I don’t have to do anything at all, until and unless he commands it.
Soon my skin is tingling all over. I feel like a pampered pet, sitting by my master’s feet…and Ilikeit. I’m not hard, no way, but I’m not completely soft, either.
No matter how experienced I might be, I’ve never experienced something likethisbefore. I’ve been with sadists and Dominants and tops and rope bunnies and all kinds of kinksters, all over LA, but I’ve never had such a serene experience.
It even has me teetering on the edge of subspace.
Or maybe I’m just so relaxed I’m slipping into a nap. That’s more likely. Inevergo into subspace so easily. It takes a long time, a lot of trust, and a lot of work on a Dom’s part to get me there.
Except for last weekend, when ten strokes of the cane hadme, hardcore masochist, feeling dreamy and vague…
“I’d like some more tea, Oliver.”
I jerk back to the present. “Oh,” I say, looking around. “Yeah. I mean, yes, my lord.” I try to stand and flop back onto the cushion, grabbing at his thigh for balance. “S-sorry.”
“Here,” he says patiently, “let me help you.” He stands, putting out his hands to help me up, and I wobble to my feet. “You don’t seem to be used to that position, Oliver.”
I twist my mouth to avoid smirking. “No, my lord. Usually my Doms are more…action-oriented.”
“I see. In the future, you should shift and move your legs to avoid stiffness.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He gives me a dismissive nod and sits back down to his music. I can’t help but glance at the music sheets, spread messily all over the piano. Most of the sheets are covered with large, black scribbles, irritation and frustration clear in the jagged lines across the page. I can’t read music beyond the basics, and whatever he’s doing seems…complicated.
I pour him out some more tea and bring it over to the piano, then make to sit down again, but he holds up a finger without even looking up from his work. “Wait.” Again, without looking at me, he takes a sip of the tea.
The thin-lipped stare he gives me afterward feels like an icicle driven into my belly.
“Oliver.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“This tea is stone cold.”
My mouth opens and stays open for a moment. “Well, it’s been sitting there for a while, my lord,” is the answer that comes out at last, and it’s the wrong one. His dark eyes flash, and I stammer out, “I’m sorry—I—I could go microwave it?”
Also the wrong answer.
“Oliver,” he says softly, “in the future, you need to do two things. Firstly, add a tea cozy to the pot. And secondly…” He stands, and I take an involuntary step backward. “It isyourjob to ensure that you pour me a second cup before the tea has gone cold.”
I swallow down my first reaction, which is snark. “I’m…sorry, my lord. Should I go down now and prepare another pot?”
“No.”
I bite my lip. “I’ll do better in the future.”
He keeps my gaze for a few terrifying seconds, and then gives one nod. “I’m pleased that you are willing to learn. But I’m afraid you’ve still earned an infraction.” He marks it on my card, and I let out a little breath, relieved that I’m not in more trouble.
But I relaxed too soon.
“You’d better get dressed,” he tells me.
“No!”
Lord Arden is not a man who is used to hearing the wordno. “Ibegyour pardon?” he says, astonished.
“It’s not fair to send me away just because the tea was cold. You said yourself service subs need to learn. Then let me learn!”
