“To Command and Collar” Questionon November 1, 2011 at 12:52 pm
Hi all! I hope everyone has posted their favorite scene in the contest post!! There’s a little over 22 days left until the winner will be selected for a copy of the soon to be released To Command and Collar! Don’t wait until the last minute as that’s just before Thanksgiving! If you’re life is anything like mine at Thanksgiving, it’s CRAZY. Post early so you don’t forget.
So, just to be extra evil, just a little lingering from Halloween yesterday, I have another question for you!! At the end of Make Me, Sir!, Kim was still missing. We had no idea where she was or if they would ever be able to get her back. Now, in an unedited excerpt from Cherise’s website, quoted below, Raoul and Kim are face to face. My question for you is… how is that happening? I have a few ideas but I want to hear yours. What has lead up to the following scene?
“You’re thinking too much, little slave. Keep your eyes only on me.”
Her attention jerked back to him at the soft command. His veil of remoteness had dropped away again. Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her, his dark gaze skimming over her face, her shoulders, her hands, her legs. Under the discomfort of the heavy silence, she shifted her weight as the flutters in her stomach increased. An experienced dominant. She saw the signs in his posture and in the way that sometimes she reacted to him as a dom — not a monster.
He’s a monster. Never forget that.
“What is your real name?” he asked softly.
My name. Part of me. Not answering this. His chin lifted and under his gaze, her defiance that had infuriated Lord Greville bent as inevitably as a palm tree in a tropical storm. “Kimberly. Sir.”
“Thank you.” When his face softened in approval, her muscles relaxed even though she knew — she knew — he was a slaver. And he — he wanted to use a flogger on her.
He grasped her shoulders and turned her so her back was to him. Why wasn’t he being rough with her? As he traced lines down her back, his fingers were warm, the calluses scraping lightly. “You’ve been whipped. Was it before or after your slavery?”
Her throat went tight. Slavery. Why did hearing the word send disbelief through her every time? This can’t be me. Can’t be happening. “After.” Lord Greville’s eyes, crazy mad, the pain, falling to her knees, blood everywhere.
He grunted. “Assholes.”
What? She forced herself to stillness.
“You are not going to escape this evening without some pain, chiquita.” Even as she stiffened, he pulled her back against him again, his body like a brick wall, his arm circling her waist. He fondled her breasts, his gentleness disconcerting. His breath teased the curls at her temple. “Did you enjoy being flogged before all this happened?”
That was a different life, no relation to the one now.
She should never have told him her name — hearing it now, used in a master’s authoritative voice, shook something inside her. My name. I’m real. I’m still me, Kimberly Elizabeth Moore. She swallowed, remembered the question about BDSM clubs and play parties. Before. “I — yes.”
“Good girl.” His resonant voice relaxed her, even as she tried to keep herself defended. “And restraints? Do they bother you?”
This seemed like before somehow, the dance of negotiations, while finding a partner who liked what she did. But it isn’t, Kim. You’re a slave. A fuckhole. A slut. She stiffened.
He nipped her earlobe, making her jump and raising the oddest tingle inside her. “Stay in the present with me, Kimberly,” he said, his voice so very different than earlier. Low and rich and smooth with a hint of a Spanish accent. As unexpectedly warm as a sunny day in the spring. “Answer me now. Do restraints bother you?”
“No. Not really.” Not like enclosed spaces, hoods, cages. Her stomach turned over, and her chest constricted.
“Something bothers you. What?”
As if she’d give him a weapon to use against her. To punish her with like the Overseer had. Her mouth compressed into a thin line.
“No?” He sighed and turned her to face him. As he regarded her, he massaged her upper arms, his grip powerful, controlled…warm. “I am going to restrain you and flog you. I will use my hands on you, perhaps my mouth. I know you don’t have a choice in this” — his eyes chilled for a moment — “but you might find it easier, knowing I won’t exceed those boundaries.”
He — he was right. He planned nothing she hadn’t enjoyed at one time — nothing she hadn’t survived since. No cages. The relief blanked her mind, and a thank-you escaped before she could pull it back.
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I like hearing gratitude.” He ran his knuckles over her left breast. As always, since soon after her capture, she felt nothing. No pain, no revulsion, just…nothing.
His eyes narrowed. He stroked over her breast again slowly, this time studying her face as he did. Without lifting his hand, he stroked upward and over her shoulder. Her neck.
The skin on his fingertips was a little rough. His palm melted the ice under her skin the way the heat from the sun would dissipate morning fog on the water.
“You will need much work, chiquita,” he murmured, “but this is not the night.”
Let me know what YOU think the situation could be. And do not forget to leave your favorite scene for the contest!