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fingers slid easily into her, soft at first, then deeper, harder.
    “Yes, please—Finger-fuck me! Finger-fuck me like the dirty little girl I am!”
    “You are a nasty little girl. Your pussy is so hot, so wet.”
    Fingers retreated, just enough to spread her lips wide. He knew how she liked it. She loved how his palms held her hips hard down on the bed.
    His mouth was on her now, sucking and licking her juices. His tongue danced around her clit in teasing, torturing circles.
    “Please—” Nearly a wail now. Desperation rising.
    “Tell me you want it,” he said, voice muffled. Even the vibration of his lips drove her mad.
    “I want to cum, please . . . Please let me cum!”
    “Let you cum? Don’t you mean make you cum?”
    “Yes . . . Please !”
    She was so close, teetering on the brink of it, trying to hold back. Tears ran down her cheeks, she wanted it so badly.
    “Wait.”
    Fingers now massaged her clit, driving her closer to the abyss. She felt herself slipping, unable to stop.
    “ Please ! Oh, God, sir, please, please make me cum !”
    He drove his fingers hard into her again as he sucked on her clit. She was blind with pleasure so sharp and sweet it cut her in two.
    “Cum, then. Cum for me, pet.”
    Finally, finally! The blazing surrender to it, to him. The orgasm rolled over her, and over her again. And just when she thought she could go no higher, her body straining against the rope, again it came.
    She was crying, laughing. Hysterical with the release. Giddy as he unfastened the ropes and drew her to his chest.
    “That’s my good girl,” he whispered.
    This was completion. This made her whole. His arms around her, his lips on hers, gently, as he smoothed her wild hair with fingers that smelled of her musk. She nuzzled against his chest, running her tongue through the hair that curled there.
    Now, it was her turn to worship him.
    And she would do it eagerly, with desire and gratitude and a love so enormous she felt she would burst with it.
     
    He opened another six-pack of Oreos, and fed them to her, one by one.
    “No, no more,” Robyn said, turning her head from the last cookie.
    “Come on. Do it for me. I want to make sure your blood sugar doesn’t drop. You had a big afternoon.”
    She sighed like a reluctant child, then smiled dutifully and took the cookie into her mouth. She sat crunching, cross-legged and naked, on the bed.
    “What about you?” she mumbled, still chewing. “Don’t tops need aftercare, too?”
    “ You are my aftercare. Just seeing you smile like this.” He grinned. “Besides, I’m stopping at the nearest drive-thru on my way home. I’m talking super-sized combo meal. I’m starving after the workout you put me through.”
    “Me?” she squealed, rising to her knees only to fall on top of him with kittenish slaps. “You ravished me!”
    “And you loved it!”
    “Yes. I did. I did. I’m so glad you called.”
    “I’m glad my meeting got canceled. You know I wish I could spend more time with you . . . and that sweet ass of yours.”
    She giggled.
    “I gotta run.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Don’t forget to put away the rope properly. No stuffing it in your bag.”
    She nodded. He’d shown her how to weave it into a thick braid that kept it from tangling, and also made it easy to uncoil.
    “Just drop the key at the front desk. I’ll call you in a couple of hours to check on you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She tried to put the brakes on her heart, to stop the drop she felt as he said good-bye . . . and went back to his wife.

Chapter 8
    To the uneducated, being a Dominant or Master sounds like an excuse for getting your own way in a relationship. But that’s not the case at all. A true Dominant understands his or her responsibilities: to protect, to nurture, to cherish that which belongs to him. It is very much like the ancient concept of chivalry.
    —J ACK L EVINSON , The True Dominant
     
     
     
     
    M arla had taken two Valium with a glass