Over the Line (10 page)

“Last one.”

She tightened her cheeks, expecting it to blaze. She waited and waited. But it didn’t come. Finally, it dawned on her. He was waiting.

With great determination, she loosened her muscles. Only then did he lay the brush to her.

She sucked a breath through her teeth.

“Now your ass is a pretty shade of pink.”

“It matches my pussy then, Sir.”

“So it does.” He helped her stand and turn around. “Cool shower or a warm one?”

“One without bristles,” she said, dubiously eyeing the brush.

“Shouldn’t have said that. I may keep one in every room.”

She considered a snappy comeback then thought better of it. Her rear felt hot. She wouldn’t survive another beating. And she wouldn’t put it past him to give her one.

He moved across the bathroom to turn on the shower. After checking the temperature twice, he looked at her calculatingly before lowering the adjustable showerhead. “Your shower, madame. Feel free to use anything in there.”

“This is luxurious,” she said stepped into the oversized glass enclosure. At her condo, the fixture was small and attached to the wall above the tile. She spent most of her time moving around beneath the pelting water, trying to rinse off soap or shampoo, and getting a chill wherever the uneven spray wasn’t hitting.

“Can I scrub your back?” he offered.

“Hell, no,” she muttered.

“I didn’t quite hear you.”

That had been her intention. “I said this is perfect as it is, Sir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Steam billowed in the stall. She watched him move around the bathroom, clearly comfortable with his nakedness.

“Washcloth?”

“Yes, please.”

He handed one in, along with a fresh bar of soap.

“I figured you’d want something unscented.”

“Thanks.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever been in the same bathroom with a man before. When she and Lewis had cohabitated, she’d taken over the guest bathroom. But this man, apparently, didn’t believe in giving or expecting privacy. The thought unnerved her. She’d do well to leave as early as possible in the morning.

He draped a towel over the top of the glass door. Did he think of everything?

When he left the bathroom, she sighed and hurriedly washed herself. She was grateful he’d given her this bar. It was bad enough that she’d be sleeping next to him, inhaling his masculine scent. If she used his soap, at least a hint would remain on her skin even after they parted. And the last thing she needed was to be going out of her mind with reminders of him.

She used his shampoo and wished he had conditioner. The outdoor spanking followed by him wrapping his hand in her hair had made a mess of her locks. It would take days to detangle it all.

After reluctantly turning off the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel. He’d left an unopened toothbrush on the counter. It was scary what an exceptional host he was.

In the bedroom, he’d put away the toy box, arranged the pillows and pulled up a blanket. And he was still distractingly naked. As he drew the blinds he told her, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Do you have a T-shirt I can borrow, Sir?” Anything of his would swallow her, and she liked that idea.

“You won’t need one. I’ll keep you warm.”

“I don’t like to sleep nude.”

“Because?”

“I was in a hotel in Belize that was evacuated in the middle of the night, so I’ve learnt to wear something to bed.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“So, can I borrow a T-shirt?”

“No. But I’m willing to compromise. I’ll get you a T-shirt, and you can hang it on the bedpost. If you wake up cold or if we have a fire, it will be right there.”

She sighed. “There’s no dissuading you when you’ve made a decision, is there?”

“If you wanted to be with a man you could push around, you wouldn’t have come home with me.”

“That’s a warped kind of logic, Sir.”

“Regardless, I’m right.” Without another word, he headed into the bathroom.

 She watched him go. She couldn’t remember having been around a man so confounding, frustrating…and, damn it, intriguing.

He left the door open, and she heard water running. No. He definitely didn’t believe in privacy. But after all they’d already shared, what was left?

She used the towel to squeeze excess water from her hair then finger-combed the strands the best she could. There was a brush in the console of her car, along with a bag filled with extra clothes, a pair of hiking boots and some toiletries. She’d been known to take impromptu trips, and once, while she’d been walking across a river in Wyoming, she’d slipped off a rock and fallen in the icy water. Having extra clothes and shoes had been a lifesaver.

Sudden silence filled the house, meaning he’d turned off the shower. Now she really couldn’t make an escape, not that she’d really wanted to in the dark, with only a leather dress and high heels to slip into.

Less than thirty seconds later, he entered the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, making it look darker, and a few drops of water clung to his chest.

How was it possible that he’d satisfied her so completely and she was ravenous again?

“Drop it,” he said, nodding towards her towel. “Please,” he added, disarming her. He smiled.

Damn him
. She was lost. She might have protested his command, but his smile was impossible to resist.

“You’ll be lucky if I ever let you wear clothes again,” he said when the material landed on the floor.

He snatched it up and carried it into the closet. When he returned, he’d discarded his towel as well. He held a black T-shirt, which he hung on the bedpost as promised. “Which side do you want?” he asked.

“The one closest to the door.”

“Of course,” he said. He climbed into bed and said, “Come here.”

She hadn’t spent the night with anyone since Lewis.

“I bite,” he promised.

“It’s a deal.” He
did
know her. If he could make her smile, he would win.

She climbed into bed next to him. “I don’t snuggle,” she warned him, hugging the edge of the mattress.

“
Didn’t,”
he corrected, dragging her back against him and holding her tight. “You didn’t snuggle. Now you do.”

Master Michael was hard and unyielding, complex, yet transparent. He didn’t play games. He was blunt about what he expected. It seemed he was willing to negotiate and soothe her if it made sense, but if he believed she was being unreasonable, he’d state his case and wait for her capitulation.

In his arms, she felt safe and protected. That thought made her stiffen her body. She had been on her own since she was young, and she didn’t need to lean on anyone.

“Stop your struggle, little sub.”

He moved so that he could position his semi-erect cock between her buttocks. His thighs were against the backs of her legs, and he held her tight.

It had been a hell of a night.

A coyote howled in the distance. She knew she’d never feel at ease, let alone actually sleep, but, shocking her, the next thing she knew, the watery light of predawn was filtering through the slats in the window blinds.

She hated to admit that he’d been right. He’d kept her warm all night. Needing a few minutes to herself to sort through her turbulent emotions, she eased herself away from him.

“Sub,” he mumbled. “Stay.”

“I’m not leaving,” she promised with a whisper. Unable to help herself, she turned and eased a curled lock of light brown hair back from his forehead. Last night, she hadn’t had time to really look at him.

He appeared so different in the daylight, and in sleep. His brow was relaxed. She noticed the rough planes and angles. His skin was dark from the Colorado sun, but the tiny lines grooved next to his eyes were less pronounced. His lips were slightly parted.

A jolt went through her when she remembered what he’d done to her with that mouth last night. That thought was quickly followed by the realisation he’d exerted a dominant power over her that no one else ever had.

Restless, she climbed from the bed.

She reached for the T-shirt hanging from the bedpost then saw his discarded long-sleeved shirt on the floor. She picked that up instead.

At the doorway, she paused, glancing back at him. She thought he might have one eye open slightly then decided that wasn’t case. If he had been aware she was leaving the bed, she doubted he’d have let her go.

So as not to disturb him, she tiptoed down the stairs. Sydney exercised every day, yet her muscles ached. He’d kept her in odd positions for hours. But she didn’t regret it.

Downstairs, she used the small powder room. In the mirror she noticed a few serious-looking stripes on the backs of her thighs. She traced one with her fingertip. He had, no doubt, given her what she’d asked for. Generally, the morning after she resumed her normal life. The night before was almost never worth replaying in her head.

But this…

She made her way to the kitchen, passing her shoes that had somehow ended up near opposite walls. Her dress was draped over a chair back, but she had no recollection of having taken that much care with it. Had he?

Her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

In the kitchen she found the coffee pot and a pound of ground beans. She grabbed the bag, surprised to note the addition of chicory. Though she’d had it in a café au lait at a small place near the Mississippi river when she’d visited New Orleans, she’d never seen anyone out West drink it. But it suited him. It was an acquired taste, softening a dark roast, but adding a hint of chocolate flavour. As she tried to figure out how much to shake into the basket filter, she wondered how many more surprises he had in store for her.

She watched the brewer spit into the pot and wished he had a single-serve unit like she had at home. Since she didn’t have the patience to watch it hiss and splat, she rooted through the cabinets until she found a cup she could carry outside. Then, tired of waiting, she pulled out the carafe and filled her cup.

Now she knew why it was usually served mixed with half a cup of steamed milk. She found a half-gallon bottle of unopened milk in his refrigerator. There wasn’t a single container of anything with hazelnut or vanilla like she preferred. She prised the lid off the glass bottle and almost swooned at the sight of the pure cream on the top. For a moment—well, less than a moment—she debated saving the treasure for him. But then she greedily poured it into her cup. She hadn’t seen something like that since she’d been overseas as a child. Ranch living clearly had some advantages.

Fortified with her coffee, she slipped into her shoes and headed for the front door. The morning sunlight blazed down, unobstructed by a single cloud. She saw the land in a way she’d missed last night. Off to the left were several buildings. One looked like a barn, but others she didn’t recognise. A corral was in the distance, though she didn’t see any horses.

In front of her, a vista swept out to distant mountain peaks, some over twelve thousand feet tall, a few soaring higher than thirteen thousand feet.

She called the picturesque town of Evergreen home and had travelled all of her life, but this sight took her breath away as nothing else had. The adventurer in her wanted to explore. A walk would definitely be good for her unsettled mind.

She made her way down the path and wondered how she hadn’t twisted an ankle last night. Without Master Michael’s assistance, she would never have made it.

She opened the gate and delicately picked her way through the dirt and gravel to her car. After taking a sip of the welcome and strong coffee, with the stolen cream, she placed her cup on the roof then opened the back door and reached in for her duffel bag.

She’d just curled her hand around the strap when she was shoved from behind, sending her sprawling across the back seat. She screamed and instantly reacted, shoving herself backwards and turning, ready to fight, either Master Michael or someone else. He’d mentioned having ranch hands, hadn’t he?

Her heart thundered.

No one was there.

Then she heard a pitiful bleat.

She looked down to see the smallest goat imaginable. It looked like a baby. A kid, or whatever young goats were called. Then she recalled Master Michael telling her it was some sort of miniature.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled. She collapsed against the side of the vehicle, trying to steady her racing heart. Embarrassed, Sydney looked around to make sure no one had witnessed her attempt at self-defence against an undersized mammal. The stilettos and man’s shirt added layers to the pile of humiliation.

The thing cocked its head to the side and bleated again. “Nice goat,” she said, pushing herself away from the car, crisis over.

It moved in again. “Uh…” It butted her hand then looked up at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

Good God. She was being imprisoned by a tiny terrorist.

She didn’t know much—strike that, she knew
nothing
—about four-footed animals. Since it wouldn’t have fitted her parents’ lifestyle, she’d never been allowed to have pets, not even a goldfish.

She tried to take a step, but it surged forward again. “Look, you little creature, back off.”

It did, but only long enough to ram her again.

At a loss, she reached out and touched its head.

It gave another bleat, but this sounded a bit different, a higher pitch.

Looking around, hoping for someone to rescue her, she scratched behind its ear. She’d seen a friend do that to an obnoxious dog once. The goat turned its head, giving her better access. Then it made a ridiculous noise, like a laugh.
Who knew it could do that?

“Shouldn’t you be in a pen or something, rather than wandering around?” It shoved its head at her again, evidently because she’d stopped petting it. Sydney wondered if things could be any more bizarre.

Not quite as intimidated, she manoeuvred until she could climb back into the vehicle. The tiny little thing tried to follow her. She was suddenly nervous again. She used one foot to gently push it down. But her shoe came loose and the thief absconded with it. “Damn it! Bring that back!”