I suspected that email I received just after starting the session with the Communications Department was from Charlie. I felt the vibration but couldn't do a damn thing about it. By the time lunch break rolls around, my phone feels like a hot skillet in my pocket.
TO: Edward Cullen
FROM: Charles Swan
DATE: February 6, 2012, 8:35 a.m.
SUBJECT: Re: Vacation Plans
Thank you for forwarding me your itinerary. No offense intended. As the CEO of an international conglomerate, I have to take certain precautions on behalf of my family. I’m sure you understand—you are nothing if not reasonable.
I would be happy to meet with you on Thursday. Should we make it lunch or would that set off alarm bells with Bella?
Rest assured, I can keep a secret from the women in my life.
Chief Executive Officer, Swan Enterprises
So, there it is. Our secret meeting, set in stone.
Crap, he’s going to make me sweat it out until Thursday. I wonder if he knows.
Of course he knows. What else would I be talking to him about regarding our vacation—to ask advice about traveler’s cheques and international calling plans?
It’s just as well our meeting isn't today. I’m not prepared to face him yet.
I've never been more sure of anything in my life than the fact that Isabella and I belong together now and into our foreseeable kinky future, but when I view our relationship through the lens of an outsider—her father, no less—I get a huge pit in my stomach.
We've been dating all of six weeks. Yes, and in that time, we have spent nearly every non-working hour, including our commute, together. Not just dating, but living together 24/7. And not just living together as roommates and lovers, but actually talking to each other, hearing each other, learning each other. Not just superficial things like favorite movies, but hopes and dreams and how we want to improve ourselves and what’s broken in the world that each of us wants to fix.
The sex is heady! Yes, there is the sex—our singular compatibility that literally gets better every single day. I am not going to deny it, sex is important to me; it’s important that it’s equally important to my potential mate. With Isabella, I don’t doubt it for a second. If my logical thinking has been hijacked by perfectly gratifying sex, so be it, and may it be thus forever more.
Charlie won’t ask about the sex, but he knows. He knows what a father needs to know—that his daughter will be well loved, worshiped, and challenged. I can easily promise the man as much.
He likes me well enough, I think, but I suppose I’ll find out on Thursday.
As I said, fuck
TO: Charles Swan
FROM: Edward Cullen
DATE: February 6, 2012, 12:08 p.m.
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Vacation Plans
No offense taken! Please know, I will take the utmost care with your daughter on our trip.
I’m afraid I’m not quite as adept at managing secrets as you, and the two of us sharing lunch without Isabella would not fail to arouse suspicion. Could we possibly meet some time that morning? I don’t do training on Thursdays so my schedule is entirely flexible.
Thank you again for your discretion,
I read the thing over three more times before pressing send, and I nearly spill off my chair several seconds later when my phone buzzes in my hand. Jumpy much? I shake my head at myself when I see that it’s Isabella.
E- You sure you’re gonna be okay on your own tonight? We could always grab a bite before I go shopping.
Nah, I’ll stop by Smiler’s and give Abdul a thrill. You go. Have fun. I’ll just sit home and daydream about you in sexy dominatrix outfits.
LOL- in the dark?
Huh? No. Why?
Sorry, Mom used to say that whenever I’d tell her I was going out to do something fun. ‘I’ll just sit home in the dark.’
No guilt trip here. You better be good and ready for me by the time you get home. You've given me some potent fantasy material!
Just what you needed! Favorite color?
On you…I’d have to say dark blue. Red always works too.
Got it. How was your seminar this morning?
Fine. It’ll be a good group. How’s your yogurt?
Exciting as ever! Jeez, we sound like an old married couple.
Once again, I stare at my Blackberry as if it might bite me in the hand. Deflect!
This convo has definitely deteriorated- from corsets to yogurt…no thank you.
Gotta run anyhow. See you home around 8?
I’ll be there. Maybe you should just leave off your panties when you get dressed again.
Oh, very classy.
You can always count on me. Want anything from Smiler’s?
No thx. I’ll grab something from a cart.
Hot dog, Miss Swan?
Before I go to try on G-strings? I THINK NOT!
Stop torturing me. I have to stand at the front of a crowded room and I left my steel boxers at home.
Now who’s getting whom hot and bothered?
Fine. I call truce.
Goodbye, sweet boyfriend. Enjoy your chicken and mashed potatoes.
Goodbye, sweet temptress. Enjoy your corset shopping.
OH- One more thing- I posted my journal entry. Enjoy!
YOU TORMENT ME SO!
DENIED/Journal Entry ThirteenFebruary 6, 2012
Master's assignment: Reality v. Fantasy, …Write it or live it?
I won’t/can’t deny that my body was achy, and not just from the free weights upstairs. But it was a good ache, like when you’re on a diet and your stomach is empty and it hurts, but it’s a purposeful hurt. I guess in a sense, it’s really the same thing, the hunger. A hunger created by you, Master.
Have you ever fasted? I just realized that’s a silly question for you. Going one hour without sweet potato fries would be a fast in your book! I’ve done cleanses where I’ve taken in nothing but green tea for twenty-four hours and once you know you’re not going to eat anything, it sets you free in a way. The physical ache is present, but it becomes a dull sensation, not an urgency.
Oh, but now I’m wondering if you’d keep me guessing. Would I be kept on edge, wondering if I’d be denied after all? Because that would be “diabolical,” as you like to say, Master. THAT would be really, really challenging.
I know better than to believe that a brief foray into teasing and denial bears any relation to the reality of what you could do to me in a full-blown scene. My boyfriend won’t always be available or able to rescue me from sexual frustration as he did last night. I don’t know how long you’d make me go—or how long I could go without begging, and I’m pretty sure begging wouldn’t help me!—but I’d still be down for that experience with you.
I love aching for you, Master.
“Valentine’s Day purchases?” the girl at the counter asks as I hand over my stack of goodies.
Nope. Gonna tie up my boyfriend and make him squeal with pleasure.
“Mmhmm.” I smile sweetly.
When I don’t answer, she quickly adds, “Or girl.”
Poor thing. It’s probably a bad day for a sex shop worker who makes a faux-pas like that. I’m sure it’s page two of the employee handbook. I don’t have the heart to leave her squirming. “Guy,” I affirm.
“I love this color,” she coos, flipping my midnight blue corset and matching g-string onto the soft tissue. “I bet it looks great with your skin tone.”
I’m bouncing on my toes by the time she finishes setting the final sticker in place. I realize she gets paid by the hour and presentation is key—hell, I make a living on presentation—but right now, I am dying to get home to my man. I might have grabbed the handles a bit too hastily as she passes the large shopping bag around the counter to me.
“Thank you,” I sing, rushing through the door and nabbing the first available taxi. Safely inside, I check my phone and giggle through the series of texts he sent while I was at the register:
I send him a digital wink in response, not the ETA I’m sure he’s expecting. It’s a small thing to keep from him, but I have precious few opportunities to keep my boyfriend guessing.
Speaking of surprises, what a rare thrill it is to have a bag filled with new lingerie. Master’s been through my belongings several times in search of something that suits his particular fancy, especially my underwear collection. While I don’t mind the lack of privacy, I do regret that on the rare occasion I’d like to wow him, there’s nothing he hasn’t already seen.
I rest my head against the seat and force myself to take a long breath. I’m beyond keyed up—not just for my return home, but for our trip. Out of the country with Edward! I couldn’t care less where he takes me, though I have to admit, my fantasies have started drifting toward a certain Hammock of Happiness. Drifting peacefully in a hammock with Edward on top of me, under me, or even next to me…yes, that all works.
“Miss? We’re here.”
“Keep it,” I tell the cabbie, forcing a ten into the Plexiglas basin.
My heels click along the marble foyer as I answer the greetings of the building staff. “Evening, Miss Swan.”
Has this elevator always moved so slowly? The ride to nineteen is torturous. My key is out and ready but when I get to the door, I notice it’s unlocked and ajar.
I push inside and close the door, setting down the shopping bag and my work bag beside me. The lights are dim and Edward is not in his usual spot on the couch, nor is he in the kitchen.
Silently, I pull off my gloves, scarf and coat; I don’t have the patience to hang anything up. I kick off my boots and flutter my toes along the carpet.
The apartment is not big, and he’s not exactly hiding, so it doesn’t take me long to locate him in the bedroom. There are three separate clusters of lit votives casting a warm glow around the room, and something soft is playing on the sound system.
A very naked Edward is lying on top of the comforter with his arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. He is looking extremely proud of himself. I realize neither of us had said a word and I am standing here gawping at his long, muscular form and mouth-watering erection.
He waits, uncharacteristically quiet.
I do the only logical thing—start removing my clothes as quickly as I can.
“Slow down, baby,” his voice cuts smoothly across the room. It’s not an order, but a gentle plea. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
I shiver and give him a quick nod. I work my fingers down the buttons of my blouse, pulling each one open and untucking the tails from my skirt. My work suit is not exactly strip tease material, but Edward seems to enjoy my white lace bra when it’s revealed. He smiles appreciatively as I slide my blouse off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I unhook my bra and lift the cups playfully, playing peek-a-boo and causing Edward to laugh out loud like a surprised child. He barely flinches when I toss my bra onto his chest.
His eyes drop expectantly to my skirt and he licks his lips in anticipation. I know he’s wondering if I did or didn’t…I lower the zipper in the back and slide the waistband down my hips. His eyes open wider as I pass the point where my bikinis would’ve rested, had I put them back on at the store. I’m happier than ever that I didn’t, and Edward is positively gleeful.
He tips his chin back and groans at the ceiling, and I swear his dick does a happy dance.
I’m at the end of my rope, my meter expired, my skin desperate for contact with his. I move quickly to the bottom of the bed, lifting one knee and then the other onto the comforter. Edward watches me carefully as I uncross his ankles and set them flat on the bed. His eyes close momentarily as my hands find his shins and begin a slow slide up his body.
Anticipating the taste of his freshly-showered body, I reach my tongue between his legs and lap at his balls. Edward hisses at the contact, and I draw my tongue higher, sliding it up his cock and tasting the salty drop at the tip. Further up his body I go, sucking his skin between my lips and leaving a wet trail up the length of his belly.
As soon as I get close enough for him to reach, his arms fly out from behind his head and he pulls me against his body. Our silence is broken by loud, sloppy kisses, lusty moans and grateful sighs.
Skin meets skin, need intensifies, our bodies settle into the familiar home of each other.
Edward rolls me smoothly onto my back, hitching my thigh up over his hip, and guides himself inside me with a soft grunt. His chest slides against mine and I delight in the feel and the heft of him. He murmurs, “I love you so much,” just before he closes his lips over mine. He never stops kissing me as he presses inside me again and again. Every inch of him seeks connection, and I have never felt as joyfully or as thoroughly joined with another human being as I do right now.
Greedy for even more, I latch my hand behind his neck and pull him in tighter. Our tongues tangle and thrust and drink in one another. He’s close now; I feel the animal instinct take over as his rhythm settles into a regular, forceful beat.
I swallow his groans and rock my hips up to grind against his pelvis. With each forceful pump his tip pounds against my G-spot with a rough tickle-tease, and the tension builds. I slide my heels to his ass and coax him deeper. More, more, more.
Edward jerks his face to the side and gasps for breath; his body stills and he lets out a strangled cry as his balls tighten and release, painting my inner walls with his stream. I know it’s irrational considering we’re attached in the most intimate way, but when he splits off from me in his moment of intense pleasure, I feel a flash of how it is to lie beside my sleeping Master and feel separated.
Sliding my hands to his back, I brush loving lines up and down while his heaving breaths slows to normal. I know the exact moment he returns to me—his lips brush my throat and his fingertips glide through my hair, trailing a thumb along the side of my face and resting it over my lips.
“Thank you,” he says, puffing soft pillows of warm air behind my ear.
Edward pulls out gently and flips to his side. He slides his hand to my breast, his beautiful eyes filled with emotion. “Don’t thank me yet,” he responds, continuing the slow glide of his palm down my stomach.
“I don’t need that.”
He ignores me and brushes his thumb across my clit. “Why not?”
I shrug. “I’m happy.”
His fingers find my opening and begin to move. “You’re gonna be happier in a minute,” he grins. I close my eyes and sigh. “Hey…look at me?” Edward-the-boyfriend is no less commanding than my Master, though his voice is a gentle question.
At close range, it almost hurts to be seen the way Edward sees me.
“Do you really want me to stop?” he asks. His fingers still on my body.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. Where is this stupid emo mood coming from? A minute ago, we were two vines growing together and now—
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Reasonable question from a reasonable person.
“I…” Shit. Tears well up in my eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”
He lifts his hand from my body and smoothes his fingers through my hair again. “Why?”
“Because everything is fine.” Now the tears have breached my eyes and I feel moisture on my cheeks.
Edward’s eyes glint but he doesn’t seem panicked. “Want to get under the covers?”
“I have to brush my teeth… the lights are on in the hallway…and I left my clothes everywhere…the candles…”
“Your teeth can handle one night of neglect and I’ll take care of the rest after I’ve got you settled. Come on, let’s get you tucked in.”
He manages the comforter and sheets beneath me like a hospital orderly trained not to jostle the frail patient. Soon, I’m warm and tucked and Edward is cupping my cheek, unwilling to let me turn my face away from him.
“Was I too presumptuous tonight?”
“God no, Edward. I was excited to be with you. It was romantic and sexy and everything felt great.”
“Okay…so when did that change?” His voice is unwavering and comforting. My sudden mood shift has me frustrated and scared, but Edward is a rock.
“It’s weird and I don’t want you to get upset with me.”
“The only thing that would upset me is you holding back from saying something.”
“Okay.” I know this. It’s the basis for our entire relationship. With a deep shuddering breath, I continue. “When you…were finishing…”
“Oh no. Did I hurt you?” The first sign of worry shakes his voice.
“No, nothing like that. It felt great, in fact. This is maybe the most selfish thing ever, and I can’t even believe I had the thought, but…”
“When you reached the end, I felt like for a few seconds, you went inside your own head and left me here alone. God, I told you it was idiotic. It sounds even worse saying it out loud.”
I love him for not saying, “I left you alone, with my dick buried inside your pussy and every part of my bare body touching every part of yours?”
Instead, he reads my eyes and he registers my pain. “Was that a familiar feeling?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “It happens sometimes when you’re sleeping.”
“While you’re collared.”
“Mostly, but not always.”
“I think I understand.”
“That your girlfriend is a whack job?”
“Hardly,” he huffs, brushing his thumb along my cheek and smiling. “That my girlfriend and my submissive need to know that I am one hundred percent present.”
“I realize it’s not rational for me to demand your attention when you’re sleeping or…dying your ‘little death.’”
He laughs. “I suppose that’s true, not that rational thoughts have all that much to do with emotions.”
“I’m not used to being so out of control emotionally.”
Edward’s eyebrows lift, then soften. “You’ve been waiting a long time to find someone who made you feel like you could safely give up control. This is going to sound funny coming from me, but sometimes, being in control is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I’m starting to get the very distinct feeling we’re not talking about me anymore. “You seem to enjoy it,” I observe.
“Did you fail to notice that I did a significant amount of missing you while you were out this evening?”
Gah! The vision of him lying here naked and ready for me, and even going to the trouble of setting up the mood…
“As a matter of fact, I did notice that.”
“And have you also noticed that I sometimes don’t exactly wait for you to wake up naturally?” He flexes his hips into my leg and I get the message.
“I guess I’m a whack job for you, too.”
“I hardly think you’re an emotional wreck when I have an orgasm.”
The candles light up his grin. “That would be a pretty bad thing for both of us. In all seriousness, Isabella, this is well within the range of normal sub drop. Remember, everything I do is designed to draw you in, make you depend on me, need me the way you need air and water.”
A sigh from deep inside me escapes to the surface. “Mission accomplished.”
“That’s good, sweetheart. That’s really good. Don’t be scared of it. I’m right here, and I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
A hefty promise it is, and from most any other man, I wouldn’t begin to trust the way I do Edward.
I climb the stairs of the YMCA on Tuesday feeling a whole lot less apprehensive than last week. No biggie if my painting sucks; there's no judgment here whatsoever. Hope seems confused as I grasp her hands in the doorway and present her with a bag of brand new watercolor paint bottles. “What’s this?”
“That’s for letting us borrow a few of the paints last week; I needed to show Bella a few techniques at home. These are brand new, by the way.”
Hope’s forehead crinkles at my misdeeds, but her smile lets me know all is forgiven. Just in case, I lean in and add, “By the way, Bella knew nothing about it.”
Hope smiles gently and says, “So you don’t want me to paint her with the same broad brush, is that what you’re saying?”
Isabella turns around and gives me a what-the-heck-are-you-doing-now? look, and I take her hand and pull her to the easels at the back of the room.
“Okay, everyone. Today we’re going to try our hands with some acrylics.”
“Enter the hairy paint whisperer,” I mumble in Isabella’s ear.
“Be good,” she nudges me, but I see the smile at the edge of her cheeks.
“First thing we’re going to do,” Hope instructs, “is get the canvas wet and slick all over.”
“Finally! Something I’m really good at!” I may have said that a little bit too loud, and Isabella covers her mouth and giggles.
“So, let’s go ahead and grab your big brush and apply some of the liquid white to the four corners and middle of your canvas.” She demonstrates on her easel and I have to say, I’m not bad at making five big blobs. Then she does this cross-hatch thing that feels a bit like using a small flogger, and I’m not too bad at that either.
“Last job is to smooth everything out with some easy horizontal and vertical lines,” Hope says, then circulates around the room.
“Not bad, Edward,” Hope praises, and Isabella looks on approvingly. My canvas looks white to me, same as every other one in the room, but if the ladies are happy, fine by me.
“Next, we’re going to add a bit of cadmium yellow to color the sky, with your two-inch brushes, those same cross-hatches…and then we’re going to give the appearance of water by dragging the color down. Go down…go down…go down…”
I hold it together pretty well for the first two, but after that, I lose it. Isabella, who has been keeping a pretty tight leash on me, covers my mouth before something really hideous comes out.
Hope turns around and watches us for a minute, and I hold up my hands in apology. She turns back to her canvas and demonstrates the next step. As soon as everyone is engaged in trying it for ourselves, Hope moves to Isabella’s easel and asks if she can talk with her after class.
“Hope, it’s not Bella; I’m the goofball. I’m sorry, I’ll behave from now on.”
Hope turns to me, smiles, and says, “Well, I appreciate that, but that’s not why I came back here. Carry on.”
I do my best to focus on swirling brushes and blending colors, but my trees come out looking like frayed shoelaces and my lake looks like a sewage dump. Isabella, of course, finds something complimentary to say, but hers is so much better than mine it’s hard to believe we attended the same class.
Finally, our time is up, and my anxiety level is mounting as Hope comes back and pulls up a stool next to Isabella. I’m worried I’ve gotten us expelled, and that would make Isabella sad.
“Should I leave the two of you alone?” I ask.
“That’s up to Bella.”
Isabella eyes me carefully, and I know I’ve just received the you-better-behave-yourself look. “I’d like Edward to stay.”
Hope smiles. “I had a feeling.” Turning back to Isabella, she says, “I wanted to talk to you about helping me with my art therapy class.”
Isabella’s eyes instantly click to mine. “What?” There’s a relieved laugh at the end of her question.
Hope places her hand on Isabella’s knee. “I believe you have a gift, and I’d like to have you as my teaching assistant. I work with children with behavioral issues two evenings a week. Now I know it’s asking a lot, but even one day would be a big help…and there’s a budget for the position. We can train you, as well.”
Isabella’s hand flies to her heart and I can tell she’s a bit choked up. “Hope, I’m no artist. I was just copying you.”
Hope waves her hand toward the canvas as if it weren’t there. “Your painting is certainly good enough, but that’s not the issue; I’m talking about your patience and acceptance and your good humor.”
Holy shit. I’m the behavior problem she’s seen Isabella handle! The realization dawns on my girlfriend at the same time, and we both bust out laughing, which only proves Hope’s point.
I can’t help donating my two cents. “I should probably be offended, but I have to say, I think you’re right on target, Hope—not that you asked the naughty boy in the back row for his opinion.”
“Please don’t be offended, Edward. You two obviously have a lovely relationship and you know how to have a good time together. The class clown is usually someone who feels out of his element; I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m happy you feel comfortable enough to let loose in here. I couldn’t help noticing last week as well that you really bring out the best in each other.”
I look at my sad little painting. If she thinks that’s my best, she doesn’t think much of me as a man. Before I can protest, Hope taps my knee and says, “Not that, Edward.” While I sit there looking perplexed, she puts two hands over her heart. “This. Where it counts.”
Hope turns back to Isabella. “Will you promise me you’ll at least think about it?”
“I’m honored you asked me. Thanks, I’ll absolutely give it some thought.”
“Okay…here we go.” Master finishes lining up his “toys” on the coffee table—feather, crop, vibrator, and butterfly—leaving me to draw the conclusion that today’s session is going to be one major denial-palooza. “Just because I didn’t set my hands and my cock on the table doesn’t mean I won’t be using them as well.”
From my vantage point on the floor, I let out a loud sigh, and he must catch the note of misery in my voice. This could be…rough.
He teases his finger under the chain around my waist, his new favorite accessory. “You put a question in my mind: do I feel abandoned when you are having an orgasm? Today, we’re going to explore that.”
He smiles at me as understanding dawns. “Yes, we’re going to explore that…” he says, pointing to the feather, “over,” pointing to the crop, “and over,” and the two vibes, “and over and over.” He wriggles his fingers, “And we’ll explore again,” and finally he palms his cock, “and again.”
I feel like I might faint.
“When we’re done here, I’ll let you know the answer.”
I couldn't move a muscle if I tried; Master has chosen to bind me tightly with heavy crimson rope today, and I’m naked and butterflied on my back. Master tickles the feather over my open thighs and I already feel the shivers gathering. He kneels down by my head and advises me that it won’t be to my advantage to hold back. Then he brushes me again while telling me how pretty I look all open for him and bound tight, and I feel my first orgasm flutter like the soft wings of a butterfly beating across my clit. When I open my eyes, he’s smiling at me. “I think I’m okay so far,” he says. “How about you?”
“Yes, Master, thank you.”
He gives me just a few minutes to recover before starting soft taps with the crop up my legs. “This one might be the hardest for you—close your eyes, you can do this.” He’s changing it up, sliding, tapping, dragging, teasing, smacking, surprising, and finally, demanding. “Come for me, Isabella,” he orders, and it takes me a few more strokes, but I feel the wave start to tug me under. He switches me harder, I lean into the sting, hear my breathing pick up, beg for him to strike me again, and finally I succumb. This orgasm is quick but the clenching and unclenching are much more intense, even though he moves away the crop once I start.
Master kisses me while I lie there like a soft noodle. “I’m still okay!” he reports gleefully. “You?”
“Me too, Master.”
“Time for the big guns,” Master says, opening his pants and revealing my favorite toy for round three.
Master lifts my open knees and rocks me so he can push inside. He watches me carefully as he thrusts in and out, angling himself so he reaches deep within. He grinds into my body at the end of each stroke, putting pressure on the outside while stimulating the place I need inside. His strokes are deliberate and slow, and he asks me if I need his fingers. Feeling the building tension, I answer no and take great joy in his pride. I weave my need around my Master’s, feel his pleasure as my own, visualize my insides squeezing him, and when he loses himself in me, I feel the familiar rush, too. This time, I feel like I go with him and instead of feeling that loss, I feel exhilaration.
“I did lose you for a second there, Isabella, but I think that was my orgasm, not yours, so we won’t count that.”
I’m hearing his words through a thick haze and doing the best I can. Master smiles and pulls out, kissing me and telling me he’s almost through with his experiment. I vaguely feel something applied to my body, and then the sensations begin. At first, it’s so light I can hardly tell there’s anything there, and I wonder if I’m too numb to feel anything else.
I’m about to alert Master to my situation when the vibrations get deeper, and I can definitely feel. To be exact, I feel like every erotic nerve ending in my body has been extracted and bound into a tight ball which is now being stimulated by a relentless energy stream. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster with the juice turned on. It’s a terrifying thrill. Some ungodly noise comes out of my mouth and Master is in my face, the sensations dialed back.
“Isabella, what color are you?”
“Oh god, I’m floating…”
“Look at me, sweetheart. I need a color of the stoplight.”
“I’m bright, bright green, Master. Please, finish me off.”
The buzzing starts up again and grows more intense, and the only thing I can move is my head. My eyes can’t focus, really, but I catch Master’s eyes…watching me…pleasuring me until the humming has reached my bones. “OH GOD,” my head is thrashing, “MORE MORE MORE PLEASE GOD MORE!”
Master’s warm hand closes over the ball of energy and at his touch, I shatter into a thousand pieces.
The vibrations die down. The ropes are loosened. Soft hands touch my skin. Lips skate over my face.
“I didn’t lose you for a second,” Master says.