I Married a Master(73)
Author: Melanie Marchande

Finally, he walked into the room. He was wearing a dark gray suit with the vest, but without the jacket, sleeves rolled up, looking positively mouth-watering. He knew exactly how to make himself look irresistible.

He also had an armful of something, which he set down on the bed. I realized it was a set of four leather cuffs, meant to fasten me spread-eagled to the bed. My body reacted instantly, warming from the inside out.

"What’s this?" I asked, softly.

He smiled. "It’s time for your master class in acting. Do you trust me?"

I sucked in a breath. "Yes."

"Will you tell me if you need to stop?"

I nodded.

"Tell me what you think I’m going to do," he said, his voice low and tempting, as he leaned ever-so-subtly towards me.

I swallowed hard. "Tie me to the bedposts, with my arms and legs spread." I looked to him for approval. "And then, I have no idea."

He chuckled. "Very good. Are you ready?"

Butterflies filled my stomach. "Yes."

Quickly, efficiently, he fastened each of the cuffs to the four corners of the bed, and then to me. They were surprisingly plush and comfortable against my skin, but all I had to do was move an inch to remind myself that I was tied down.

"Your first lesson," he said, circling the bed, "is proper phone sex."

"I don’t…" Blushing furiously, I tried to squirm out of the restraints. It was useless, of course, and I didn’t really want out. I just wanted out of the situation, out of my own skin – my own stupid inability to do something as simple as talk dirty. "I really don’t know how."

He quirked an eyebrow at me, his hand still resting casually on his lap, drawing my gaze and driving me slowly insane. "You’re an actor, Jenna."

Helpless, I just stared, my eyes pleading with him to end this game. It was ridiculous. It was horrible. And I was going to make an even bigger fool out of myself than I had on the phone.

"I’m not, though," I said, softly. Surrendering to the realization, I went limp on the bed, my head flopping back on the pillow. "I never will be. And you’re really not helping."

"I’m not trying to help you," he growled, standing up suddenly and striding over to me. He knelt down by the bed, lowering his head to just inches from mine. With two steady fingers, he guided my face towards his. "You’re doing this for me, and only for me. Do you understand? I want you to do this. I need you to talk to me like you really want me. I have to hear the filth spilling from your lips – everything I know you’re thinking, but you can’t bring yourself to say."

My breath caught in my throat. His words went straight to my core, and I clenched and heated at the sound of his voice. "Yes," I whispered. "I understand."

"Good." He rose, pacing around the perimeter of the bed with his hands behind his back. "Now. Because I’m feeling particularly generous tonight, I’m going to guide you."

Guide me? What did that mean? And how pathetic was it that an aspiring actor actually needed help?

I always did suck at improv.

Taking a deep breath, I watched him pace, marveling at the way his body moved under his suit, the whispering of the expensive fabric as he walked the same path over and over again. Finally, he glanced at me.

"Close your eyes," he said, quietly.

I did.

Instantly, I was hyper-aware of his presence, as if the inability to see him just made him loom larger. His presence filled the room, palpable, stealing my breath. I tried to calm my rabbiting heart, but it was impossible. No audition had ever made more nervous than I was now, so painfully self-conscious, trying to please a man who didn’t even care about me.

That’s not true. You know it’s not true.

"Keep your eyes closed." The sound of his voice flowed over me, smooth like silk, and I sighed. Trying to relax. "If you think you’ll be tempted to open them, I can blindfold you. Do you think that will be necessary, sunshine?"

I shook my head.

"Answer me out loud." His tone was firm, leaving no room for protests or excuses. "Say ‘yes, Sir’ if you understand." I could hear the capital S, just the way he said the word.

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. "Yes, Sir." I took a deep breath, trying to remember the original question. "No, Sir. That won’t be necessary."

"Good." There was a smile in his voice. "Tell me how you feel, sunshine."

"I…" I’d started speaking, because I felt compelled to, but I had no idea what I was going to say. "I’m nervous. I’m scared of what’s going to happen."

"Why?" He sounded very close now, like he’d knelt down by my head again. "Are you scared of me, sunshine?"

Every time he called me that, my heart skipped a beat. "I’m not scared of you," I whispered. "I’m scared of disappointing you."

His fingers brushed against my cheek. I was right – he was close by. My body jumped slightly, not anticipating the touch, but I soon warmed to it. "You don’t need to be afraid of that. You can’t disappoint me, as long as you try."

I didn’t quite believe him, but I just nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Sunshine."

I shivered, unable to suppress it.

"What was that? Do you like it when I call you…" He hesitated, and again, I could hear him smiling. "…sunshine?"

Swallowing hard, I answered him. "Yes, Sir."

His fingers travelled down my chest, running along the neckline of my dress, leaving a tingling trail of sensation along my sensitive skin. "I like it when you call me Sir," he confessed. "I think I have a similar reaction. Are you feeling a little less nervous, sunshine? Are you feeling a little warmer?"

I nodded, forgetting his order.

"Tell me," he commanded, raising his voice just slightly.

"I’m sorry, Sir," I said, breathlessly. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he said. "Me, too. But I’m going to need something more than that, I’m afraid. You’ll have to paint me a picture with your words. Can you do that for me, sunshine?"

"I can try," I said, honestly. "But I don’t…I don’t know where to start."

Suddenly, he stood up and withdrew from me. I felt the loss of his body heat, his presence, the scent of his cologne mingling with his skin. It was unlike any other smell in the world, and it made me remember the heavy sting of his palm on my ass.

Say it. Tell him.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke.

"I like the way you smell."

That didn’t sound quite as good as I’d hoped.