“Yes, sir?”
A momentary wink of amusement colored his eyes into a deep honey gold. “Are you asking me a question, little sub?”
Sophie nearly started to explain, but realized that would get her spanked. As much as she liked the idea, she wanted to prove to him she was learning about his world.
“Permission to speak, sir?”
A jerk of his head and he dropped his hand from the back of her neck. She mourned the loss of his touch instantly, but struggled to focus.
“I was confused, sir, about whether to address you as sir, or master. Which would you prefer?”
Approval gleamed in his eyes and his lips twitched slightly.
“Your thoughtfulness is pleasing to me. For that you will be rewarded. Later. Most subs call doms ‘Sir’, but in cases where a dom and a sub are more deeply connected, ‘Master’ is a better form of address. I would prefer to be called Master.” He hadn’t ordered her to call him Master; the phrasing seemed to hint she might have a choice. There was no denying, though, that the idea of calling him Master, in the bedroom, was erotic. It made her inner walls slick with desire and her senses heightened. Surrendering to him would be the most sensual and arousing thing she had ever done and she couldn’t wait.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Say your safe word. Practice it. I want to know you can say it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting patiently, but the pose was still intimidating. He oozed raw power and sexuality, like a large jungle cat waiting to pounce.
“Apricot,” she replied instantly.
“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He suddenly grinned, with an expression so potent, so blatantly full of masculine arrogance. “Why that word?”
Before she could reply he knelt before her and focused on her red shoes, easing them off her feet. There was something so intimate, so erotic about being barefoot in front of him. He drew a finger along the inside of one arch and she stifled a giggle. He glanced up, one brow arched.
“I’m allergic to apricots,” she choked out when she realized he was waiting for her answer.
He said nothing to her response, but merely stood up and stared at her for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Put your hands flat on the bed and lean forward a little.”
With a tremor of excitement, Sophie complied. His palms settled on her shoulders, then slid down her arms across to her back. The zipper of her dress moved down inch by inch. Her breathing lightened when the gown gaped open and he could undo it no further. Emery stepped close behind her, pinning her thighs to the bedside with his own. Heat lanced through her body and she fought off a shiver as he glided his hands beneath the straps on her shoulders and pulled them down. The dress dropped to her waist, caught between their bodies. Emery stepped back, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor.
Even though she had her back to him, the heat of his gaze on her made her flush and tremble.
“You are beautiful.” Simple words, yet they evoked a raw response of pleasure in her. She knew if he said them, he meant them.
“Turn around and look at me.”
Naked except for her bra, she resisted every instinct to cover herself and pivoted to face him. She bravely raised her eyes. The feeling of being so exposed was overwhelming. Her breath quickened and her cheeks flamed. Sophie wanted to curl her arms around herself and hide.
He stepped close again, hands settling on her naked hips, fingertips teasing her skin in slow patterns.
“Take off your bra.”
“Emery,” she uttered his name in a shameful plea. The scars. They were always there, a reminder of her ugly secrets. If he saw them, it would be all he’d ever see and he’d never truly look at her again. It was too intimate, too personal to reveal her suffering to him. It had been easier to tell him, but show him? That was verging on the impossible.
“Now.” The growl came from the back of his throat, animalistic and so dominating it made her shake.
She dropped her chin, eyes falling to the floor as she reached behind her back and undid the bra clasp. With painstaking focus she slid it off her arms and let it fall to the floor.
Silence. Awful silence. She’d expected a gasp, an exclamation or some other logical reaction to her scars. Nothing.
“Please, say something, anything,” she begged, her throat constricting as she fought to swallow her fear. She couldn’t cry; she had to stay in control. This had been bound to happen. He wouldn’t be attracted to her now that he saw how imperfect her body was.
One of his hands resting at her hip moved up to touch the three long, jagged scars that ran diagonally across her body, over her breasts. Her skin was marred with the light brown and slightly raised lines of the scars. She’d hoped they would turn pink or white, but the damage to her skin had been so complete that the marks remained dark and angry looking.
“You told me these were from a surgery,” he reminded her.
“They are…sort of. I didn’t get them from a surgery, but a doctor did sew me back together.” She drew a breath, trying to focus on the feel of his fingers. They brushed over the numb skin. She could barely feel his touch; the nerve endings hadn’t ever reconnected after the horrible damage to her chest.
