Frisky Business by Michele Bardsley Read Free Book Online Page B

dark hair covered his pectorals, arrowing down his six-pack abs to his pants.
    “Finally, you deprived me of your striptease. I very much wanted to see you slid out of that dress. I wanted to see you reveal yourself to me inch by inch.” He looked at her. “I’m disappointed, Belle.”
    Damn. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She just wanted to up the ante. “I’m sorry, Master.”
    His smile was whip-thin. “I accept your apology, Belle. But I expect you to take all of your punishment.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Do you remember what I told you about the safe words?”
    “Yes, Master. I must say yellow if I feel things are getting too intense. I must say red if I feel I’m in danger.”
    “Very good,” he said. He smiled approvingly. “You turn me on, ma fleur. I like it when you’re good. And I love it when you’re bad.”
    She resisted the urge to grin. Instead, she tried to look penitent, but she suspected he saw the humor flash in her eyes.
    He stepped closer and raised his hand. She saw something sharp and silver flash in his grip. Oh, my God!
    “Yellow!” she cried.
    Stunned, he looked at her; the scissors hovered above the vee of her dress. He immediately stepped away and dropped his arms.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “N-no blades,” she said. “Please.”
    “I don’t use knives and I don’t do blood play. It’s dangerous and quite frankly, I abhor the idea of cutting my subs.”
    Tears pricked her eyes. Shit. She didn’t want to end the game, but he had reminded her of her last night with Phillip. That rat bastard had told her then she wasn’t what he needed, that she was too afraid to make a good submissive. That she was worthless.
    And she had told him to fuck off.
    But deep inside, she had believed his words. She knew how to be a good employee. She knew how to be a decent human being. But when it came to expressing her own sexuality—to getting what she needed from a lover—she believed he’d been right. Phillip’s ugly words echoed in her mind: Maybe you’re frigid, Claire. Did you ever think of that? God, you’re pathetic.
    “Our game is suspended. I’ll take you down.”
    “No,” she said. “Please.”
    He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine her mental and emotional capacity. That he even took a moment to consider her needs made him a hundred times better than Phillip. Her Master deserved more from her than this display of cowardice.
    He showed her the scissors. “I planned to cut off your dress. I only wanted access to your luscious body.” He tossed the scissors away; they landed with a clunk somewhere on the floor behind him.
    “Thank you, Master,” she managed.
    To her disappointment, he reached up and released her from the cuffs. He rubbed her tingling wrists then he massaged her arms. “Relax, ma fleur.”
    He rubbed her shoulders, easing the tension knotted on either side of her neck. His gentleness was nearly her undoing.
    Was their evening over? Had her fears driven him away? She looked at him. The mask barred his expression, but she was close enough to see the wariness in his gaze.
    “Master, are you … done with me?”

Chapter 7
     
    “NOT BY A long shot,” he reassured Claire.
    Her heart turned over in her chest as relief flooded her.
    She watched him step back. “Turn around,” he commanded.
    She did. He unzipped her dress and pushed the material off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. He kneeled behind her and helped her disentangle her heels from the cloth.
    “Walk to the table where the candles are lit.”
    It was on the opposite side of the dungeon. She walked to the table and stood next to it, her gaze on the floor as she waited for him to join her.
    To her shock, he kneeled at her feet, his fingers stroking her belly and ribs. She realized then he was touching her scars. Three lines on her belly, each one about two inches long.
    “Who did this?”
    He sounded furious, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her.