When her mouth firmed, he prepared himself for another untruth. Perhaps that was good; he’d have an excuse to leave her here with her dishonesty, her inability to be the submissive he wanted her to be—his inability to accept her even if she was. This was a way to pull away before they both got hurt. He started to turn—

“I—I’m sorry.” Her fingers pushed the blanket into folds, straightened it out again. “Mom didn’t—my father was cruel, made fun of her whenever she complained—so she stopped. And I learned—” She bit her lip and stared at the covers. Folding. Straightening. “I don’t mean to lie to you. It just slips out.”

Dios. Raoul took a step forward, even as his brain told him to leave. To back away before he had more cables binding him than he could escape. “Kimberly…”

“I’m not fine, Master. At all.” She looked up finally, and her eyes swam with tears. “I’m scared to be alone. Only I’m going to cry some more, and I didn’t want you to have to…”

“To get all wet?” Nothing in the world could have kept him from sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “Sumisita—cry. I’ll hold you.”

Her shoulders were already shaking. So fragile to bear what she’d been through, and now to add grief to the mix. His own heart ached when he remembered the young victim, Holly. If he ever gained the opportunity to fight the slavers, some of them would die. But for now, his duty was to be a little subbie’s support and comfort.

She cried for a long time, long enough to soak his T-shirt, and so violently that a couple of times she’d started to gag, and he’d shaken her out of it.

When her crying finally stilled and only an occasional shudder coursed through her body, Raoul’s arms were still wrapped firmly around her. The tightness was gone from her muscles; the horror had faded from her eyes. “All right?”

“I’m fi—” She choked on a laugh and amended, “I’m better. Thank you.”

“Good.” He tilted her head up and kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears, the sweetness of her lips. She softened under his careful assault, then kissed him back, as if she needed the distraction—the affirmation of life—as much as he did.

He slid her off his lap, laid her against the pillows, and took her mouth again. His fingers tangled lightly in her hair, firmly enough to remind her who he was yet not rough enough to resurrect bad memories. He’d learned how to walk that tightrope over the past weeks. As he hardened, he deepened the kiss.

She wore nothing. The conviction that a submissive’s body should be accessible to her master reverberated through him. For tonight at least, he would accept his role.

He ran his finger over the scar on her ribs, then up. Her breast fit into his palm, lush and soft. He pulled back far enough to watch her. He couldn’t trust her to tell him if she was afraid or repelled, and he was no mind reader like Z. But when he studied her face, the changes of her muscles and her hands, he’d discover if she was fearful—or aroused.

Tonight, everything he saw spoke of desire: her lips and nipples reddening, the flush on her cheeks, the hitch in her breath when he cupped her breast. His gatita had responsive nipples, not overly sensitive, but sweetly erogenous zones. He licked a circle around one and then blew on it, smiling as it peaked.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked, her gaze on his face as soft as her hand in his hair.

“Women’s breasts are fascinating. The way they wobble and move. How your nipples bunch up as if they had a mind of their own.”

She rolled her eyes, then gasped as he pinched the neglected nipple into action.

“Of course, men have their own independently acting parts.” He pressed his hard cock against her thigh.

She lightened his heart with a tiny snicker and stole it altogether when she set her hand on his cheek and asked, “Why can you make me laugh, even when I’m naked and a little scared?” She pulled his tear-dampened shirt away from his skin. “Seems like all you get from me is wet clothes.”

He abandoned her long enough to pull the shirt over his head and toss it aside, then removed his pants. He put her hand back on his shoulder. “Touch me, cariño.”

Her soft palm ran over his chest, then paused when he pushed her legs apart.

“Look at me.” He’d been careful to avoid the missionary position, never wanting to make her feel pinned down or restrained by his size or body. Tonight—tonight, with her emotions still high and the bond from their scene strong between them, he’d push her further and try to replace the sordid memories with brighter ones.

He moved his body over hers, staying poised above her, but putting no weight on her. Fear widened her eyes. Her hand flattened against his chest to push him away.

“Look at me, sumisita mía,” he repeated softly.

Her gaze met his, and the tenseness slid from her body. “Master R,” she whispered, confirming what her sight told her.

“Yes.” He smiled and bit her chin, enjoying the sweet gasp. “I want your hand on my cock. Touch me, gatita.”

Still holding her eyes, he took her hand and put it on him. At the sensation of her small fingers curling around him, his shaft surged even fuller with blood. “You have a soft touch. Stroke me,” he directed.

Not looking away, she moved her grip up and set her fingers on top of his piercing. Her thumb wiggled the part on the underside.

The sensation was so heady, his eyes closed for a moment as he fought himself. This one, the one woman who needed his self-control the most, was the one who challenged him more than any other. Pulling his attention from the glide of her fingers around him, he balanced on one arm and his knees and reached down between her thighs. No weight on her yet—just his size looming over her was enough for the moment.

He smiled when his fingers touched her pussy. How she kept herself shaved bare for him, without him having to order it, was a delight. His voice came out low and ragged. “You’re wet for me, gatita.”

Her olive cheeks darkened with a flush, enough for keen eyes to note. Despite the slickness, her clit was still hidden in its hood, and he considered teasing her with a toy, then knew he wouldn’t move from this spot. Tonight was for their bodies only, no ties or cuffs, no toys.

Of course, the lack of tools didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in a little mental bondage. “Spread your legs farther apart,” he said.

Kim stared up at Master R, a shiver running through her. He was so big, could easily hurt her. And now—

“Must I repeat myself?” he asked, his voice lowering to a smooth threat. His eyes were dark, dark brown.

Her knees separated more, her folds pulling apart, exposing her. He smiled and swirled his finger around her opening, spreading the wetness. So wet. She shivered as he dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, even as his touch edged nearer her clit. Needed more. Her hips tilted up slightly.

His head lifted. He studied her for a long moment. “No, you get only what I choose to give you. I will not tie you tonight, sumisita mía, but you will put your left hand so…” He firmly curled her fingers around one of the metal swirls on the headboard. “Your legs stay open—no matter what I do.” He smiled into her eyes. “Your other hand can continue to please me until I say otherwise.”

Her pulse picked up.

“Do you understand?”

Mouth dry, she managed a nod.

“Kimberly?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He shook his head no.

Her voice became huskier. “Yes, Master.”

“Much better.” He rewarded her with a slow kiss, a demanding one. When his tongue took possession, she could only think of the last time his cock pushed into her, filling her like that. He abandoned her mouth and inched down her body. A tiny bite on her nipple fragmented her mind. A light pinch on her clit made her gasp. Both pains, so similar, sent need streaming like a riptide between the two points. She was still tender from his attentions during the scene, and his fingers were slightly abrasive…and it only pushed her higher.

Keep arm over head, she told herself. Legs open. Her hips—the one wiggle that escaped her was rewarded with a nasty nip on the underside of her breast and made her gasp, increasing the feeling of being washed away in need.

His finger pressed into her entrance, a small stretch, then slid over her clit, repeating the motions. Her labia swelled and throbbed. Her clit tightened. Each time became more intense. The teasing hint of his finger in her vagina made her remember being filled completely, made her need… She wiggled again.

He lifted his head and gave her that unyielding dom look that melted her insides into a puddle. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you having problems, gatita?”

Her glare should have burned his eyelashes to stubby ash. “Would you just fuck me already?”

His dark sexy laugh burst out, so infectious, she couldn’t keep a giggle back.

After pulling himself from her grip, he lowered his hips. His cock pressed on her open pussy; his pelvis touched hers; his chest touched her breasts. Fear slammed into her like someone had broken down a door, pushing all the—

“Look at me, Kimberly,” he said ruthlessly.