Fic: Mistress (Legend of the Seeker, Kahlan/Richard, NC-17)
Title: Mistress
Author: alyse
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Characters/Pairing: Kahlan/Richard
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set post season 2
Word Count: ~2,800
Warnings: Mild kink, F/m domination
Disclaimer: Legend of the Seeker (TV) belongs to ABC Studios/Disney. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: Written for philstar22 for
fandom_stocking 2012 as she loves LotS and apparently likes femdom.
Summary: She still remembered it clearly, the feeling she'd had the first time she'd worn Mord'Sith leathers, swaggering into a D'Haran fort with Richard on a leash following at her heels.
-o-
All of her life, Kahlan had been trained to use her skills as a Confessor, and not just those that related to the magic her Order possessed. There were other skills that went hand in hand with the ultimate power of Confession, a myriad of them to master and Kahlan had always been a quick study. She could extract the truth from the most elaborate of lies, read it in men's hearts if not men's minds. She could weigh any who lived in the Midlands, weigh them and find them wanting.
And Richard was wanting.
He'd never said anything to Kahlan, never would, and Kahlan hadn't forced the issue. Why would she? She and Richard would never be able to touch, never able to kiss or caress, not with her Confessor powers keeping them apart. To dig a little deeper, delve into those desires that Richard locked down tight, not even letting himself consider them, would be cruel.
But things were different now, now that she knew that Richard's love for her was so vast, so all encompassing, that even the powers she wielded could not withstand it. The thought both gladdened and terrified her at the same time, all of those feelings she'd forced down, locked down as tightly as any of Richard's unspoken needs, bubbling up towards the surface until she could barely stand them.
There was no need to hold back now, and the first time that she and Richard had lain together, as man and wife in deed if not yet in name, she'd cried the sheer joy of it to the sky.
Cara was still making sarcastic remarks about that. But Cara had her own secrets, her own wants and needs, and Kahlan wasn't above a little emotional blackmail when it suited her purposes, not when her purpose was as important as this.
She smoothed her hands down over sleek and tight red leather, relishing the feel of it, warm and supple, underneath her touch. It had been cool when she'd first pulled it on, sliding over her skin and sending shivers through her, but now it had taken on the heat of her body, moulding to her shape until she felt just as sleek and supple encased within it.
Even so, the outfit was even more constricting than her corset, lending a subtle kind of tightness where it pressed against her skin against her skin, rippling waves of pressure whenever she moved in it.
The ripples of pleasure followed just after, and not all of it was to do with the sensory experience of wearing it now. She still remembered it clearly, the feeling she'd had the first time she'd worn Mord'Sith leathers, swaggering into a D'Haran fort with Richard on a leash following at her heels. The swagger had come naturally, something about the form of the clothing she wore giving form to her walk and her words, turning her into someone new, someone just as powerful as Kahlan but in a different way.
She smoothed her hands down her thighs again, checking every fastening, every lace, more to feel the pull of them through her gloved hands than because she feared they'd come undone. At last she straightened, staring at someone unknown in the mirror, something she didn't quite fear.
The metal collar was cool in her hands as well, cold steel that didn't take on the heat of her body quite so quickly, and she shivered again, feeling the weight of it pressing her down. She slid her fingers around the rim, remembering how one just like this had pressed against Richard's neck, leaving red marks on his pale skin that didn't fade for hours.
Richard would be here soon and she'd be marking him again.
It was difficult waiting for him, the impatience bubbling up within her just as hard and fast as the first tendrils of desire. Perhaps it was the leathers causing it as much as the plans she had for Richard, the ones that were running through her head at full speed, tightening in her chest and catching her breath in her throat in a way that had nothing to do with corsets. Maybe this was why Cara was so rough and ready, every Mord'Sith Kahlan had ever met so forceful and demanding.
The clothes maketh the woman.
At last she heard Richard's footsteps in the corridor, slow and tired as they had been these last few weeks, matters of state dragging him down when he was still a woodsman at heart, longing for that freedom. She took a deep breath, holding it inside her until the laces of her corsets creaked, barely holding her together when she was sure she'd fly apart.
Richard's steps slowed even further at the door, his fingers turning the latch, and then he was there, stepping through the doorway, smiling at her brightly.
His smile faded when he caught sight of her, his lips parting and his eyes widening. But there was a flare there, in the depths of his eyes, something broken and vulnerable, wanting and wondering. His steps slowed, the door closing behind him.
He swallowed, the muscles of his throat moving with a nervous little twitch, when Richard was seldom nervous.
"Kahlan," he said, and it came out fractured, his eyes moving up and down her body, the look in them heating her up from within. But this wasn't about her - this was about him, about the look that had been in his eyes when she'd first clamped the shackle around his neck, about the way he'd looked at her for days afterwards, little sidelong glances that told her clearly how well he remembered it.
"On your knees," she said softly, still managing to inject steel into every word.
Richard's knees buckled but he didn't fall, not at first. Not without giving her face a searching look, looking for something she wasn't sure was there. She gave him the faintest of smiles, slipping out of character for a moment as she let her love for him shine through, and relief flashed through his eyes.
No magic, no coercion. Not in this.
He finally fell, his hands lying limp in his lap as he stared up at her, adoration in his gaze.
"That's good," she said. The words came out a little stilted and she cleared her throat, grasping for that confidence, that borderline arrogance. "That's good, my pet," she repeated, and Richard shuddered, his pupils now dark and black.
"Take off your shirt," she murmured, stepping closer to him and letting her fingers trail lightly over the breadth of his shoulders. "Let me see you."
Richard's fingers fumbled on the laces, pulling them awkwardly apart, one by one, his breathing unsteady. His eyes kept flicking to her face, judging her reaction, nervous and aroused both at once, and it sent a wave of desire through her, her own knees coming close to buckling. This was so much better than she'd anticipated, his clumsiness - his eager shyness - more real, more visceral than the knowingness of him playing along she'd pictured in her mind.
She shifted position, moving her weight from one leg to the other, just to feel the leather move against her skin, the firmness of the corset against her breasts, the seam of the pants a delicious pressure between her legs.
Richard finally pulled the shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested to her gaze, and she moved towards him again, letting her leather gloved hands trace over his skin, a barely there pressure that had him shivering, shifting closer to her.
She slid her fingers up from the nape of his neck into his hair, tugging on it sharply to jerk his head back, forcing a gasp from his lips. His eyes were almost black now, the look in them lost, showing every sensation her was feeling.
She let the corners of her lips curl up in a smile, something cold and cruel, far from the way she actually felt about him, and another shiver ran through him, one that made his whole body shake.
"Here," she said, lifting the collar up and holding it out, waiting until Richard's gaze caught sight of it, his eyes widening again, the look in them more lust than lost this time. "Lift your head, my pet," she purred.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on the cold metal, and for a second she thought he'd baulk. But then he lifted his chin, offering himself to her.
This time she was the one who shivered, the need for him so powerful that she feared that she'd join him on the floor.
The collar fastened with a click, and Richard sighed, any remaining fight - any lingering reluctance - leaving him with that breath.
Kahlan smiled again, something secretive and triumphant, her whole body singing with it. She should let this play out, let the anticipation build to near unbearable levels, wait until Richard was at the point where a single touch from her hand would bring in release. That had been her plan, but now that Richard was so close, shackled at her feet, her impatience wouldn't be denied. She'd been imagining this day for weeks, her own desires and needs building, and now she was wet with need for him, the feel of the leather on her skin sending sparks like Zedd's fireworks spiralling through her. This would not be the last time they'd do this. She knew that they'd play this game again, not pausing until they were both sated and sore, lost in an endless loop of pleasure.
But that could wait. She wouldn't toy with Richard for much longer today.
She wrapped the chain attached to his collar around her hand, feeling the slippery links slide against her skin before giving it an experimental tug.
"Come, slave," she said, her arousal leaving her voice rough and husky. She tugged again on the chain, harder this time so that it dug into Richard's neck. It left him fighting for balance, so hard had he been straining towards her without even realising it. "Serve me."
She led him to the chair in the corner of their bedchambers, ignoring the way that he was stumbling behind her as she moved too rapidly for him to rise cleanly to his feet. And when she reached it, she sat down in it facing him, jerking on his chain again so that he fell back to his knees, not even waiting for her to order him to do so.
The smile she let show this time was full of ripe satisfaction and once again, heat flared in Richard's eyes.
"Serve me," she repeated, her heart beating so rapidly now that she could barely summon those words let alone a more detailed explanation. But she didn't need one - Richard had always been quick of wit and no sooner had she spread her thighs in a blatant invitation than he had shifted between them, lowering his head.
His hands were a steady weight on her thighs, his breath warm against her leathers. When his teeth fastened on the first lace to her breeches, tugging them open, she barely swallowed down her cry of mingled surprise and pleasure.
He took his time, his lips, teeth and tongue slowly managing to undo all of the laces of that part of her uniform, each move awkward but even more arousing for it. His hands never left her thighs, even though she hadn't ordered him to keep them there, and his mouth - when he finally looked up at her, the night air cool against the damp juncture of her legs - was swollen with the effort, looking bee-stung.
Or Mord'Sith struck.
She reached down with one leather clad finger, tracing the line of his lip and then sliding her finger inside. He sucked on it, just a hint of teeth, and her body clenched up tight, flurries of pleasure shivering through her belly and lower.
She twisted the chain more firmly around the hand that held it, pulling him closer to where she wanted him and placing her other palm on top of his hand, sliding her fingers through his hair as she guided him. The first touch of his tongue against her opening had another surge of pleasure coursing through her and she ground up against him, holding him there firmly as she used his mouth, used it as though she cared nothing for the man attached to it.
He let out a sound, something soft and lost that had her loosening her grip, suddenly worried that she was moving too fast, too far, but Richard pressed his face more firmly against her, his tongue working magic as it caressed her heated, swollen flesh.
Richard was the one who had shown her this, who had first brought her such pleasure with his mouth and his fingers, and he pleasured her now, his mouth hard and frantic against her skin. She tightened her grip on his chain again, let her hand slide over his scalp and catch hold of his collar, pulling him closer still, knowing this time that the sound he let out was strangled pleasure, something hard and hard won, not pain.
She wasn't going to last long, not as aroused as she was, and it wasn't long before the shivers of pleasure running through her turned into something harder, something velvety and dark that surged through her, taking her to her peak and turning her limbs to liquid. Too soon, Richard's mouth went from pleasurable to near-painful, her over sensitised skin twitching as he continued to work.
She pushed his head away roughly, ignoring the impulse to pull him closer, caress that beloved face with all of the tenderness she possessed. The game wasn't over yet; Richard had not yet spent, and the deathlike grip he still had on her thighs told her how close he was, how hard and ready.
When she forced him away, sitting up and staring down at him, his face was wet with her come, his eyes still dark and shining, the look in them almost drugged. He was hard in his breeches, a small, damp spot on the fabric telling her just how much bringing her pleasure had affected him.
"Undo the laces to your breeches," she instructed breathlessly, adding, "Slowly!" when his fingers fumbled in the rush.
He obeyed, for all that it must have cost him, slowing his pace until his breeches were open, revealing his hardness to her gaze. His fingers were shaking, his chest heaving with rapid breaths, his eyes still fixed firmly on her, as if she was the only thing that mattered. His love.
His Mistress.
"Touch yourself," she said, the words coming out calm and steady, no embarrassment, just an underlying fierceness, something wild and possessive. "Make yourself come."
The breath stuttered in Richard's throat but he followed her instructions to the letter, curling his fingers tightly around his hardness and moving his hand slowly up and down his length. His eyes were still fixed on her face, still waiting for the next instruction, the next order, hers completely. She would only have to say the word and he would follow.
"Now."
He came, ribbons of white come splattering the taut, tight muscles of his stomach as he gasped out her name.
She waited until he had calmed, until he'd stripped the last few droplets from his length and fastened his eyes on her again.
"That's Mistress Kahlan to you," she said, with a mischievous smile.
Richard laughed helplessly, the last remnants of tension easing from his body.
"Always," he said, his smile as bright and wide as the sun, the shadows under his eyes finally disappearing, erased by the brilliance of the love shining in his eyes. "Do I want to know where you got the leathers, my love?"
She grinned. "Cara owed me a favour or two, and there is a Mord'Sith temple within the city limits. She didn't ask why I wanted a set of leathers, and I don't think we should tell her." She reached out and let her fingers stroke lightly over his skin, down to his neck where the collar had marked it. "I'm not planning to give them back."
He leaned into her touch. "I'm all in favour of that," he murmured, the look in his eyes as soft and tender as his tone. "Mistress."
The End
Author: alyse
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Characters/Pairing: Kahlan/Richard
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set post season 2
Word Count: ~2,800
Warnings: Mild kink, F/m domination
Disclaimer: Legend of the Seeker (TV) belongs to ABC Studios/Disney. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: Written for philstar22 for
fandom_stocking 2012 as she loves LotS and apparently likes femdom.
Summary: She still remembered it clearly, the feeling she'd had the first time she'd worn Mord'Sith leathers, swaggering into a D'Haran fort with Richard on a leash following at her heels.
-o-
All of her life, Kahlan had been trained to use her skills as a Confessor, and not just those that related to the magic her Order possessed. There were other skills that went hand in hand with the ultimate power of Confession, a myriad of them to master and Kahlan had always been a quick study. She could extract the truth from the most elaborate of lies, read it in men's hearts if not men's minds. She could weigh any who lived in the Midlands, weigh them and find them wanting.
And Richard was wanting.
He'd never said anything to Kahlan, never would, and Kahlan hadn't forced the issue. Why would she? She and Richard would never be able to touch, never able to kiss or caress, not with her Confessor powers keeping them apart. To dig a little deeper, delve into those desires that Richard locked down tight, not even letting himself consider them, would be cruel.
But things were different now, now that she knew that Richard's love for her was so vast, so all encompassing, that even the powers she wielded could not withstand it. The thought both gladdened and terrified her at the same time, all of those feelings she'd forced down, locked down as tightly as any of Richard's unspoken needs, bubbling up towards the surface until she could barely stand them.
There was no need to hold back now, and the first time that she and Richard had lain together, as man and wife in deed if not yet in name, she'd cried the sheer joy of it to the sky.
Cara was still making sarcastic remarks about that. But Cara had her own secrets, her own wants and needs, and Kahlan wasn't above a little emotional blackmail when it suited her purposes, not when her purpose was as important as this.
She smoothed her hands down over sleek and tight red leather, relishing the feel of it, warm and supple, underneath her touch. It had been cool when she'd first pulled it on, sliding over her skin and sending shivers through her, but now it had taken on the heat of her body, moulding to her shape until she felt just as sleek and supple encased within it.
Even so, the outfit was even more constricting than her corset, lending a subtle kind of tightness where it pressed against her skin against her skin, rippling waves of pressure whenever she moved in it.
The ripples of pleasure followed just after, and not all of it was to do with the sensory experience of wearing it now. She still remembered it clearly, the feeling she'd had the first time she'd worn Mord'Sith leathers, swaggering into a D'Haran fort with Richard on a leash following at her heels. The swagger had come naturally, something about the form of the clothing she wore giving form to her walk and her words, turning her into someone new, someone just as powerful as Kahlan but in a different way.
She smoothed her hands down her thighs again, checking every fastening, every lace, more to feel the pull of them through her gloved hands than because she feared they'd come undone. At last she straightened, staring at someone unknown in the mirror, something she didn't quite fear.
The metal collar was cool in her hands as well, cold steel that didn't take on the heat of her body quite so quickly, and she shivered again, feeling the weight of it pressing her down. She slid her fingers around the rim, remembering how one just like this had pressed against Richard's neck, leaving red marks on his pale skin that didn't fade for hours.
Richard would be here soon and she'd be marking him again.
It was difficult waiting for him, the impatience bubbling up within her just as hard and fast as the first tendrils of desire. Perhaps it was the leathers causing it as much as the plans she had for Richard, the ones that were running through her head at full speed, tightening in her chest and catching her breath in her throat in a way that had nothing to do with corsets. Maybe this was why Cara was so rough and ready, every Mord'Sith Kahlan had ever met so forceful and demanding.
The clothes maketh the woman.
At last she heard Richard's footsteps in the corridor, slow and tired as they had been these last few weeks, matters of state dragging him down when he was still a woodsman at heart, longing for that freedom. She took a deep breath, holding it inside her until the laces of her corsets creaked, barely holding her together when she was sure she'd fly apart.
Richard's steps slowed even further at the door, his fingers turning the latch, and then he was there, stepping through the doorway, smiling at her brightly.
His smile faded when he caught sight of her, his lips parting and his eyes widening. But there was a flare there, in the depths of his eyes, something broken and vulnerable, wanting and wondering. His steps slowed, the door closing behind him.
He swallowed, the muscles of his throat moving with a nervous little twitch, when Richard was seldom nervous.
"Kahlan," he said, and it came out fractured, his eyes moving up and down her body, the look in them heating her up from within. But this wasn't about her - this was about him, about the look that had been in his eyes when she'd first clamped the shackle around his neck, about the way he'd looked at her for days afterwards, little sidelong glances that told her clearly how well he remembered it.
"On your knees," she said softly, still managing to inject steel into every word.
Richard's knees buckled but he didn't fall, not at first. Not without giving her face a searching look, looking for something she wasn't sure was there. She gave him the faintest of smiles, slipping out of character for a moment as she let her love for him shine through, and relief flashed through his eyes.
No magic, no coercion. Not in this.
He finally fell, his hands lying limp in his lap as he stared up at her, adoration in his gaze.
"That's good," she said. The words came out a little stilted and she cleared her throat, grasping for that confidence, that borderline arrogance. "That's good, my pet," she repeated, and Richard shuddered, his pupils now dark and black.
"Take off your shirt," she murmured, stepping closer to him and letting her fingers trail lightly over the breadth of his shoulders. "Let me see you."
Richard's fingers fumbled on the laces, pulling them awkwardly apart, one by one, his breathing unsteady. His eyes kept flicking to her face, judging her reaction, nervous and aroused both at once, and it sent a wave of desire through her, her own knees coming close to buckling. This was so much better than she'd anticipated, his clumsiness - his eager shyness - more real, more visceral than the knowingness of him playing along she'd pictured in her mind.
She shifted position, moving her weight from one leg to the other, just to feel the leather move against her skin, the firmness of the corset against her breasts, the seam of the pants a delicious pressure between her legs.
Richard finally pulled the shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested to her gaze, and she moved towards him again, letting her leather gloved hands trace over his skin, a barely there pressure that had him shivering, shifting closer to her.
She slid her fingers up from the nape of his neck into his hair, tugging on it sharply to jerk his head back, forcing a gasp from his lips. His eyes were almost black now, the look in them lost, showing every sensation her was feeling.
She let the corners of her lips curl up in a smile, something cold and cruel, far from the way she actually felt about him, and another shiver ran through him, one that made his whole body shake.
"Here," she said, lifting the collar up and holding it out, waiting until Richard's gaze caught sight of it, his eyes widening again, the look in them more lust than lost this time. "Lift your head, my pet," she purred.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on the cold metal, and for a second she thought he'd baulk. But then he lifted his chin, offering himself to her.
This time she was the one who shivered, the need for him so powerful that she feared that she'd join him on the floor.
The collar fastened with a click, and Richard sighed, any remaining fight - any lingering reluctance - leaving him with that breath.
Kahlan smiled again, something secretive and triumphant, her whole body singing with it. She should let this play out, let the anticipation build to near unbearable levels, wait until Richard was at the point where a single touch from her hand would bring in release. That had been her plan, but now that Richard was so close, shackled at her feet, her impatience wouldn't be denied. She'd been imagining this day for weeks, her own desires and needs building, and now she was wet with need for him, the feel of the leather on her skin sending sparks like Zedd's fireworks spiralling through her. This would not be the last time they'd do this. She knew that they'd play this game again, not pausing until they were both sated and sore, lost in an endless loop of pleasure.
But that could wait. She wouldn't toy with Richard for much longer today.
She wrapped the chain attached to his collar around her hand, feeling the slippery links slide against her skin before giving it an experimental tug.
"Come, slave," she said, her arousal leaving her voice rough and husky. She tugged again on the chain, harder this time so that it dug into Richard's neck. It left him fighting for balance, so hard had he been straining towards her without even realising it. "Serve me."
She led him to the chair in the corner of their bedchambers, ignoring the way that he was stumbling behind her as she moved too rapidly for him to rise cleanly to his feet. And when she reached it, she sat down in it facing him, jerking on his chain again so that he fell back to his knees, not even waiting for her to order him to do so.
The smile she let show this time was full of ripe satisfaction and once again, heat flared in Richard's eyes.
"Serve me," she repeated, her heart beating so rapidly now that she could barely summon those words let alone a more detailed explanation. But she didn't need one - Richard had always been quick of wit and no sooner had she spread her thighs in a blatant invitation than he had shifted between them, lowering his head.
His hands were a steady weight on her thighs, his breath warm against her leathers. When his teeth fastened on the first lace to her breeches, tugging them open, she barely swallowed down her cry of mingled surprise and pleasure.
He took his time, his lips, teeth and tongue slowly managing to undo all of the laces of that part of her uniform, each move awkward but even more arousing for it. His hands never left her thighs, even though she hadn't ordered him to keep them there, and his mouth - when he finally looked up at her, the night air cool against the damp juncture of her legs - was swollen with the effort, looking bee-stung.
Or Mord'Sith struck.
She reached down with one leather clad finger, tracing the line of his lip and then sliding her finger inside. He sucked on it, just a hint of teeth, and her body clenched up tight, flurries of pleasure shivering through her belly and lower.
She twisted the chain more firmly around the hand that held it, pulling him closer to where she wanted him and placing her other palm on top of his hand, sliding her fingers through his hair as she guided him. The first touch of his tongue against her opening had another surge of pleasure coursing through her and she ground up against him, holding him there firmly as she used his mouth, used it as though she cared nothing for the man attached to it.
He let out a sound, something soft and lost that had her loosening her grip, suddenly worried that she was moving too fast, too far, but Richard pressed his face more firmly against her, his tongue working magic as it caressed her heated, swollen flesh.
Richard was the one who had shown her this, who had first brought her such pleasure with his mouth and his fingers, and he pleasured her now, his mouth hard and frantic against her skin. She tightened her grip on his chain again, let her hand slide over his scalp and catch hold of his collar, pulling him closer still, knowing this time that the sound he let out was strangled pleasure, something hard and hard won, not pain.
She wasn't going to last long, not as aroused as she was, and it wasn't long before the shivers of pleasure running through her turned into something harder, something velvety and dark that surged through her, taking her to her peak and turning her limbs to liquid. Too soon, Richard's mouth went from pleasurable to near-painful, her over sensitised skin twitching as he continued to work.
She pushed his head away roughly, ignoring the impulse to pull him closer, caress that beloved face with all of the tenderness she possessed. The game wasn't over yet; Richard had not yet spent, and the deathlike grip he still had on her thighs told her how close he was, how hard and ready.
When she forced him away, sitting up and staring down at him, his face was wet with her come, his eyes still dark and shining, the look in them almost drugged. He was hard in his breeches, a small, damp spot on the fabric telling her just how much bringing her pleasure had affected him.
"Undo the laces to your breeches," she instructed breathlessly, adding, "Slowly!" when his fingers fumbled in the rush.
He obeyed, for all that it must have cost him, slowing his pace until his breeches were open, revealing his hardness to her gaze. His fingers were shaking, his chest heaving with rapid breaths, his eyes still fixed firmly on her, as if she was the only thing that mattered. His love.
His Mistress.
"Touch yourself," she said, the words coming out calm and steady, no embarrassment, just an underlying fierceness, something wild and possessive. "Make yourself come."
The breath stuttered in Richard's throat but he followed her instructions to the letter, curling his fingers tightly around his hardness and moving his hand slowly up and down his length. His eyes were still fixed on her face, still waiting for the next instruction, the next order, hers completely. She would only have to say the word and he would follow.
"Now."
He came, ribbons of white come splattering the taut, tight muscles of his stomach as he gasped out her name.
She waited until he had calmed, until he'd stripped the last few droplets from his length and fastened his eyes on her again.
"That's Mistress Kahlan to you," she said, with a mischievous smile.
Richard laughed helplessly, the last remnants of tension easing from his body.
"Always," he said, his smile as bright and wide as the sun, the shadows under his eyes finally disappearing, erased by the brilliance of the love shining in his eyes. "Do I want to know where you got the leathers, my love?"
She grinned. "Cara owed me a favour or two, and there is a Mord'Sith temple within the city limits. She didn't ask why I wanted a set of leathers, and I don't think we should tell her." She reached out and let her fingers stroke lightly over his skin, down to his neck where the collar had marked it. "I'm not planning to give them back."
He leaned into her touch. "I'm all in favour of that," he murmured, the look in his eyes as soft and tender as his tone. "Mistress."
The End