To Command And Collar

He snorted. “If you are with me long, I will begin to spell Master with two M’s.” He held out his hand. “Come, chiquita. Wash me so I can get some real work done today.”

The brisk tone had her moving forward. His blunt fingers closed around hers, pulling her under the water. Warm spray soaked her pajamas, and they clung to her skin, hiding very little. He said nothing, simply handed her the soap and turned his back.

Well, okay. She worked up some foam and started. Impossibly wide shoulders, down the muscled planes of his back. Skip over his butt. His thighs were as thick as her waist, with light coarse hair. His ankles and feet solid. She stepped back-the metallic taste had disappeared from her mouth-and looked at him. There was nothing graceful about this man; he was sheer blunt power and strength.

His ass remained…and he didn’t turn around. She eyed the soap. “Um…”

“All of me, Kimberly.”

Dammit. Biting her lip, she washed his tight buttocks and between. So intimate, touching him there. “T-turn, M-master.”

His laugh echoed through the shower. “Is this going to give you a permanent stutter?” When he faced her, she could see the amusement in his eyes. Her tenseness retreated a step. At least until his erection bumped her stomach. She jerked back so quickly her feet skidded.

His firm grip on her arm held her up, but he released her as soon as she caught her balance.

“Wash my face, please,” he said gently, the command forcing her to pay attention. The understanding in his expression made tears burn in her eyes.

“Yes, Sir.” She soaped over his forehead, the hard cheekbones, and the blunt angle of his jaw. His morning stubble rasped her fingers. “Rinse, M-master.”

He stepped under the spray and back, wiped his eyes, and stood quietly as she soaped his corded neck, the steely muscles of his arm, tracing the line between biceps and triceps, his thick, powerful wrists. After washing each broad palm, she worked on his fingers, scrubbing thick calluses and short fingernails.

She soaped the soft black hair under his arms, then the inverted triangle of dark hair over his pectorals that hid flat brown nipples. His chest was a solid wall of muscle. Mesmerized, she ran her finger across the ridges of his abdomen. Damn, a real six-pack.

“I like the feeling of your hands on me,” he said softly, unsettling her so she paused to look up at him warily. “Continue.”

She averted her gaze from his groin and washed the front of his legs, his feet, and ankles. Then… Oh God, did she have to do this? But he wasn’t touching her, grabbing her, or forcing her. A shiver ran through her as he stood in place, silently waiting.

Why did he have to be…erect? She stared at the wall, frozen.

“Chiquita,” He lifted her chin. “You are learning to control your fear. In exactly the same way, an honorable man will control his lust. My body desires you, yes. Any living man would, and I’m not dead, after all.” A smile flickered over his lips. “But my body doesn’t get everything it wants, or we’d still be asleep in bed, no?”

The logic made sense. He’d rather have slept in but didn’t. He’d rather…fuck…her, but wouldn’t. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome. Now wash me so I can begin work, and you can take your own shower.”

Wash his cock. Got it. No problem. She looked down and gasped. How had she missed seeing that? “You have a piercing.”

He chuckled. “So I do.”

Oh wow. A silvery barbell with a ball on the top of his shaft went straight through to underside of the head. Straight through. “Didn’t that hurt?”

“A bit.”

Uh-huh. A bit.

He clucked his tongue. “Kimberly? You’ve been given a task.”

Right. Although her fear had eased, worry constricted her chest. His cock was almost the same color as his skin, thick and long with a slight bend to the left. She gave him a quick glance as she touched it, tensing, half-expecting him to grab her and… But he just watched her calmly with a small smile. Her soapy hand slid around his shaft, slickly up…and she brushed over the metal on the tip. Circled it with a finger, then did the one on the underside. How would those feel…inside?

“Most women like it. A few don’t,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I remove it if it’s a problem or sometimes for oral sex.” He grinned. “Stop playing.”

Realizing she was fingering the silvery piercing, she flushed. But now it wasn’t as impossible to finish, from the head, down over the thick veins, to the springy trimmed hair at the base. He opened his legs. His testicles were large and heavy. Fascinating. She’d had shower sex before, but had she ever washed a man so thoroughly? With this much attention?

When she finished, his face was flushed, and the muscles in his jaw had turned rigid. She knew that expression. Her body tensed, ready to flee.

As she took a step back, he turned and rinsed the soap from his body. When he faced her again, his smile was easy. He lifted her chin with one finger and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Thank you, gatita. Your courage pleases me.” He gave her an infectious grin, and her heart skipped a beat at how dangerously handsome he was. “Your soft hands please me as well.”

Before she could worry about his words, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off. “I left your clothing for today on the bed,” he said a second before the bathroom door closed behind him.

He picked out my clothing? Excuse me?

But she didn’t really care…not right now. She stared at the door as the hot water beat on her back. I did it. Hadn’t panicked. He’d even thanked her. She touched her tingling lips. He kissed me. It had been…nice. Not horrible at all.

She started to pull her pajamas off and stopped. What if he returned? But…he wouldn’t. She just knew that.

* * * *

Raoul pushed away from his desk. His work was caught up, and the afternoon was almost over. So far, it hadn’t been a bad day.

At breakfast, they’d gone over schedules and expectations, then gone to their various chores.

After lunch, he’d tried gentling Kimberly in the same way he would a wild animal-start at a distance and move closer, bit by bit. While he’d worked in his office, she’d sat on a floor pillow beside him, close enough he could stroke her hair.

It had taken almost an hour for her to relax. When she’d tired, he’d leaned her closer, pressing her cheek against his thigh.

He’d planned the method to increase her trust in him; what he hadn’t expected was his own peace at having her close. When her psychologist had arrived and taken Kimberly to the great room, his office had felt empty and cold.

But he’d heard Faith leave a while ago. Time for the next step. He rose and stretched, tucked his shirt neatly into his jeans, and went in search of his little slave. He found her still in the great room. Curled up on the couch, she appeared strained. The session must have been a painful one.

Maybe she’d enjoy his way of defeating stress. “Come, gatita. It’s time for something more vigorous than sitting.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She followed him silently as he walked to the front corner of the house. He opened the door and stepped into the room, then realized she wasn’t beside him. He turned.

Almost as pale as her white T-shirt, she stood frozen in the hall.

“What’s wrong, chiquita?”

She moved a step closer, stared into the weight room, and sagged against the wall. “I thought you were bringing me to a dungeon.”

“Ah.” He shook his head. Poor little slave. “I have a dungeon, yes, but it’s on the