She wanted this discussion done and out of the way before they drove home. Once they left the airport, she wanted nothing more than to be her Sir’s pet. “You said she left a note for you?”

  He nodded and pulled out his personal cell. He unlocked it, swiped to something, and then handed it to her. “That’s the first page. Swipe through to see the others.”

  Shayla swallowed hard as she read it, unsure how she was supposed to feel about…this. Tony hardly ever talked about his ex-wife. He’d had a couple of discussions with Shayla about her early on in their relationship, and they were all couched in terms of what he didn’t want from their relationship. The good example of a bad example, in other words.

  Never had Shayla ever received the impression that he’d still harbored feelings for the woman, so the vague discomfort flowing through her wasn’t triggered by anything her husband had done.

  When she finished reading the note, she returned the phone to him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you about it sooner, pet. Between the stress of dealing with and firing Jim, and the install, this was just too much on my plate to parse until it was…resolved.”

  She reached for his hand again. “Hey, I’m not upset, Sir. You’re my husband, and that’s my ring on your hand, and that’s all I care about.” She squeezed his hand. “Seriously, Tony, I’m good. This doesn’t upset me. I mean, I’m upset that you’re upset, but I’m not upset at you.”

  He removed his glasses with his free hand and rubbed at his eyes. “Thank you for being okay with Sunday.”

  “Like Tilly always says, it’s better to give thanks for good fortune and live well than dwell in the past. I would rather be the better person. Especially since her family’s in so much pain right now. It won’t hurt me to be magnanimous.”

  He tightly squeezed her hand and let out a sharp breath that almost sounded like he was trying not to cry as his weary green gaze focused on her. “And that’s one of the reasons why you are the center of my universe, pet,” he quietly said.

  * * * *

  Shayla tried not to pester Tony to talk, didn’t want to stress him out or make him have to think during dinner. She could see the exhaustion lining his face and had, quite honestly, figured he’d likely fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow when they returned home. She volunteered to drive them home, and he even dozed off in the passenger seat, the seat tipped back and his left hand resting on her thigh.

  But he was home. At least for a few days.

  Not that she was a praying kind of person, but she prayed he was able to at least rest while he was home because, now having him before her, she could tell how desperately wrung out he was.

  What she wasn’t counting on was after they returned home and she brought his carryons inside for him, while he wrangled his luggage, he set everything down in the foyer, fisted her hair, and kissed her in a way that totally melted every thought right out of her brain. Before she could even strip and don her cuffs and collar.

  “Greeting, pet,” he whispered.

  She folded, down to her knees, formal bow, and kissed the top of his left sneaker, the right. The back of his left hand, the right.

  When she nuzzled the front of his jeans, she felt a very rigid, solid bulge awaiting her there.

  He stroked the top of her head. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Up. Naked, cuffs, collar, bedroom. Now.”

  She jumped up to do it while he paused in the living room and petted Bagel and Cream, who were loudly meowing at him from where they’d jumped up on the sofa.

  He’s home!

  He’s home!

  * * * *

  Tony wasn’t sure how much energy he’d have in him tonight, on top of the headache that still wasn’t going away. He stopped by the kitchen after petting the babies and drank a glass of water.

  Probably dehydrated. And stress.

  He hoped. Because if it turned into a migraine, it would make the next day or so absolutely fucking miserable.

  Then he detoured through the playroom to grab a light, stingy paddle. He just wanted a little assist tonight, and his hands were aching and covered in countless scratches from running wires and assembling racks. He’d save striping her ass for tomorrow night.

  Then he headed down the hallway, toward their bedroom.

  She was already kneeling on the bedroom floor, at the end of their bed, waiting for him.

  “My beautiful pet,” he softly said. “Such a good girl for me. You’ve been so brave and so sweet, and I know how hard this time away’s been for you, because it’s been miserable for me, too.” He tossed the paddle onto the bed and then walked over to her. Part of him wished he’d taken his boots with him to Denver, and he would have worn them home today.

  Except he couldn’t work in them, they didn’t have arch supports, and would have been miserable to wear all day. He’d kept his packing down to a minimum, knowing he’d have enough shit to keep track of as it was.

  Stopping by the closet door, he toed off his Asics sneakers, leaving them tied, and yanked his socks off to drop them on top of them. Then he walked over to her, standing in front of her.

  He tapped his left foot once. She practically levitated, her entire body nearly vibrating as she struggled not to wiggle in glee over the fact that he was home while she once again pressed her lips to the top of his left foot.

  Tony took a deep breath and smiled. Maybe he had a headache, but dammit, he was going to love up on his wife tonight. She’d damned well earned it.

  He tapped his right foot and she repeated it.

  “Up,” he quietly said, raising his arms to the side.

  She immediately tugged his shirt out of his jeans and started unbuttoning it, smiling up at him, her sweet hazel eyes looking more brown in the dim light. He never broke eye contact with her as she unbuttoned his short-sleeved shirt and pulled it off him.

  When she started to fold it, he made a noise. “Just drop it,” he hoarsely said. It’d been the better part of two weeks since he’d rubbed one out during phone sex with her. Now that he was home, his cock had decided, headache or not, the little head was getting some action tonight.

  She dropped it and tugged his undershirt free, lifting it over his head and dropping it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, warm, bare flesh pressing together and peace filling his soul.

  Saying she was the center of his universe was no exaggeration—she was. He’d lived over ten years alone and lonely, and while he had no problem being an independent person, life was undeniably sweeter with her beautiful soul twined around his.

  He kissed her, catching her right hand and pressing it against his belt. She took the hint and didn’t break their kiss as she unfastened his belt, his fly, eased the zipper down, and he bent with her as she started pushing them down his hips.

  He wiggled and kicked them free, stepping out of them as she reached for the waistband of his briefs and practically yanked them down his legs.

  Now freed, his cock tightened in the cool air and he had to catch her by the arms when she tried to sink to her knees to go down on him.

  “Not yet,” he hoarsely said, backing her toward the bed. “I think I only have one in me tonight, and I want it inside you.” He turned them and sat on the end of the bed.

  Shayla needed no prompting to get into position, stretched out over his lap, head to his left.

  He reached behind him to grab the paddle with his right hand as he stroked her back with his left.

  “This is going to be hard and fast, baby,” he warned. “No counting tonight. But this also counts as your punishment spanking, okay?”

  She squirmed on his lap. “Yes, Sir.” From the fuzzy sound of her voice, he could tell she was already sinking into subspace for him.

  “Once we finish this, the board’s reset and my good girl starts at zero. Understand?”

  More happy squirming. “Yes, Sir!”

  Okay, so that was two birds, one stone. Usually punishment was something completely separate, not part of play, and done only when he was clear-headed and calm.

  Except he hadn’t wanted to punish her for forgetting her cuffs and collar. She expected it, though. And with her so happy to have him unexpectedly home, she was apparently happy to not have it be a cane.

  Win-win.

  Clamping his left hand around the back of her neck, he didn’t bother with a warm-up. He started off light for the first four strokes and then laid into her ass and the backs of her thighs. Hard, lightning-fast, alternating impact points with every smack, so that a few minutes later she was squirming in that almost too much kind of way and her moans had turned into whines that meant she was trying to decide if he was close to giving her a break or if she needed to yellow.

  Except, usually, he took safewords off the table for punishment, conducted them very ritualistically, with her voluntarily holding still for them and taking them, never restrained.

  He tossed the paddle aside, his cock throbbing from her flesh rubbing against his. “Good girl,” he said. “Sir’s pet is all better. Get your ass up on that bed.”

  He fought the urge to laugh as she scrambled up and off him, on her back in the center of the bed, hands expectantly held over her head, thighs spread wide.

  “My beautiful pet,” he whispered. And he meant it. He knew she wished she wasn’t as rounded in the ass and hips as she was, but he loved her curves. She hovered between a size 14-16 and she was absolutely perfect, in his eyes.

  Grabbing her at the knees, he shoved her legs farther apart and shouldered in there, no hesitation. He dove for her pussy and tried not to hump himself against the sheets as he eagerly ate her out. Her sweetly salty taste filled his mouth, making him unleash a growl of pleasure into her cunt and drawing a moan of response from her.

  His tongue traced the shape of her shaved pussy—yes, his excellent pet to keep herself the way he loved, even though he wasn’t home and she hadn’t been expecting him home when she showered that morning—every curve and fold, avoiding her clit until she was begging him.

  With the tip of his tongue, he teased the pearl under the hood, her moans changing to needy whines. Every flick of his tongue made her shudder in his hands, under his mouth.

  This. Her.

  How could any straight man not enjoy this with his woman?

  Kept from her body for too damn long, he couldn’t drag it out. He wrapped his lips around her clit and lightly sucked, triggering her first orgasm. As she undulated beneath him, he hooked his arms under and around her thighs to clamp her securely in place.

  No, his headache could just wait a little while to dig in and torture him. Her sweet sounds were the balm his soul needed and had longed for. Hearing her come over a phone, or watching her on a computer screen during a Skype call, was not the same as her juices coating his face and running down into his goatee, his lungs filled with the scent of her.

  His.

  All his.

  Of all the hell this experience had been, his heaven lay right here before him, right now.

  The only thing that kept him going and fighting the urge to say fuck it all and quit for something less stressful.

  Her.

  If you did things right, Sirs lived to keep their pets happy every bit as much as pets lived to satisfy their Sirs.

  And if anyone thought he was “Mastering wrong,” they could go fuck themselves right the fuck off on a rusty pitchfork.

  Repeatedly.

  Chapter Eight

  The sweet, droning hum of subspace filled Shayla’s soul. Once Tony pulled the first orgasm out of her, he kept her hovering, right there, perched perfectly on that rolling edge of please don’t stop and oh god that’s too much.

  His tongue and lips, warm, wet suction and heat and sweet, slick friction against her clit turned one orgasm into a nonstop train of them that had no intention of derailing until he was ready to let her stop.

  Her back arched and she couldn’t keep her hands over her head any longer. She hadn’t been ordered to, so she risked reaching down and grabbing handfuls of hair and grinding against his face. His goatee and mustache rubbed against her sensitive flesh, the stubble on his cheeks scratchy along her inner thighs in all the good ways.

  He growled, one of pleasure, and started alternating tongue-fucking her with swiping it up her clit, circling, down again to repeat the motion.

  “Yes!”

  Then he twisted his arms, grabbing her forearms and pinning her down. Another, stronger wave of orgasms swelled, crested, broke free and crashed into her.

  She didn’t bother trying to stay quiet. He loved and owned her noises. If he wanted to quiet her, he’d have gagged her.

  Time disappeared. She had no clue how long he kept her there, wringing wave after wave of pleasure from her body. There was no “too much” to this—she wouldn’t safeword, no matter how intense, unless it was the bad kind of pain. That wasn’t an order so much as it was a matter of pride, at this point.

  Finally, he released her arms and climbed her body. She was already reaching for him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he notched the thick, ready head of his cock at her pussy and shoved home.

  Both of them moaned, and Shayla shuddered as one more orgasm rippled through her.

  “My gorgeous, perfect pet,” he growled before slanting his mouth over hers and capturing it in a kiss.

  As he fucked her she kissed him, holding his head in place, fingers buried in his hair again. She tasted herself on him and licked, along his lips, around his chin, through his mustache and goatee, everywhere.

  As hard as he was fucking her, she suspected he wouldn’t last long, and he didn’t. Just long enough to grind one more out of her before he completely caged her body with his and drove his cock into her, hard, deep, repeatedly, finally falling still as that sweet and long-absent groan of satisfaction rolled from his lungs and refilled her soul.

  They both let out twin satisfied sighs, which made them both chuckle.

  Tony nuzzled her nose with his. “Love you so fucking much, baby.”

  “Love you, too, Sir.”

  He rolled to his side and she suspected he was sound asleep before he even finished repositioning himself. She lay there for several minutes, still, listening to the sound of him breathing, before gently easing herself out of his arms and out of bed.

  She quietly scooped up his dirty clothes from the bedroom floor, then padded out to the entry. Dragging his suitcases through the utility room and into the playroom, she closed the door behind her, turned on the light, and sorted the dirty clothes from the clean ones. He had a system, dirties inside out, except for jeans, which he tightly rolled and shoved inside dirty shirts.

  After sorting everything and carrying it back through to the utility room, she started the first load of laundry, preset the coffeemaker for in the morning, and realized her soul was singing at having Him back so her routine could, for a brief time, return to normal.

  Yes!

  She spotted his cell phones sitting on the bookshelf in the foyer, next to the bowl where he always dumped his wallet, keys, and spare change from his pockets. Unzipping his carryon, she found the pouch he carried all his chargers in when traveling and located the ones for his phones.

  Taking them into the living room, she plugged them in, then thought about it for a moment and unlocked his cell phone to look at the images of the note again.

  No, jealousy wasn’t her first reaction. She felt sad when she recalled Tony telling her about how Christine’s brother had sounded on the phone.

  Something pinged at her memory…

  Oh, shit.

  She’d heard about that missing person case. It’d only triggered a blip on her mental screens because of the woman’s last name being the same as hers.

  And Tony.

  Fuck.

  How much long-term pain did a person have to be in to finally take that path?

  What if it was James?

  Despite her residual anger at her ex and what he’d put her through…putting her through it had resulted in her moving to Florida and meeting Tony.

  Tony’s divorce years before he met Shayla allowed him to meet her.

  This was not a pain or a burden she wished visited upon anyone or their families.

  I hope you’re finally at peace and sorry you felt this was your only option. Yes, I know how lucky I am, and yes, I love him.

  She closed his phone and set it on the side table. She didn’t need to look at anything else on his phone, and she’d be honest with him later that she’d read it again.

  He didn’t mind her looking, as long as she wasn’t sneaky about it. At any time, she could ask him to hand over his phone, just the way he could ask her to hand over hers.

  But they didn’t need to do that with each other, because they trusted each other.

  That was something she could never have again with James, the way Tony never could with Christine, albeit for drastically different reasons.

  Shayla returned to bed and cozied up to him, snuggled tightly against him. In sleep, he rolled toward her, his arm draping over her and one leg hooking around hers.

  Finally.

  Now she could actually sleep and, hopefully, wake up rested.

  * * * *

  It was disorienting to wake up in his own bed for a change, and at the right time.

  How fucking sad is that?

  Other than his head was fucking pounding. But he smelled coffee and it was actually fucking daylight outside. He could tell because of the light seeping in around the blinds over the windows.

  When he turned his head, he spotted Shayla’s smile. “Good morning, Sir.”

  “Coffee, pet?”

  She tipped her head toward the other side of the bed, and, sure enough, there sat a steaming mug.

  Along with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen.

  “Oh, my god, pet, you are a goddess.”

  “I thought you might need it this morning.”

  He sat up and swallowed three tablets, forcing himself to drink the entire glass of water before he set it down and picked up the mug to take a sip of coffee.