I Married a Master(64)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"That’s all." I shrugged. "I’m just not used to being…on my toes."

"You prefer your routine," he said.

"I, uh…" Did I? That sounded so horrifically mundane. "I wouldn’t say I prefer it. It’s just what I’m used to."

He chuckled. "Well, that’s the definition of a routine, isn’t it? But we’re certainly not following any kind of routine now."

There it was, again. Although I’d started out this trip by repeatedly reminding myself that none of it was real, now, I began to resent that fact. I hated being forcibly reminded of it. It wasn’t that I wanted to pretend it was real, I just didn’t want to think about it anymore.

"I know that," I said, irritably. "I just…"

"Jenna, hey." Ben’s voice was soft, persuasive. I looked up at his face. "If you don’t want to do this, we can stop. But I just want you to know it’s normal for this stuff to bring up all kinds of emotions you don’t expect. We spend most of our lives trying not to be vulnerable, avoiding it at all costs, and then…"

And then some kinky billionaire comes along and makes you do things you never knew you wanted.

It felt like losing headway, on a battle that was never mine to fight. I didn’t want this to be political. And maybe, even if it was, I had nothing to be ashamed of. After all – this was my choice.

I’d proven that on the very first day, within minutes of our arrival. He told me that he was in control, but I knew that was just a fantasy. The moment I broke that spell, the moment I walked to the door, it was clear. I held all the cards. He only wanted this if it was given willingly.

When he first tried to argue for his altruism in all of this, I’d practically laughed in his face. But now I understood. It wasn’t exactly selfless. It gratified him, but only because it gratified something in me.

There was a part of me that I never knew existed, something I’d had to suppress just to survive. I imagined most people did. The helpless part, the part that doubted, the part that just wanted to bow to someone’s authority. Be a leader, not a follower. But not everyone could be a leader, all the time.

If I was going to follow somebody, I could do a lot worse than Benjamin Chase.

"I don’t want to stop," I told him. "But I think we need to hash things out, before we keep doing this."

He nodded, slowly. "Right," he said. "Spontaneity’s been fun, but it can always end badly." He smiled, a little sheepishly. "I just didn’t want to scare you off by unrolling some big contract or checklist. It doesn’t always have to be like that. We can just talk."

I cleared my throat and glanced at him. "You mean, we don’t need to get it notarized?"

He smirked – meanwhile, my brain, my stupid overactive brain, couldn’t help but wander to the thoughts of paperwork that did need to be notarized. Like divorce filings.

My heart twisted in my chest. Already, it felt like something inside me was breaking.

We’re not even married yet.

"You brought something, didn’t you?" I made a vague gesture. "You know…supplies. Toys. I don’t know what you call them."

Was I imagining it, or was there some extra color in his cheeks? "I did," he said. "If you want, you could…"

"Look at them," I finished. "And we’ll start there. If I have any questions, I’ll just…"

"Right," he said, standing up. "I’ll, uh, I’ll go get them."

I stood up. "Maybe not in the living room?" I suggested, a little hesitantly.

"I don’t want there to be any pressure," he said. "But if you think the bedroom won’t be too, um…"

There’s not a room in this house I haven’t pictured you fucking me in.

I flushed. Now was not the time to have that conversation.

"It’ll be fine," I promised him. "Lead on, Mr. Chase."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, with an unreadable expression. A moment later, I was following him up the stairs, trying to drag my eyes away from the tight muscles of his ass, bunching under those jeans he wore so well. I liked him best in suits, I thought, but the casual clothes were a delicious little vacation into a whole other world.

He could have made anything look good. I wondered if he’d wear an outfit I picked out for him. Did it go both ways? What if I wanted him to dress up for my fantasy – as a professor, or a priest?

My whole body instantly felt hot. Where did that come from? I didn’t have any…fetishes. At least, I didn’t think I did.

Still, there was no denying a nice pair of glasses, or a well-fitted cassock, looked pretty damn hot. Maybe we could talk about that later. But I was not dressing up as a nun. Maybe a naughty Catholic schoolgirl…hey, it could work in both scenarios.

Already I was starting to feel unsteady, a little tingle in the pit of my stomach warning me that this was going to escalate fast. Maybe sticking to the living room would have been a better option. We hadn’t had sex there – yet. The kitchen, arguably one of the least sexy rooms of your average house, was right out. Obviously. I’d never be able to look at a stove hood again without remembering his tongue buried between my folds.

Back in reality, Ben was carefully unzipping an innocent-looking black bag that he’d plopped on the bed. I crossed my arms, in a mostly futile effort to hide the stiff peaks of my nipples. I didn’t want him to think this little exercise was turning me on – no, picturing him as a professor with compromised ethics, spanking me over his desk with a ruler – that was what really lit my fire.

I wondered if he had a ruler in there.

I realized he was waiting for me, so I dug in.

Handcuffs. That was standard enough. I pulled them out and examined them – heavy, well-made. I frowned.

"These are police issue," I said, glancing up at him. He was hiding a smile behind his hand, but not very well.

"Yeah," he said. "I don’t do things halfway."

Well, I could admire that. My fingers closed around something else that felt like some kind of whip or flogger, but when I brought up a handful of what I grabbed, I realized it was zip ties.

A little creepy, and not so sexy. But way less danger of losing the key. I could kind of appreciate that.

"For more realism," he explained. "They hardly use the metal handcuffs in real life anymore. Some people actually care about that kind of thing."

I snorted. "You do a lot of cop roleplay?"

It wasn’t really a fantasy of mine. Then again, until earlier, I hadn’t realized that I had any fantasies. This one might be a little too real-life scary for me, but I wasn’t ruling it out. I knew the zip ties were technically more realistic, but they didn’t really make me think cop. They made me think mafia, or…serial killer…