His by Carolyn Faulkner (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

way down that slim, white column, feeling her shiver in his arms and those impudent nipples become unbelievably even harder between his thumbs and forefingers.

And their reward was even more pain as his attentions became crueler, and he seemed to be dedicating himself to trying to pull those taut nubs completely off her breasts.

Only when he'd brought her to tears with his vicious tenderness did he move on to running his hands over her flat tummy, then down between her legs. He never got tired of the fact that he could - and did - keep her slick as an eel there, and everywhere else. One of her rules - which he kept to a minimum in general - was that she was required, during her daily shower, to keep those areas of body hair that he didn't attend to personally completely bare. Shaving her privates was usually a part of a very long, drawn out ritual that involved a very deep, excruciatingly detailed examination of said parts, but he had absolutely no interest in her underarms or her legs, except as a conduit to much more intriguing territory.

"Spread your legs wide," he murmured almost lovingly into her ear, as he gave her no choice but to comply by pressing her feet apart with one expensively shod foot.

When she was well exposed, when he could easily reach down and feel how soaking wet she was - despite her sincere reluctance - he made sure his fingers took full advantage of her, pressing up inside her from behind, then spreading out and rubbing her clit vigorously, moving back and forth relentlessly until he had her at a fever pitch, trying to grind against his hand.

Then he stopped and came around to the front of her, lowering his shorts only enough to release his impatient erection, which he rubbed against her teasingly until at last he put a hand on either flank and lifted her onto him, that thick, fleshy column spearing up inside her as she gasped and wiggled and arched and moaned. He refused to let her clamp her legs around him, draping them over his elbows, so essentially their only point of connection besides his steadying hands on her hips, was the way he completely filled his home within her, whispering, "I want you to come like this when you're ready."

Then he started to draw her a picture with his words and his actions. "If there was someone out there, someone on a ship with a spyglass, some lazy fisherman with Field and Stream binoculars," he growled as he ground himself in and out of her violently, raping her, taking her, the way he knew she wanted it, but the way that most satisfied himself when he had her like this, "just think about what he would be seeing. About the eyeful he'd be getting, seeing you bound and helpless and being fucked by the man who owns you." His voice was getting hoarser and more gravelly with every guttural stroke, but he could feel the tension building in her, how she clamped down on him as if she didn't want him to leave her even as he bullied his way back in, "The man who controls everything about your life, who decides when you come, when you get punished, when you scream - "

He could feel her letting go and pumped even faster and harder, catching up to her, so that they nearly exploded at the same time, his violent groan coming seconds after a scream that sounded like it had boiled up from her toes.

She was too far gone, too zoned out by the pleasure to even hear the soft snick as he opened a switchblade and cut down her arms, knowing that, by that time, they would be painful and she would be in need of a massage to prevent that from worsening.

From that point on, he took her outdoors as much as he could, as much to reinforce his dominance over her as to sate his own prurient desires.

The only time during the entire month that there was another soul on the island with them was one night when he invited the same man she had been exposed to the first time - the one named Daniel who looked like St. Nick - to come have dinner with them. He was flown in by her Master's pilot, and landed while Raina was still cooking dinner.

She was noticeably nervous around the man, although he seemed to be doing everything he could to put her at ease. It was an awkward situation, though. The only other man besides Master that she was ever naked in front of was her doctor, and she was a naturally modest woman.

Eventually, though, she began to relax as the men argued back and forth amiably. That seemed to be their preferred method of communication - when they weren't inspecting her intimately, she remembered with a bright blush.

Of course, nothing got by him. He stabbed her with his eyes, letting her know that he'd seen that blush. As he took another heaping spoonful of the chicken casserole she'd made that was one of his favorites, he said casually, "I never told you, Raina, why I had Daniel over that evening, did I?"

Raina lowered her eyes to the suddenly tasteless food in front of her. "No, Sir."

"Look at me."

She lifted her head and her eyes immediately.

"I had him come over and look at you because - besides the fact that he's a good friend of mine and I'm very proud to be your owner - he's an expert at various types of piercing, as well as some extremely artful tattoos."

Raina's eyes widened nervously as memories of exactly the areas she'd been forced to let him examine came to mine - her nipples and her privates. She swallowed hard. They had discussed getting her pierced - although she knew that he really didn't have to talk to her about it, as far as their relationship