she forced her hips up. As she sank back on his cock, she was forced to take his finger as well.
It didn’t hurt, merely felt foreign. A jangled pressure warred with the pleasure in her pussy.
She could handle it. She fucked him, taking cock and finger, forcing them deeper inside her until she couldn’t stand it a second longer and her muscles tensed and flooded with orgasm. Her arsehole was clenching over and over, now trying to keep him in. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, and she was suffused with sensation. She rode the orgasm out, working her hips until he finally joined her.
His pelvis tilted up, and she felt the hot wash of his come as he flooded her. His head fell back and his finger slipped out of her, but he held her with his other hand, caressing her back and bringing her close to him.
She’d just screwed her partner in front of a crowd and she didn’t give a damn. It had been good and right, and anyone who thought differently was just wrong. She let her hands slip around his neck as she rested on him, their breaths mingling.
After a while, he kissed her and gently moved her off him. “Sorry, love. We both need to clean up and then I want to watch the fire play scene with you. They should be setting up now. Do you want a glass of wine? We’re not going to play anymore so you can drink, though don’t think I’m done fucking you yet.”
She stretched. “Should I get someone to relace the corset?” The idea of getting back into it wasn’t pleasant.
He stared at her. “No. You’re fine the way you are. I could get a leash for your collar if you need something more.”
Sarcastic brute. “I think I’m fine, Damon.”
“Go to the dressing room and clean up. Meet me back here directly. I’ll have some drinks and snacks for us, and we’ll spend the rest of the evening watching.”
She walked into the dressing room, visions of sitting in her Master’s lap while he fed her playing through her head. She headed to the shower and turned it on, hearing a telly playing in the background. There was a salon of sorts in one part of the dressing room where subs met and mingled before going out to the dungeon floor.
She washed off quickly, thinking about how little time she had left. The cruise would only take twelve days, but everything would be over the minute they caught the man they were trying to find. It could all end abruptly. Damon would be on the next private plane to London, and she might find herself alone.
And then she would have to decide what to do with the rest of her life. She only knew one thing. If Damon couldn’t be brave enough to be with her, she wouldn’t lie down and die. She wouldn’t run away. She would smile at him and make him watch as she found her life. She knew what she wanted now. She wanted it all and she prayed she had it with Damon, but if he wouldn’t, she would be in this club, at the job, dating, searching for the right man.
She dried off, trying to shove aside the morbid thoughts. She had to go and meet her Master, and she had to do it without a stitch on. She started toward the exit when she heard sniffling.
Chelsea was sitting in the salon, staring at something on the telly, but it was obvious she wasn’t watching it. She’d showered and changed and looked utterly miserable.
“Do you want me to get Charlotte?” Penny asked quietly.
Chelsea started a bit and turned, then laughed even though there were tears running down her cheeks. She brushed them away. “No, I don’t want to interrupt her evening any more than I already have. I should have safe worded out, but it seemed like a wuss thing to do. I guess calling out for big sis isn’t much better though. Well, it didn’t take long for you to get naked.”
She held the towel up, not wanting to offend her. “Sorry.”
Chelsea waved it off. “Don’t be. It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me. I’m glad Damon’s treating you well, but if that changes, you should know I came up with a plan to make his life a living hell. I wrote an algorithm that will upload orders to every takeout place in a two-mile radius in his name. He’ll be answering the door and explaining himself every thirty minutes for at least twenty-four hours.”
“That’s terrible.” Chelsea seemed to spend most her time planning methods of destruction.
Chelsea shook her head. “No. It’s actually a hobby of mine. I like to code, and manipulating the Internet to ruin lives is just plain fun. I’m fine, Pen. Really. I’m just in subdrop. I’ll be cool.”
Subdrop. It was what some people in the lifestyle called coming out of subspace. Some subs took it harder than others. She’d watched how other Doms handled bringing their subs back to the real world. They cuddled them and talked, making the transition easier on both of them, but Chelsea wouldn’t allow Simon to take care of her.
“Is it always this bad?”
“No.” Chelsea took a long breath. “Not at all. Honestly, I don’t sub out. Not really. I kind of thought it was a myth. I relax, but I don’t just go somewhere else. Naturally Simon is the one who does it for me.”
“Why don’t you give him a chance?” It was obvious she was in love with the man.
Chelsea’s face tightened with obvious pain. “Look at him, Penny. He’s a Greek god and British aristocrat all rolled up in one hot Dom package. He’s actually in line for the damn throne. Oh, there are a whole bunch of people in front of him, but his family is connected in ways I can’t even understand. My father was a criminal. Hell, I’m a criminal according to a whole bunch of intelligence agencies.”
“I don’t think he cares about that.” Though his father was the Duke of Norsley, Simon had never put on airs. He spent more time with his oil baron Texas cousins than with the aristocracy from what Penny had been able to tell.
Chelsea simply shook her head and laughed bitterly. “Do you know what he’s doing on the boat? What his cover is? He’s the dancing instructor. Because the bastard knows how to waltz and tango. I’m not joking. The thought of that man being with me is utterly ridiculous. I can’t even walk straight. For god’s sake, I’m a virgin.”
She was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin? “Chelsea…”
“I know. It’s pathetic. I’m sorry. I blame the stupid subdrop. I didn’t mean to wreck your evening. I had a crappy childhood. I never got to go to junior high dances and cry in the bathroom, so I’m making up for lost time.” She sighed and gestured to the telly. “At least my house didn’t burn down. Someone’s having a worse day than me. Apparently that town house blew up or something.”
Penny glanced up, ready to open a discussion with Chelsea because it was stupid to think she wasn’t good enough for Simon. She was going to give her the lecture of a lifetime, but something caught her eye.
Right there on the screen, a newswoman was speaking into a microphone as she stood outside what looked to be the smoldering remains of a town house. It seemed to have been gutted by the blaze, but the porch was still there. A firefighter walked from the front door in full gear. He stepped out on the stone porch she knew so well. The stone pots had been left behind. Likely Damon had thought they were part of the house, so he hadn’t packed them up when he’d moved her from her mum’s home. Penelope remembered the day her father had brought them home. Two large planters with lion’s head designs on the front. Her mother had laughed, saying they were atrocious, but they’d sat there on either side of the door for twenty years.