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  Lucia laughed and kept edging her. “You’ll do that anyway.”

  Robin groaned as Lucia worked her, rocking back to try to obtain what she needed. “Oh. Please, Mistress. I can’t. Stop. Please. Oh, I…can’t.”

  “You will.” Lucia stopped and pulled her hand free. She wiped Robin’s wetness on her ass and brought her hand back and slapped her hard. The sound of her hand landing on Robin’s ass was loud. Robin cried out. She lost her balance, and Lucia kept her from falling with the rope handle. She reached out and steadied her before she raised her hand and slapped the other cheek.

  Myfanwy leaned into Martha’s leg, pressing her breasts against the smooth leather. Martha smiled when she heard the soft moan she tried to stifle. She rubbed her thumb over the rapid pulse in her neck. Martha leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Soon, my pretty girl,” before she returned her attention to the stage.

  Lucia spanked Robin, holding the end of the rope in one hand, scattering her spanks over her ass until Robin’s skin was bright red and tears streamed down her face. Lucia stopped spanking her and tugged the rope. “Straighten.” Robin rose, and Lucia stepped behind her and wrapped her hand around her small frame and fingered her clit. “Now you may come for me.”

  Robin squealed and arched into her hand as she came. Lucia held her up as she leaned back against her body. The energy of their demonstration filled the room, and Martha found herself breathing hard as she watched the scene play out on the stage.

  Lucia released Robin. “Kneel.”

  She kept her hand on Robin’s shoulder, steadying her as she lowered her body. “As you witnessed, the sub is restrained, and the position provides access to their body. This is very basic but an excellent way to start.” Lucia looked into Martha’s eyes as she passed her hands over Robin’s body.

  Martha couldn’t stop herself as she fell into Lucia’s gaze and imagined herself under Lucia’s hands, bound by her, at her mercy. She sat up and broke eye contact, but not before she caught the half smile and expression of triumph on Lucia’s face. What the hell is wrong with me? Fuck, she’s dangerous. And gorgeous. And trouble.

  Lucia continued to stroke her hands over Robin’s shoulders and down her arms. “You must check your partner’s circulation. Submissives, if you feel any numbness or tingling, you must tell your Mistress immediately. Nerve injury is nothing to risk.” She pulled a large pair of bandage scissors from her pocket. “You must always have a means to free your partner quickly if you need to.”

  The tone of her voice as she spoke and the direct eye contact had Martha shifting in her seat to ease the pressure between her legs. What would it be like? To be bound. At her mercy. Fuck me. Will I ever have that again? She swallowed hard and looked down, avoiding Lucia’s gaze, distracting herself with the press of Myfanwy’s body as she leaned against her leg.

  Lucia shoved the scissors back into the pocket of her dress. “Stand.” She began by unwrapping Robin’s arms. “Remember pulling a rope over the skin causes friction and can result in burns. Know the burn speed of your rope to avoid unintentional injury.” She worked steadily as she removed the rope. When she was finished she had Robin kneel. “Aftercare is important as always, but the extreme vulnerability and headspace of rope play make it even more important.” She knelt next to Robin and brought her mouth close to her ear. Whatever she said was for Robin alone. She sat on the stage and pulled the smaller woman into her lap. Robin laid her head on Lucia’s shoulder.

  Martha’s craving was a wild thing, clawing at her, and the small spark of jealousy, the one that had started when Lucia first put her rope on Robin, flared. What is wrong with me? This was a demonstration. Nothing more. Or is it? And why do I care? She tapped Myfanwy on the shoulder. “Water.”

  Myfanwy rose and poured two glasses of water. She kneeled and offered a glass of water to Lucia. She took it and gave some to Robin, holding her while she drank. Myfanwy waited until Lucia handed the glass back to her and passed her the second one.

  Martha stood and turned her face away from the display on the stage. “You are all dismissed.” She caught Elaine scrutinizing her with a raised eyebrow. Martha looked back at her sister and shifted her gaze to Robin and Lucia on the stage, the two of them oblivious to the room full of observers.

  Elaine pursed her lips before she stood up. She dragged Rachel up by her hair. Roxy moved to leave, and Elaine caught her by her collar as she passed her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “My room.” Roxy’s tone was close to open insubordination. “Mistress.”

  Elaine drew her close and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Roxy kept her hands at her side, her hands clenched in fists. Elaine broke their kiss. “I think you misspoke. Look at me.” She held Roxy’s gaze. “My room. Now.”

  “If there’s space for me, Mistress.” Roxy frowned and looked at Rachel.

  Elaine pressed a fierce kiss to Roxy’s mouth. Roxy’s hands unclenched and she raised them to grip Elaine’s waist, pulling her hard against her. Elaine lifted her head from Roxy’s mouth. “Always.” She left, pulling Roxy by her collar and Rachel by her hair.

  Martha sighed and looked away from the trio. Myfanwy came and kneeled next to Martha. She rested her forehead on the toe of Martha’s boot, and wrapped both hands around her leather-bound ankle. Myfanwy’s gesture of affection and desire made Martha desperate to relieve her need. She grabbed Myfanwy by the arm and dragged her to her feet. She kissed her, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her arms. She drank in her submission, savaging her tender lips as she yielded to her. Martha broke their kiss. “Did you hear my orders? You were dismissed.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Myfanwy panted and trembled in Martha’s grip.

  “And yet you are still here. Are you in need of a lesson in obedience?” She slid her hand up and clasped her thick nipple and twisted.

  Myfanwy groaned. “Yes, Mistress.”

  Martha dropped her hand lower and shoved it between her slick thighs. She fingered her clit. Myfanwy shifted, opening herself to her Mistress’s touch. Martha delighted in Myfanwy’s willingness. “I don’t have any elaborate tricks for you, no rope in my room,” she whispered as she kissed her way along Myfanwy’s neck.

  “You’re all I need, Mistress. I’m a simple woman. I don’t fancy being trussed up like a Christmas goose.” Myfanwy tilted her head toward Lucia and Robin. Her voice was defiant, and loyal, and what Martha needed to hear.

  Honest. And real. My Myfanwy. Steady as the sun. Martha released her. “Follow me.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Martha glanced back at Lucia and Robin. Robin had not moved. Lucia looked up and met Martha’s gaze. Her predatory expression and the possessiveness in her eyes unsettled her. Maybe she thinks I want Robin? That I would challenge her? She turned away from them, respecting Lucia, and the intimacy of the moment. Martha left them there, grateful for Myfanwy’s willingness, anxious to have her under her, desperate to share her passion, to hear her cries of surrender. More than ready to unleash the side of herself that thrived on power exchange and pain. Her fingers trembled. She reached back and took Myfanwy’s hand to ground herself as she pulled her toward her room.

  MARTHA CLOSED THE door to her room and locked it. Myfanwy kneeled, head bowed, palms up resting on her thighs. Martha stripped off her shirt and her bra, leaving her fitted pants tucked into her knee-high boots. She studied the woman before her, remembering her likes and dislikes. The last time they had been together was the week after Octavia left. She crossed to her armoire and selected her favorite flogger and cane.

  “End of the bed, face the bedpost, hands over your head, and clasp the post.” Martha laid the cane on the bed. She pulled the tails of the flogger through her fingers as she watched Myfanwy rise with grace and follow her orders.

  The broad expanse of her back was freckled. Her years of service to the house had left it scarred and beautiful, hard evidence of her devotion to all Rowan House stood for. Martha crossed to her and passed her ha
nds over her skin, the map of her submission. She pressed kisses over the raised scars. Myfanwy groaned and shifted her legs, earning a slap on her thigh from Martha. “Be still.”

  Myfanwy stilled under Martha’s touch. “Yes, Mistress.”

  Martha pressed her breasts against Myfanwy’s back and trailed kisses along her shoulder before kissing the way to her ear. “You and I haven’t played like this in a while. Do you still use the same word?”

  Myfanwy’s voice was clear. “Yes, Mistress. Cake.”

  “Cake.” She moved her hand lower and pressed between Myfanwy’s legs. She gathered the slickness there and spread it over her clit. She pinched and jacked her clit, reveling in the silky heat. “I look forward to hearing it.” She thrust deep and hard before she pulled her fingers out slowly and thrust deep again. Myfanwy’s deep groan made Martha’s clit hard.

  She trembled under Martha’s touch. “Oh yes. Yes. Please, Mistress. Please. I’ve craved your marks.”

  Martha pressed her body flush against her back, forcing her against the bedpost. She kissed her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. “You’ll have them, my sweet girl.”

  She stepped to the side and draped the flogger over her skin, measuring her distance. Myfanwy’s body trembled. With a quick snap of her wrist she laid the flogger against her back. The sharp intake of Myfanwy’s breath set Martha’s blood on fire. She inhaled deeply to steady herself. With even strokes she worked the flogger over her body. Wide red stripes covered her broad back and her thick thighs. So beautiful. Such a gift. Mine. My pretty girl. My pain slut. Myfanwy squealed with each touch of the flogger’s tails at the start, moving to deeper groans as Martha’s excitement built and the force of her blows increased. The sound of leather slapping against Myfanwy’s skin and her heartfelt cries made Martha ache with need. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and her breath was rough. Easy. Enough now. She stopped. Myfanwy sagged against the post, shuddering and gasping. Martha dropped the flogger on the bed and picked up the cane. She touched Myfanwy’s cheek. “Eyes to me.”

  She opened her eyes. The haze of endorphins she rode gave them a glassy look. Martha drew her thumb over her lip. “Remember your word.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  She stepped to the side and rolled the cane over the red raised marks left from the flogger. Myfanwy groaned and wrapped her hands tighter against the post, her knuckles white.

  Martha took a breath to center herself. She raised the cane and brought it down. It made a small whistling sound as it cut the air. It landed, and Myfanwy’s skin rippled with the impact. She shrieked. And Martha closed her eyes, lost in the pleasure of Myfanwy’s pain. Her clit thick, thighs slick, she swallowed on a dry throat, desperate to hear more.

  She focused and raised the cane again and brought it down hard, a scant inch away from the first stripe. Another scream caressed her ears. Myfanwy’s thighs gleamed with wetness and she pressed her thighs together and shifted her legs, and Martha allowed her the comfort.

  She whipped the cane down and delivered two more blows. Two more screams. Martha panted with exertion and excitement. My beautiful girl. My love. My heart.

  “More please, Mistress. Please. One more. Please.”

  Martha raised the cane and brought it down, and Myfanwy’s skin broke and welled with blood. She dropped the cane and pressed her body against Myfanwy. The heat of her marks warmed her belly and her breasts. She reached around and thrust her fingers between Myfanwy’s legs. Fucking her, grinding her clit with the heel of her hand, she rubbed herself against her wide, firm ass, pushing them toward the edge together.

  “Oh please, Mistress. Please let me come for you. Please.” Myfanwy’s voice was husky, and she shifted her hips and pushed back against Martha.

  Martha edged her, and herself, keeping them on the brink. Myfanwy’s blood wet her skin, coated her nipples, and the slick slide of blood and sweat between them sent sharp spikes of pleasure through Martha and she sped up her thrusts.

  “Please. Mistress. Please. Oh. I…” Myfanwy’s pleas filled Martha’s heart and she broke.

  “Come with me. Now.” Martha bit down, closing her teeth over the soft skin of Myfanwy’s shoulder. Martha bought them both off, her deep groans mixing with Myfanwy’s shrieks. She slowed her strokes, easing them down, as they rode out the aftershocks clinging to each other.

  Myfanwy’s body shuddered under her.

  “Lower your hands and turn to me.” Martha kissed and licked the deep marks her teeth had made on Myfanwy’s shoulder.

  She turned in her arms and Martha pulled her close. She bent and lifted Myfanwy, holding her to her chest and pressing her face into her hair and her lips against her damp temple.

  “You’ll hurt yourself, Mistress.” Myfanwy clasped her hands around Martha’s neck.

  “Shh. Let me get you to the bed.” She carried her over and placed her gently on the mattress. Martha poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “You’ll be sleeping on your stomach for a bit.” Martha kissed her forehead. “Let me clean you up.” She went to her bathroom and gathered her supplies. She brought them back. Myfanwy lay on her stomach, her head pillowed on her hands. Martha sat on the edge of the bed. “This is going to sting.” She wiped the wet, warm cloth over her skin, cleaning away the blood. Using a soft touch, she rubbed salve into the marks on her skin. Myfanwy sighed as Martha worked on her.

  “I want to ask you something, not as Mistress to submissive but as—as whatever it is we are to each other.”

  Myfanwy turned her head and rolled to her side to meet Martha’s gaze. “Friends? Lovers?”

  “Lovers.” Martha met her gaze. “Why have you never asked to be mine?”

  “Because I said no the first time you asked me to be yours. Because now I’m a woman of a certain age and it would seem desperate if I asked for your collar now.” Myfanwy smiled a tight sad smile. “I am yours. Even if I’ve never pledged as such.”

  “And if I asked again?” She pushed a lock of Myfanwy’s hair behind her ear.

  “Yes. And no. I wouldn’t be able to keep working here if you asked me to be yours, to wear your collar.” She touched the house collar she wore, and the tag jingled. “I want to pretend the door is open, even if it isn’t, not if I’m honest with myself. I’m not as young as some of the new ones. I’m built for comfort, not speed. I’m real, not some silicon-injected Barbie-doll imitation.” She smoothed her hand over her thick hips. “I love working here. If I said yes to your collar I’d feel like I was unfaithful to you any time I let another woman touch me. And I’d feel that way no matter what you said.” She reached over and picked up Martha’s hand. She pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s not because I don’t love you, Mistress.” She squeezed her hand and looked into Martha’s eyes. “I could never give you what you need, truly need, if you’re honest with yourself. If you couldn’t get what you need from Octavia, you’d never be able to get it from me.”

  Martha let go of her hand and looked down, avoiding Myfanwy’s eyes. “I’m so obvious?”

  Myfanwy touched her cheek, drawing her gaze. “To me you are. I am ever yours, Mistress. I want you to be happy. To have what you need. Even if I pledged myself to you, it wouldn’t fill the empty place inside you, the part that needs to submit as much as I do.”

  “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  Myfanwy sat up and cupped Martha’s face with both hands. “You’ve kept me safe, you’ve sheltered me, fed me, loved me as I am, and made me feel like I am the most beautiful, precious woman in the world.” Her grip and voice became fierce. “Pledged to you or not, I’m yours.”

  Martha kissed her, taking her time, drinking in the love that flowed from Myfanwy, drawing strength from her. She leaned back and looked into her eyes and sang softly, letting the words of the Welsh ballad say all the things she didn’t trust herself to say.

  “Myfanwy boed yr holl o’th fywyd,

  Dan heulwen ddisglair canol dydd,

  A boed i rosyn g
wridog iechyd,

  I ddawnsio ganmlwydd ar dy rudd.

  Anghofia’r oll o’th addewidion,

  A wneist i rywun, ’ngeneth ddel,

  A dyro’th law, Myfanwy dirion,

  I ddim ond dweud y gair “Ffarwél”.

  Myfanwy leaned her forehead against Martha brow. “You’re going to make me cry.”

  “No.” Martha kissed her lips gently and reached between them. She swept her fingers over Myfanwy’s clit. “I’m going to make you come again. Eyes open, my pretty girl. Let me watch you come for me.”

  Chapter Six

  LUCIA MET HER at the door. She wore a long black wool coat and the wide-brimmed hat she had worn when she arrived. Martha offered her arm, and she took it, resting her black-gloved hand on Martha’s forearm. Millie opened the car, and Martha waited while Lucia entered first. She slid into the seat next to her, and Millie closed the door. The car was warm, and she opened the buttons on her coat.

  Lucia took off her hat and placed it on the seat between them. She pulled her gloves off and tucked them into her handbag. “How long ago did you make this reservation?”

  “Six months.” Martha chewed her lip. No need for her to know it was supposed to be an anniversary lunch with Octavia. Not going to let a reservation at The Stone Hearth go by.

  Lucia tilted her head at her. “Just in case you needed to take someone to lunch? Am I taking Elaine’s place? She’ll kill me. She’s still not forgiven me about the wine.”

  Martha smiled at her. “No. Not taking Elaine’s place. So no worries.” Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. Lucia didn’t press, and Martha was grateful.

  “I’ve read so much about The Stone Hearth. I can’t wait to try their marmalade pudding.” Lucia unclasped the hooks on her coat.

  “It’s even better than you’ve read about. Everything is so fantastic. It is—” she lowered her voice and leaned close to Lucia “—the best food on Skye, but you didn’t hear it from me.”