But she wouldn’t be Alana. She wouldn’t be his Alana.
Not touching her all week had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He’d held himself back only through sheer grit and determination. To have her so close and not touch her, kiss her, fuck her, whip her, adore her, had been a living hell, one he’d imposed on himself.
But beneath his cool exterior, his heart was breaking.
His lust raged unchecked. He could hold it no longer. He had to claim her at least once more. He needed to taste her sweet lips, to feel her hot cunt, to make her suffer for him one last time.
~*~
Alana stood at the window in her room, watching the last splash of color fade from the sky. She wore a short dress with a batik pattern of fish and seashells in deep ink blue. Mark really had an eye for elegant simplicity. She hadn’t bothered with a bra or panties, and her feet were bare.
Her own clothes, the things she’d arrived in, were laid out for tomorrow. He told her she would take nothing of his with her—none of the beautiful clothing, nor the strange jewelry she’d worn at her wrists, ankles and sex. She touched her bottom through the material of the dress. He couldn’t take that back. His mark would always remind her of this strange time.
Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear anyone enter the room, but suddenly Mark was behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders, his scent enveloping her. “Don’t move.”
Her heart kicked instantly into overdrive.
Was this when he admitted it had all been a game? A trap? She could barely breathe.
She started to turn around, to sink to her knees, but his hands tightened, the fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “I said don’t move.”
Alana froze. While a part of her was terrified, she couldn’t help but feel a kind of elation. He still wanted her! She was his adored, cherished slave girl.
Her thoughts were cut short as he spoke, his voice low and urgent. “Put your hands up against the window. High up.”
Alana obeyed, pressing her palms against the cool glass as she tried to get air into her lungs. His large hands slid underneath her dress and ran along her sides, sending a shiver of raw desire through her loins. She couldn’t control the whimper of desire when his fingers closed over her nipples. He rolled and twisted them until they were engorged and throbbing. Then he slid his hands down her stomach to her cunt. He cupped the smooth mons and pressed a finger inside.
Alana groaned.
He ground his palm against her clit, and Alana moaned her pleasure. Before long, she began to tremble, a climax hurtling through her body in shuddering waves. Her knees began to buckle and she pressed her hands hard against the windowpane for support.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, trying to form the words she knew her Master required, “Please, may I—?”
He cut her off, “Don’t ask me for anything,” he said gruffly. “Don’t ask permission—it’s no longer mine to give.”
Alana was too far-gone, too close to release to fully process the import of his words. She let her orgasm lift and carry her as his fingers continued their perfect, relentless dance against her sex.
As she sagged against the window, Alana felt Mark’s naked body press against hers, warm and strong. Gripping her shoulders, he turned her toward him. He was naked, his cock hard and fully erect.
As her arms fell to her sides, he slipped the dress from her shoulders, and it puddled to the floor at her feet. He stared down into her eyes. “I have to have you, at least once more.”
His voice was commanding. Gone was the almost timorous man she had experienced during this long, strange week. Her Master had returned to her.
Moving her from the window, Mark pressed her against the wall and hoisted her onto his hips. As she wrapped her legs around him, he eased her onto his shaft. Her cunt clamped around his thick cock as it filled her completely, an after-spasm from her recent orgasm making her jerk against him.
For a moment, Mark just held her, his face resting against her bare breasts, his strong arms encircling her. He lifted and lowered her on his cock, as if she weighed nothing. He began to thrust faster, his steady, perfect rhythm reawakening her need. He began to pant, his head thrown back, his face suffused with lust.
Impulsively she wrapped her arms around him, dropping her head to his shoulder as he pummeled her into ecstasy.
~*~
Neither spoke as they pushed around the food on their plates. Mark stole a glance at the girl of his dreams, the woman he was sending away. She was dressed in the clothing she’d worn when he’d abducted her—the bright yellow sweater and faded jeans, her feet shod in expensive boots.