“You make it extra difficult for me to not rush ahead sometimes,” I murmured. “It’s a mindfuck and a half, innit? To go balls to the wall with kink and slow and steady with dating.”
He exhaled and nodded. “You said it.”
After setting the tablet on top of my duffel, I scooted the chair closer to him and gathered his hands in mine. I kissed his knuckles, and I counted my blessings. We felt so fucking right. Even more today than five years ago.
I cupped the back of his neck next and kissed him, just a slow, lingering kiss. “I think it’s time you call me Master, though.”
He sucked in a breath, and his eyes flashed with surprise.
I smiled and kissed him again. “Change your Facebook status too, if you want. I will dutifully like every post you update like my brothers do with their wives.”
That made him grin, and it was fucking beautiful. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am that I don’t want our trial run to be over by the end of this week.” I touched his cheek and kissed the softest part. “I want you in my bed every night you’ll give me.”
He opened his mouth to reply, and the bliss was there in his expression, assuring me that I would like his response, but then he inched forward on his knees, and all he felt was pain.
“Owwww,” he gasped.
I winced in sympathy and helped him off his knees—and onto my lap. “I know, sweetheart, that’s gotta hurt.”
He groaned and rubbed his knees as he settled on my thighs. His eyes glistened a little too, and it was a punch straight in the gut to see.
He’d been on his knees for over an hour.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a perfect slave.” I kissed his neck and hugged him to me. “You might want to consider safewording at eight in the future, though. I don’t want you in tears.”
He whimpered and hurriedly wiped at his cheek, as if he was embarrassed by his emotions. “I wasn’t ready to safeword. Suffering for you makes me stronger, Sir. Master.” Even with tears flooding his eyes, he grinned when he added the Master.
I was stuck on that other thing he’d said.
He’d used the word suffering our first night together too.
“You like suffering for your Master?”
“When it comes to these things, absolutely.” He sniffled and rubbed at his knees some more. “Posture, behavior, manners, presentation—they have to be perfect. They’re a reflection of your ownership, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I decide that good is good enough.”
Did he hear himself? Possessiveness and affection flooded my senses, and it was only a matter of days or weeks before I started herding him and his baby girl to my home, with all their belongings. It didn’t exactly help the situation that I knew he was just renting a room with his sister. They didn’t depend on each other to be able to stay in DC.
I was gonna up my game on every level, and that included my control over Archie. Daily TPE training, whether it was here or at home. I was going to pay extra attention too, to ensure he was the best version of himself.
Evidently, we also needed to have a conversation about the definition of a masochist, because if he liked suffering for his Master, I had news for him.
CHAPTER 10
I could only imagine what went through Archie’s mind when he opened the door as I climbed the porch steps on Friday night. I’d spent the last three hours at the bottom of an old rock quarry that had a little lake, doing final preparations for the event tomorrow, and those of us who’d been there were now arriving home looking like mud monsters.
“What on earth!” he exclaimed.
I grinned tiredly.
He was a vision through the screen door, the hallway light behind him turning him into a silhouette, and he had a babbling Kyla on his hip. In other words, I could not come home to a more beautiful sight.
“What happened, Master?”
That…would never get old. Being his Master.
“Well, we had to test the obstacle course…” I carefully pulled my tee over my head. It was too cold for just tees and jeans, especially if they were wet, so I was looking forward to a hot shower for more than one reason.
Kyla babbled rapidly and pointed to me.
“You’re absolutely right, darling,” Archie said and stepped out on the porch. “He’s going to march straight into the shower.”
His accent was a little more pronounced tonight, which only meant one thing, I’d learned. He’d been watching Downton Abbey. I’d never seen the show myself, but Ma and Genevieve had gushed about it over the years. And I reckoned I could see the appeal in Archie’s eyes—an English drama about aristocrats and their servants from before the Second World War.