She realized her eyes had shut. She opened them to meet his indomitable gaze.

“Keep your eyes open and on mine. And both hands on the headboard.”

She realized she was pushing him away. Oh. She lifted her arm and grabbed another wire on the headboard. The position arched her breasts up and rubbed her nipples across the hair on his chest, making her toes curl with the sensation.

He positioned his cock and pressed into her, the metal piercing like a blunt finger inside on the front of her vagina, the sensation so intense her vision blurred.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

Oh God. He held her gaze as he was sliding in, stretching her, every inch setting new nerves into a clamor of need. Her hips gave the slightest wiggle.

“If you move again”—his whisper made the threat even more potent—“I will tie you up and leave you alone to suffer.”

“Sorry. I’m trying. Masterrrr.” The whine horrified her and made him smile. Drown him.

“So you are.” He paused to lick her nipples, then rubbed his chest against her sideways, the abrasive feeling on her hard wet peaks mesmerizing.

He held his hips still, moving only his upper torso, and her insides throbbed with the need for more. She wanted to rub against him, all over, to push her hips up and… Don’t move.

She forced her muscles to relax, to stillness, even as everything burned, demanding action. The need to keep a portion of her mind separate to command her body distracted her, increased her arousal. Her clit felt the size of her fist, screaming for him to touch it.

He watched her, then smiled, easing out of her slowly. The metal ball rubbed against something sensitive inside her with an exquisite, almost painful pressure.

A slow push back in, and a shudder ran through her. Don’t move, don’t move. Oh God, I’m going to die. “Oh, please.”

“Please is a nice word,” he said agreeably. And he pushed in again, faster—just a little faster, his eyes intent on her, then flickering over her face, her arms and hands. More, more, more. She wanted to lift her hips, make him go deeper, go faster.

“Speak to me, gatita. You need to work on communicating your emotions, and this is a good place to start.” He slid out, tilting his hips so that damned ball scraped across something inside her, and the waves of her arousal turned into a heavy surf.

Boiling and churning. “Harder. More. God…”

The flash of his smile made her heart skip, and then he slammed into her.

Oh wonderful hardness. “More, more, more.”

He laughed. “Very expressive.” But he complied, hammering into her, and she knew somewhere it should be frightening, only she was so, so close that the driving rhythm only spiraled her up. Up. His big hand slid under her butt to lift her so every withdrawal rubbed his pelvis over her clit.

“Oh, oh—” Her breathing stopped. More, please, more. His cock slammed in, penetrating far inside her and scraping that damned piercing over her G-spot, and his groin rubbed her clit. He was so big, and everything she felt, everything he did expanded into pure sensation, and a depth charge of pleasure exploded, brilliant and hot, the fiery waves expanding everywhere.

She gasped for breath as another intense wave hit. Sparkles danced in front of her eyes. Her fingers and toes tingled.

Laughing slightly, he nuzzled her neck and shoved into her, deep, deep, hard, and his erection thickened, then was jerking inside her.

He was over her, surrounding her, filling her, his heat, his breath, his scent, drowning her in him.

Her heart turned over. “God, I love you.”

Silence. Oh, a bad silence, growing worse the longer it lengthened. He lifted his head, and the languorous expression of satiation disappeared with his concern. Leaning on one arm, letting his hips pin her down, he pushed her hair from her damp face. “This is not…wise, gatita.” He sighed, stroking her cheek with one finger. Not evading her eyes, not trying to pretend he hadn’t heard her—not Master R.

“Why not?” she whispered, even knowing the answer. Some of it.

“You are not…healed, not ready to know your heart.” His fleeting smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “It would be wrong of me to permit this.”

Could the master command her heart?

But he didn’t want her. She heard that clearly. How could her body shimmer with satisfaction even as her emotions were disappearing into a hole of blackness? Her brief smile reflected his. “It’s okay. Just the heat of the moment, you know.”

“Of course.” He kissed her lips gently, then rolled them both over, his hand curved over her bottom keeping them together with him still inside her. He settled her on top of him, guiding her head down into the curve of his shoulder. “Sleep. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

No. No, I don’t think we will. His skin was warm and damp under her cheek, and she inhaled the fragrance of him and sex. She’d survived kidnapping and slavery and the loss of friends. She’d survive this as well—but damned if she’d talk about it.

Chapter Eleven

“I love you.” Remembering Kimberly’s soft avowal, Raoul abandoned the brewing coffee and walked outside to stare at the water. The brisk morning air ruffled his hair but didn’t bring him any clarity of thought. How could he have let her get emotionally involved with him? This wasn’t—she shouldn’t love him. Dios, she should be running the other direction.

Only he knew better. She was tough, brave, and resilient. He’d known women who reacted with hysterics to a fender bender. Had her father taught her to be so durable? Or her mother? Had Kimberly lived with an example of how to survive abuse?

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. She was confusing emotional dependence and need with love. How should he handle this? Carefully, Sandoval. Like walking a girder with no safety line.

The problem was he cared for her, and he had no excuse that he’d been mistreated. No, his mistake was to have let her into his house, his life. His heart. He’d grown so fond of her that he had trouble imagining his home without her bubbly presence.

Don’t go there, Sandoval. She’d leave as soon as the auction was over, and according to the Overseer, that might occur in a week or so.

The realization was like a gut shot from a steel rivet. He’d miss their showers. The workouts in the weight room. The fighting as he taught her to cripple and maim, and the unholy light in her eyes when she’d mastered a technique. The evenings watching television, arguing over movies. Her snippy backtalk, and how she tried to hide her pleasure at serving him.

The way she softened under his hands when he kissed her. He felt himself harden. Good job, Sandoval.

Well, he’d see this through. And try to keep them both from being stupid.

As he turned to go back in, he wondered if she’d want to stay with him when this was over. No. She truly was submissive, but she’d made it clear, over and over, that she didn’t want to live the lifestyle. And she needed to heal. Once her head was on straight, she wouldn’t want a master. Not soon, probably never.

Even if miracles occurred, he wasn’t ready for a relationship either. It was far too soon. And this time, he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a full-time Dominant/submissive relationship with someone who wanted it as much as he did.

Over the waves, a gull gave a long screech as another stole its fish. He headed into the house. He’d need a massive amount of caffeine to figure out a way to pull back before he hurt her further.

Kim frowned at the sunlight streaming in the balcony window, then glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Noon? No wonder Master R had already gotten up.

The empty space beside her in bed sent a pang through her. She’d come to like waking up with Master R’s solid body next to hers, or for him to awaken her as he had almost every morning since they’d had real sex. His hands would caress her breasts, and his cock would ease between her legs from behind. He’d hold her in place, gently, firmly, and push into her. She’d start off groggy, but when his clever fingers would slide over her clit, she’d be right onboard with early morning sex. Who knew it could be so much fun?

Not this morning. She sighed and climbed out of bed,

But last night, she’d said she loved him, and he hadn’t exactly looked thrilled to hear she cared.

With a frown, she stepped into the shower, missing his presence there too. The teasing, his laughter. The one morning he hadn’t taken her in bed, he’d made up for it a few minutes later.

Her lips curved. That time she’d told him she wasn’t interested in shower sex. “Not today.” God, so not the thing to tell a dom.

“Really,” he’d said with that amused—stern—look in his eyes. “Does a submissive have that choice?”

Before she’d realized how much trouble she was in, he’d grasped her around the waist, walked out of the shower, and laid her on the cold counter. He pinned her legs to his shoulders, put his mouth on her pussy, and forced her to have an orgasm, waited a second, then did it again. She was dizzy when he pulled her back into the shower. And then, being the dom he was, he’d firmly bent her over and taken her from behind. Hard.

Why did she get off on that control? She soaped her body, snorting at how her nipples had bunched up. Yep, just thinking of him did it for her.