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  And more thrilled with the prospects.

  This time, when she gave her consent to submit to Alan under Reggie’s tutoring, she did so with confidence.

  Alan finally put a voice to her biggest question. “When can we start?”

  At this, Reggie grinned. His wise eyes crinkled, and Celia wasn’t at all sure she liked the gleam she caught.

  “That will be our secret, yours and mine, Alan.”

  Celia started to protest, but Reggie cut her off with one of his hard looks.

  “I’m not open to persuasion, my dear. Do you trust this arrangement we’ve made?”

  She shifted in her chair, half-nervous, half-excited. “Yes.”

  “Do you trust me to respect our mutual boundaries and to help Alan see to your pleasure?”

  Definitely more excitement than nerves. “Yes.”

  Reggie stood up from his repose against the desk. He seemed to tower over both of them.

  “Do you understand that at any time, your safe word is the key to bringing everything to a total halt, Celia?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we’ve already begun.”

  Reggie’s confident tone gave her a pleasant shiver. The doctor looked at Alan, then turned his gaze back to Celia.

  “I will tell you only this before I give Alan the reins. Be ready at any time—for anything.”

  Celia almost asked him for more, but realized before she spoke—this was a Master’s Master. She wouldn’t be getting any more out of Reggie, not until he damn well chose to give it. Whatever he dreamed up with Alan, she’d find out when they told her.

  Why is the room so hot?

  She fanned herself with her hand.

  Alan laughed, but Reggie only gave her that distant, mysterious doctor’s smile.

  Damn, damn, damn. What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Two

  The change in Alan was immediate. The boisterous mathematician became quiet, mysterious and more reserved than Celia ever thought he could be. And he started laying down rules. No contact at the college. No asking questions. No sex until he said so. The bastard even asked her not to masturbate.

  “It’s about patience,” he told her over a fancy dinner two weeks later. “Patience and compliance.”

  Celia stabbed at a shrimp, frowning. “I’m not much on complying outside of the bedroom. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  They were dining at Oliver’s, the only restaurant in John’s River with any class. Alan had chosen a table near the back and he kept his voice quiet, private, as he answered.

  “Everything I’m asking you to do is about sex, Celia.” His blue eyes flashed in the candlelight, melting some of her resistance. “Power, control—the things you want to explore. I can teach you. And you’ll enjoy the lessons.”

  She sighed. Alan was so damned handsome with his Nordic features, his chiseled chest, the way his lean waist gave way to muscled thighs. In jeans or a dark suit like the one he was wearing now, the man was one delectable morsel. It was especially hard to tell him to blow off when he was being so sincere. This side of him—the more controlled, more dominant side—intrigued her.

  “I’d never ask you to give up your independence outside the bedroom unless you wanted to.”

  “I don’t,” she said immediately, skewering another shrimp. “You can call all the shots between the sheets, but I’m still my own woman. Are we clear?”

  Alan took her free hand across the table and stroked it gently. “Absolutely.”

  Celia tried to chew without choking as he ran his fingers from her wrist to her elbow and back down again. The barely restrained way he was looking at her, like she was the only woman on the planet, like he planned to cart her off and fuck her until she couldn’t move, made her heart beat faster.

  Once more, he traced a line from her wrist to her elbow, then back down the sensitive side of her arm. The side that made her shiver.

  “Good things are worth waiting for, don’t you think?” he murmured.

  It was all Celia could do to gulp down the bite she had taken.

  Damn him.

  Okay, fine. So, she wouldn’t masturbate. But that didn’t mean she was ready to declare him the sex god of John’s River.

  Not yet, anyway.

  * * * * *

  A week later, on the Friday afternoon of Reggie’s annual soiree, Celia stepped out of her shower after a frustrating twenty minutes of torturing herself. The warm water’s gentle kiss had turned her on so much she’d almost exploded with the need to touch herself, but she’d made a deal.

  No self-relieving.

  I’m such an idiot.

  She toweled off her hair first, then moved down, doing her best not to linger on her breasts—or anywhere else. The image of Alan’s bluer-than-blue eyes flashed through her mind, along with his promise.

  I want to make your fantasies come true. Slowly. Fully. Each dream, each impulse. One at a time…

  Celia smiled to herself.

  That would be one tall order.

  She had always been a thrill seeker at heart, even if she hadn’t had the courage to act on half of what she wanted in life. A few good lovers, more than a few bad lovers, the doctorate degree, a decent job—that was about as adventurous as she had dared to be before Alan.

  Who would have thought a mathematics professor could be so dangerous?

  She draped the towel over a nearby rack and ran her fingers through the damp red strands of her hair. Her thoughts drifted to what she should wear to Reggie’s party, perhaps the only mandatory social event John’s River College could boast. She had agreed to meet Alan there, which meant whatever fun he was planning would probably wait until Saturday. Or next week.

  Celia groaned. “Forever, damn it.”

  That’s when her lights went out.

  No flicker. No warning. Just absolute darkness, absolute silence, except for the jump and hammer of her heart, the ragged catch of her breath.

  She hadn’t heard any thunder. She didn’t think it was raining or windy.

  What the hell?

  She’d have to find a flashlight, get dressed in the dark—and what about her hair and makeup? Crap. This would have to happen when she was naked and wet. At least she started plenty early, so maybe she wouldn’t be too late.

  She felt her way out of the bathroom, hoping for a little moonlight or city glow through her bedroom windows.

  As she opened the bathroom door and edged into the bedroom, she still couldn’t see a thing.

  Odd.

  Were her shades closed?

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. So did every small hair on her entire damp, shivering body.

  She hadn’t closed the shades, had she?

  Firm hands grabbed her from behind. Celia tried to scream, but her mouth was covered, her wrists trapped against her sides and a hard, muscular body pinned her face-first against the wall. He pressed against her, head to ass to heel.

  Pinning her…gently.

  Not roughly.

  Not even when she struggled.

  Celia’s mind whirled faster than the speed of light. Shouts rose and fell in her chest, spent against the fingers pressed into her lips. Her heart felt near to splitting in two, beating, beating, cutting her breath into shocked fragments.

  “I won’t hurt you,” said a familiar low voice. “Not unless you want me to.”

  Alan?

  Alan?!?!

  I’ll kill him! I’ll—

  “That’s it. Fight me.” His breath was hot against her ear as she battled to free herself. Damn, he was strong. His grip tightened to iron. He pressed her harder into the wall. His pants rubbed against her ass as he pumped his contained erection up and down, up and down her bare skin, tracing the fissure between her cheeks just perfectly.

  What was he wearing? Leather?

  Shit.

  She was getting wet in a big hurry.

  “I’d be disappointed if I came to kidnap you and you didn’t s
truggle at least a little bit,” Alan murmured. Then he bit her ear softly. Just enough to send a hot rush straight to her pussy.

  Thoughts of killing him faded into fantasies of beating him up maybe a little, then fucking his brains out. After almost a month of complete celibacy, her arousal was so instant, so intense she could barely keep from moaning.

  I told them I wanted to be kidnapped, didn’t I? What kind of idiot tells two men with access to a castle dungeon that she wants to be kidnapped?

  Agamemnon. That’s the safe word. How am I supposed to say it if he has my mouth covered?

  As if reading her mind, Alan nibbled her ear again. “If you want me to stop and you can’t speak, make four fast, high-pitched sounds.”

  Celia nodded, obsessed by the feeling of his leather-clad cock stroking her ass, still moving up and down, like he was already fucking her. Her clit swelled seemingly with each almost-thrust.

  “Make one sound for yes, so I know you understand, and so I know what to listen for.”

  Imagining an opera singer at full-blast, Celia made a squeak against Alan’s fingers.

  “Good.”

  He let go of her mouth and wrists long enough to spin her around. In seconds, she was pinned again, this time ass against the wall, arms over her head and her mouth pressed against his. His erection swelled against her belly, and she caught his delicious scent of leather, very light spice cologne and pure muscled man. His lips felt so full, so firm as he kissed her, nipped her mouth, probed her with his hot tongue. She had kissed him before, many times, but never like this. Never helpless, naked against a wall, so totally at his mercy.

  Never when he seemed so in command.

  Even in the pitch darkness, she was starting to see Alan in a whole new light.

  He released her mouth. She could just make out his outline in the abiding darkness, hear the heavy cadence of his breathing.

  “If you agree, you’ll be my prisoner for twenty-four hours, Celia. You won’t speak without permission, you won’t come without permission, you won’t even move without permission.” He brushed his lips against hers, at the same time scrubbing her nipples and mound with his leather pants and rough cotton tunic. “I’ll take you to Reggie’s party, and then I’ll take you to the dungeon. At exactly 7:00 p.m. tomorrow night, I’ll ask if you want to go home, or if I’ve earned another day of your submission.”

  Celia opened her mouth to answer, but closed it when Alan brought a single finger to her lips.

  The night of my life…

  The affair of my life…

  “Consider this carefully,” he rumbled, letting his voice caress her, neck to nipple to clit. So low. So powerful. “If you say yes, I’ll be the teacher—and the lessons will be hot enough to burn. I’ll take you to places you never thought you’d go.”

  More chills coursed over Celia’s skin.

  Her heart was still beating so hard, so fast from the scare he had given her. Now she was scared all over again in a more delicious, dangerous way.

  This is a fantasy, right?

  But Alan sounded so serious.

  And he had surprised and captured her so totally, so easily.

  Celia’s clit throbbed in time with her pulse. Her nipples ached from the coarse pressure of Alan’s tunic.

  She wanted him to touch her, fuck her, kiss her, relieve the ache between her legs, lessen the ache down inside her, in that empty place where she never felt completely sated.

  Could he do that?

  Trust him… Can I really trust him?

  Imagining the blaze of his eyes, the set of his handsome face, the way he had looked at her across the past few weeks, she whispered her response.

  “Yes.”

  Alan’s intake of breath was audible, as was the tightening of his grip. In a swift, unstoppable movement, he ravaged her mouth. The force of his kiss took her breath, made her heart flutter. She strained forward against the restraint of his body, wanting to feel more of him and wishing, wishing, wishing he would take her now. By the time he eased back, her knees were weak.

  “You’re mine now, Celia Lambert. For tonight, I’m the Master.”

  Alan released her and stepped back.

  “On your knees,” he commanded. “Hands to your sides.”

  There in the dark, still naked and shivering from her bath, excited beyond all reason, Celia knelt on her bedroom floor, keeping her back straight and her hands by her sides. Her muscles tightened with anticipation, and her pussy felt so hot she wondered if it could burn.

  What is he going to do?

  She heard rustles, the whispering of fabric. Alan’s hands touched the sides of her head. He pressed something against her lips.

  “Open your mouth,” came the hoarse instruction.

  Celia obeyed.

  Something rubbery pushed against her lips and entered her mouth. It felt like the tip of a cock, but tasted like light mint. The rubber part filled the space between her tongue and the top of her mouth. As Alan worked, Celia realized he was fastening the object into place. The well-worked leather straps felt soft against her lips, her cheeks and behind her ears.

  “This is a penis gag,” Alan said in that clit-teasing low voice. “You can bite on it if you need to, and you should be able to breathe easily. Try it.”

  More compliant than she had ever been, Celia drew a slow breath through her mouth and nose. Air moved easily through a hole in the gag, feeling cool against the back of her throat.

  “While you’re gagged, you can make whatever noises please you. If you need me to remove the gag, give me three of your special sounds. Do you understand?”

  Celia squeaked once to acknowledge his instruction.

  Once more, she heard Alan move, heard a few rustles, followed by the creak of leather. When Alan ran a finger down her rigid back, she realized he had knelt behind her. She tensed all over again, alternating between heat and chills, wondering what was coming next.

  Tenderly, he took her arms in his hands and pulled them behind her back. Celia felt something furry touch her wrists, then heard a clink. When Alan took his hands away, she knew she had been handcuffed.

  “Stand,” he instructed, and assisted her to her feet.

  She realized she was trembling now. Even though she was still in total darkness, she had never felt so naughty, not even when Alan was rubbing her clit in Reggie’s office. Damn, but she wished he would touch her pussy now. The throbbing between her legs was reaching monumental proportions.

  Alan’s next move, however, was not on her list of expectations. After a few more rustling sounds, he touched her breasts with his wrists, then slid them down toward her nipples, slowly, slowly, as if feeling his way, until he brushed across the pebbled tips. Too quick for thought, he pinched her nipples hard enough to make her cry out against the gag. Just one sharp pinch…but he seemed to have left something behind. Something wet.

  Something warm.

  And now he was sliding one wrist down her belly.

  Damn, her nipples were heating up. She felt like Alan had them both in his warm mouth. What in the name of…?

  His wrist reached her mound, then his fingers were slipping between the swollen lips of her pussy, stroking, rubbing and—oh, God—coating her with something there, too. Something that mingled with her juices, getting warmer, warmer.

  Celia moaned into the gag, biting the rubber cock between her teeth.

  What was he doing to her?

  Could she even make her safe noises if she wanted to?

  Party…castle…dungeon…

  She was beginning to doubt she would live that long. The sheer need for satisfaction might kill her first. If she did live, she wondered if she’d kill Alan for this torture before tomorrow night.

  A definite possibility.

  Her nipples and her entire slit tingled, staying hot, staying so engorged she felt actual pain. The perfect-pleasure kind of pain that made her head spin.

  A part of her mind was aware of Alan wrapping her in a c
loak, pulling a hood over her head—not to cover her face, no, but to shield the presence of the gag from prying eyes.

  Without comment, he walked her forward, barefoot, still damp and naked and burning under that cloak, gagged and handcuffed under that cloak, out of the bedroom. Down the steps. Across the living room through the entryway to the front door.

  Celia started to protest as he opened the door, but the gag left her with nothing but incoherent noisemaking. Which competed with Alan’s chuckling. Which solidified her resolve to kill him before tomorrow night.

  After he satisfied her a few times.

  After he fucks me until I scream—without the gag in my mouth.

  Out they went into the night. Celia kept her head lowered in case any neighbors happened to be looking. They would see nothing amiss, except her dark house—and maybe the fact she was barefoot.

  Almost on cue, the lights came back on. Celia blinked against the sudden glare flooding her front yard. As her eyes adjusted to the illuminated sidewalk, she saw Alan walking a step in front of her, his blond hair feathering in the slight breeze. He was dressed in tight black breeches, definitely leather, but well-done and not at all chintzy. He also wore a tight black tunic made of a rough, braided material. The outfit made him look like a cross between barbarian and gentleman, and definitely showed off his cut muscles.

  The next thing she noticed was the huge limousine waiting by the curb.

  Alan opened the back door of the gargantuan black luxury auto. His hands were gentle but firm as he carefully helped Celia inside, held her still, and closed the door behind them.

  If she hadn’t been gagged, she would have gasped at the inside of the car. The interior glowed a soft white-yellow. Several control switches glowed an equally soft red. The black seats made a square around a carpeted area that seemed almost as large as the floor space in one of her smaller rooms. She saw a minibar, something that looked like a stereo, several wooden cases, thick black glass obviously tinted for privacy—all in all, a very impressive ride. One day, when she didn’t have a plastic dick between her teeth and body parts on fire from some mysterious lubricant, she’d ask Alan who it belonged to.