Chapter One
It was a very large box. She noticed that at once, her back
straightening as Greg placed the parcel on the coffee table. She was kneeling
in front of it, her hands folded demurely between her thighs and her head held
up, which meant that the box—in all its pretty, brightly colored wrapping
paper, pink and festooned with hearts as befitted the holiday—was directly in
her eye line.
It seemed like a very big present, and concern tugged
at Emily as she stared at it. Sometimes she didn’t feel worthy of the large,
expensive gifts Greg liked to give her. All right, today was Valentine’s Day
and people were supposed to give each other gifts, but the thinking part
of her brain said the whole holiday was one big corporate shill, mostly to do
with conning money out of people and guilting them into buying useless things.
And yet Greg never did anything because he felt pushed or manipulated. That
just wasn’t the way he dealt with the world.
To her, Greg was Master, the monolith of certainty and
security in her life, and she trusted him—and trusted in him—completely.
So…if Master wanted her to have a present, she would have it, no matter how
small it made her feel.
Emily wet her lips, looking up at his broad frame. He stood
on the other side of the coffee table, his arms crossed over his chest as he
watched her, a smile curling the edge of his lips. He wasn’t the tallest of
men, or necessarily the most handsome—not magazine handsome anyway, with his
ruffled pale-brown hair, his wide mouth and his narrow, blue-gray eyes—but he
wore confidence like a second skin. All he had to do was look at her with that
glint of knowing mischief in his face and she was halfway to lost already. The
dark-charcoal suit and deep-red tie he wore—the outfit in which he’d taken her
to dinner before they came back here to his place, where he fitted into his
surroundings like a lion astride the plains—had a very similar effect on
her…not that Emily minded in the least.
“Open it, little one,” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.
“It’s for you.”
His voice hit all manner of places inside her. It always
did, whether his words were sweet and smooth or harder, sterner commands. If he
wanted to, he could bind her stock-still just by speaking. Emily thrilled to
that understated authority of his, though she had to admit that she also adored
the more practical methods he liked to employ.
Still, she obeyed. She always did, and it seemed as if her
fingers moved unbidden, sliding beneath the edges of the seams to carefully
peel away the pieces of sticky tape from the bright-pink glossy paper with the
garish hearts emblazoned on it. As the wrapping began to loosen, she peered
shyly up at Greg, warmed by the smile on his face.
“Thank you, Master.”
His smile became a grin and he shook his head very slightly.
“You might want to see what it is before you thank me, sweetheart. Go on. I
want to see your face.”
Emily blinked, a little unsure. She hadn’t really speculated
what might be inside the box. Usually he bought her toys or things to
wear…things that they could both enjoy, because one of the first lessons Greg
had taught her was that her pleasure mattered. In surrendering it to him—giving
him control of her body, offering up the gift of her submission—she yielded
something so precious, and yet doing so wasn’t a denial or a diminishment of
her own power.
That was a thing of value, he said, and it made both
of them stronger.
He was the first Master she’d ever had who said things like
that. When they first started seeing each other—introduced by a mutual
acquaintance at a local munch just over a year ago—she’d thought that perhaps
it was because he was a few years older than her. He had that kind of calm
maturity about him, though he was barely in his late thirties.
Of course, as their relationship had moved from friendly to
romantic, tentatively skirting the shores of possibility and
It was a very large box. She noticed that at once, her back
straightening as Greg placed the parcel on the coffee table. She was kneeling
in front of it, her hands folded demurely between her thighs and her head held
up, which meant that the box—in all its pretty, brightly colored wrapping
paper, pink and festooned with hearts as befitted the holiday—was directly in
her eye line.
It seemed like a very big present, and concern tugged
at Emily as she stared at it. Sometimes she didn’t feel worthy of the large,
expensive gifts Greg liked to give her. All right, today was Valentine’s Day
and people were supposed to give each other gifts, but the thinking part
of her brain said the whole holiday was one big corporate shill, mostly to do
with conning money out of people and guilting them into buying useless things.
And yet Greg never did anything because he felt pushed or manipulated. That
just wasn’t the way he dealt with the world.
To her, Greg was Master, the monolith of certainty and
security in her life, and she trusted him—and trusted in him—completely.
So…if Master wanted her to have a present, she would have it, no matter how
small it made her feel.
Emily wet her lips, looking up at his broad frame. He stood
on the other side of the coffee table, his arms crossed over his chest as he
watched her, a smile curling the edge of his lips. He wasn’t the tallest of
men, or necessarily the most handsome—not magazine handsome anyway, with his
ruffled pale-brown hair, his wide mouth and his narrow, blue-gray eyes—but he
wore confidence like a second skin. All he had to do was look at her with that
glint of knowing mischief in his face and she was halfway to lost already. The
dark-charcoal suit and deep-red tie he wore—the outfit in which he’d taken her
to dinner before they came back here to his place, where he fitted into his
surroundings like a lion astride the plains—had a very similar effect on
her…not that Emily minded in the least.
“Open it, little one,” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.
“It’s for you.”
His voice hit all manner of places inside her. It always
did, whether his words were sweet and smooth or harder, sterner commands. If he
wanted to, he could bind her stock-still just by speaking. Emily thrilled to
that understated authority of his, though she had to admit that she also adored
the more practical methods he liked to employ.
Still, she obeyed. She always did, and it seemed as if her
fingers moved unbidden, sliding beneath the edges of the seams to carefully
peel away the pieces of sticky tape from the bright-pink glossy paper with the
garish hearts emblazoned on it. As the wrapping began to loosen, she peered
shyly up at Greg, warmed by the smile on his face.
“Thank you, Master.”
His smile became a grin and he shook his head very slightly.
“You might want to see what it is before you thank me, sweetheart. Go on. I
want to see your face.”
Emily blinked, a little unsure. She hadn’t really speculated
what might be inside the box. Usually he bought her toys or things to
wear…things that they could both enjoy, because one of the first lessons Greg
had taught her was that her pleasure mattered. In surrendering it to him—giving
him control of her body, offering up the gift of her submission—she yielded
something so precious, and yet doing so wasn’t a denial or a diminishment of
her own power.
That was a thing of value, he said, and it made both
of them stronger.
He was the first Master she’d ever had who said things like
that. When they first started seeing each other—introduced by a mutual
acquaintance at a local munch just over a year ago—she’d thought that perhaps
it was because he was a few years older than her. He had that kind of calm
maturity about him, though he was barely in his late thirties.
Of course, as their relationship had moved from friendly to
romantic, tentatively skirting the shores of possibility and
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