= = = N = = =

I awake to a room full of sunshine and for a moment I couldn’t say where I am. Then I remember, and sit up slowly, feeling stiff and slightly sore. It’s not much of a bed, but it’s better than having slept out in the rain.

I pull myself up to rest against what was the back of the couch. I’m grateful to notice I still have senses - that I haven’t disappeared in the night. I hold up a hand before me, idly, appraising its solidness, still finding it hard to accept that I am again as I was.

I remember managing to extinguish the light last night, and wonder how much of my power has returned.

I glance at a heavy bookshelf and reach towards it. Gradually, with some mental effort – more certainly than it used to take, I raise it several inches in the air. Satisfied, I set it down again, as gently as possible, but a large unsteady book slips off and lands on the hardwood floor with a resounding bang. I lift it back up and put it in its place, then let my hand fall to my lap, encouraged and disappointed all at once. I’m not yet everything I was, but I appear to be healing. Concentrating with all my will, I try again to cross home, but still cannot. I wish I could be certain…is the crossing impossible, or do I merely lack the strength?

A muffled cursing comes suddenly from the bedroom and, banging her door open, Rachael stumbles out, clad in a brief, shimmering green dress. I have turned around to look at her, and as her half-focused eyes fall on me, she stops short and stares. Plainly she’d forgotten I was here.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Problem?” She looks befuddled, so I clarify. “You were yelling?”

“Oh,” she responds, trying to compose herself. “I overslept…forgot the alarm. I missed my first class.”

“You’re a teacher?” I confirm.

“Well, yes…I am. I teach English, at night school. But in the days, I’m a student myself.”

She makes an effort to smile more calmly and seem relaxed, but she hugs her arms around her chest self-consciously.

“What do you study?”

“History,” she answers, with a wave of her hand directed at her plethora of books. She responds dismissively, as if uncomfortable with this talk of herself. She alternately glances desperately at me then away, and shifts her weight uneasily from one bare foot to the other.

I smile inwardly, knowing she’s embarrassed by our mutual lack of clothing.

“Why don’t you sit down?” I ask her wickedly, gesturing to the foot of the bed.

“I’ll just go and dress first…,” she begins, but I cut her off firmly.

“No.” I catch her now slightly frightened eyes, and narrow my own. “I like this dress. Sit down.”

Looking more frightened now, she obeys slowly, walking unsurely over to the bed’s edge and perching upon it tensely, arms before her and slim calves pressed tightly together.

Now, facing forward again, I can relax and lean back. My chest is bare and I see that she won’t allow herself to stare at me. I won’t press her now, however. It’s enough that I can stare at her.

“What sort of history?” I ask her conversationally, not much interested in her answer, but enjoying watching the diverse emotions battling through her. How transparent she is.

She’s finding it difficult to speak normally.

“Um…I have my Master’s degree in medieval history…and classical history…and I took minors in Greek and Latin. I’m here studying Japanese history.”

“You’re not from Japan.” I confirm, as she has faltered to a stop. “I didn’t think so.”

She shakes her head, her red hair swinging slightly. She ventures a glance at me at last.

“You aren’t either, I don’t think,” she comments, a trace of fear still discernable in her voice.

“No.” I acknowledge somewhat bitterly. “I’m from far away.”

She nods slightly, sympathetically, as if she senses my feelings.

“I’m alone too,” she states, looking first at her toes then, more bravely, at my face.

I don’t answer, but stare at her deep-green eyes for some time. She stares back, nervously at first, then gradually relaxing.

“English is your first language?” I ask her eventually, thinking back over her words. She nods in confirmation. “Would you prefer if I spoke in English?”

“I don’t care.” She shrugs, then smiles slightly. “I don’t get to use it that much here, outside of class. It might be nice.”

“Very well.” I say, switching. “English it is.”

My stomach begins to complain of its emptiness.

“Is there more food?” I ask her, and she nods.

“What would you like?” she asks somewhat breathlessly.

“I’ll forage.” I answer, standing up and wrapping the bed sheet – for her sake – around my waist. “You see to my uniform. Then perhaps you could relax a bit.”

I smirk at her embarrassed blush, and move into the kitchen.

= = = R = = =

I watch him leave the room, my face burning with indignation, then march to my bedroom and dress, almost defiantly.

“Who is this guy?” I demand of myself, throwing a black shirt over my head and punching my arms through its short sleeves.

“How dare he order me not to get dressed?! I’ll get dressed when I like!”

I glower at myself in the mirror and brush my hair violently, equally angry with myself for wordlessly obeying him.

“I couldn’t not obey him, though. I was bloody terrified. I still am. He’s got to go!”

I begin putting my make-up on, very carefully, and I grimace slightly as I acknowledge that his going is the very last thing I want. I most certainly, desperately, violently want him to stay.

I do not want him to know this, however - under no circumstances. I may not be the world’s expert on relationships, but I do know that men cannot stand neediness or desperation.

I stand up and look myself over, highly annoyed. All made up, tight shirt, tight jeans and my sexiest lingerie – not desperate at all! I look at the door and set my teeth in determination.

I burst out into the room, but it’s empty. Rallying myself again, I push open the door to the kitchen.

Nephrite is here, sitting composedly at the small table, looking downwards out the window. Light is streaming through his auburn hair, and over his gorgeous broad chest. Oh god…

He looks up as I enter. I stop just within the door…this kitchen is far too small.

“I’m going to class,” I state. “The iron is in the closet, and so is the ironing board. You can take care of your own clothes.”

I sound far bitchier than I intended, but I must stop groveling at him. I strive to find a tone that’s kind but firm. I look him in his beautiful, slightly-narrowed eyes.

“I’ll be gone for most of the day. You’re welcome to stay here. If you’re here when I get back, I’ll fix us something nice for dinner. I have no night-school tonight.”

He doesn’t answer, so I make myself turn around and go out the door. I stop at the closet to don my brown leather jacket, and boots, and to find my keys. Nephrite appears silently in the kitchen doorway, watching me…unnerving me.

I look at my keys, warring internally for a moment, then reach into the closet and take my spare set off the hook.

“Here,” I say, holding them out to him. “Take these, then you can go out, and still get back in.”

He looks from them to me with a strange amused smirk, but smothers it, almost, and closes a large hand around them.

I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it.

“No books?” Nephrite’s deep voice bears a hint of pretended confusion.

I turn to glance at him, losing my composure.

“What?”

“I thought students generally carry books.” His bloody smug expression makes it perfectly obvious he knows I have no thoughts of school today. He knows I’m running away from him. Shall I go and fetch my backpack from my room? And walk right past him? I can’t.

“I don’t need them,” I state shortly, then add, “They’re in my locker, at school.”

He doesn’t reply, but narrows his eyes slightly in response to this obvious lie. His good humour, such as it was, is leaving him.

“I’ll be back later,” I repeat, grabbing the doorknob again and pulling the door open quickly, quite desperate to get out before my resolve evaporates. I close it quickly behind me and hurry to the stairwell, perfectly willing to trade ten flights of stairs for the risk of lingering too long in wait for the bloody elevator and seeing him again.

I’ve got to go out, I think, as I jog down the stairs, my boots clicking on the cement, my thoughts as short as my breath.

I’ve got to clear my head for a few hours…to think of something else. Everything in me wants to go back and beg him to stay, at any price. I’m terrified…that he may leave…that I may never see him again…at how irrational I’ve already become…

I reach the street level and push open the heavy fire door, enjoying the cold rush of outside air.

I just need…some time...

= = = N = = =

The front door closes behind Rachael with a bang, and I have to smile at her near wildness to get away from me. She’s so very odd. I’ve never seen anyone fight themselves so hard before. She plainly wants me. It’s completely obvious…so much so that it’s a struggle not to oblige her. Yet look at how desperate she was to go! She’s afraid of herself, that’s it. Afraid of what she might do in a weak moment.

I step slowly over to my dry but wrinkled uniform, and my brow furrows in further reflection.

She may be afraid of me, as well. She certainly was this morning.

I pull my shirt over my head, and smile slightly.

She’s not very good at taking orders. She shall have to learn to be.

I finish dressing, then close my eyes a moment, clearing my thoughts and imagining vividly my uniform – clean and pressed. When I open my eyes, it is so, right down to the creases in my trousers.

I can’t continue wearing this. Much as I love it, it’s hardly inconspicuous. Perhaps it’s time to resurrect Sanjouin Masato…his wardrobe at least. And perhaps the car. Really, that car is the only thing from this worthless planet that I missed, besides Naru-chan.

I think of Naru again, seeing her as the child I left, and as the woman I met yesterday…and wince with regret and sorrow. I remember the pang she felt, thinking of me…an unhealed scar within her also. Why did it have to be this way? I felt something with her…a light within me somehow…a spark of goodness that she saw in me…inspired in me.

It’s gone now – without her.

I shake this dark mood off, quickly – refocusing my thoughts. I’m feeling well…rested and energetic. I’ll go out and get a few things I need. It’ll be good exercise for my energy, and it will kill the time ‘til Rachael gets up the courage to come back.

= = = R = = =

I return home about four o’clock, unable to stay away any longer. I’ve wandered and window-shopped, even gone to a movie, trying to blot out my thoughts…but I can’t stand it any longer.

The ride up the elevator is interminable. When it finally arrives on my floor, I break out like a racehorse from the starting gate, nearly spilling the bag of groceries in my arms.

Making it to my door, I dig out my keys and unlock it with shaking fingers. I stop then, ridiculously terrified, and unable to open the door. What if he’s not there?

Come on, Rachael! If he’s not, you’ll just get over it.

I won’t though, I answer myself sullenly. I push open the door fatalistically…and he is not there. I know he’s not. The place somehow feels deserted.

I go into the empty kitchen and put the bag of groceries on the counter. There, on the table, lies the spare set of keys. I walk slowly out and into my equally empty bedroom…no Nephrite.

Feeling hollow inside, I plod slowly back to the kitchen and put the groceries away. No need to start dinner. I’m certainly not hungry.

I walk out and sit down on the bed Nephrite has left unmade. Picking up a pillow, I inexcusably raise it to my face, trying to catch any scent of him.

A few hours, Rachael! Just a few hours he was here. How can you be this badly off?!

But I’ve never met anyone like him before…never will again.

God, if I’d known he would go, I would have knelt down and kissed his feet if he’d asked me!

Of course you would have. That’s the trouble!

I wipe away tears, exasperated with myself…and with him. Not a goodbye. Not a thank you. Not even a note! Who acts like that?

I get up, sniffling slightly, trying to be angry. I remove the blankets and pillows, and put the sofa back together, then pull the chair and table back in place. I throw the blankets untidily back in the closet, and the pillows onto my own bed. Seeing little point in any other activity, I rummage in my backpack and produce a book from one of my classes.

Lying back on my bed, I throw myself into the words, hoping as ever to find some interest and satisfaction in other people’s lives, since my own is so goddamn empty.

= = = N = = =

I’m feeling exhausted again as I return to Rachael’s building, leaving my new car parked a short distance away. It’s a struggle to will the front door open, but I manage it, juggling my many packages. When I finally get to Rachael’s door, I curse myself for so smugly leaving the keys within. I’d little guessed how weary I would become. I did far too much today.

Concentrating with one last effort, I slide the door’s deadbolt back, and reach out a hand to open the door.

All is quiet within - no sounds or smells of dinner, at any rate. I’d believe the place empty, but I notice Rachael’s boots by the door. I put my head briefly into the kitchen and don’t find her, so I move to her bedroom, opening the door quietly.

Here she is, asleep with a book over her chest. And look at this bed! Gothic enough for Beryl herself. So big it nearly touches all four walls of the tiny room. This is certainly more like it! I will not endure that cramped sofa again.

My stomach is grumbling slightly. It’s time she was up.

“Rachael,” I say sharply, as if she were one of my subordinates back home.

She comes bolt awake and sits up, staring at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Whuh?” she says unintelligibly.

“Where can I put these clothes?” I demand, indicating to her the packages in my arms.

“What? WHAT???” she cries, opening her eyes even wider, moving forward towards me and grabbing the heavy wooden footboard.

“You said I could stay here,” I remind her sternly, “And I shall. Find a place for these clothes, and then get on with dinner. I’m bloody starving.”

She sputters at me a moment in obvious rage, trying to produce some words. She does not speak though, not right away…not until she has calmed herself down. But when she finally does answer, it’s through clenched teeth.

“You ARE welcome to stay here. But I’m not your personal fucking servant! You hang your own things up, in the closet – there! And I would be HAPPY to make us some dinner!”

She jumps down from the high bed, chin high, eyes still blazing at me, then storms from the room, slamming the door behind her.

I don’t pursue her, having gotten her to agree to prepare the meal – this being the greatest of my current desires. Yet I rest a moment against the footboard, my eyes narrowed, wondering how to deal with her.

She can’t continue to take that tone with me. It infuriates and affronts me, and eventually I’ll lose my temper and discipline her. She deserves a warning first…I’ll have to give it to her tonight.

I decide to rest until dinner. Putting down my packages, I lie down almost blissfully on the wonderfully soft bed. My thoughts and feelings fade, and I begin to half-doze.

After a short while, I hear Rachael ease open the bedroom door and walk quietly to the bedside, plainly believing me asleep. She doesn’t move for a long time, standing silently by my side. I steal a glance at her, opening my eyes as narrowly as possible. She’s gazing at me with such a strange mixture of rage and longing, the edges of my mouth twitch upwards uncontrollably.

“You’re awake,” she observes, not pleased and slightly embarrassed.

I smile more broadly. I can’t help it – she’s very amusing.

“Dinner’s ready,” she states, slightly sullenly, and turns her back and marches from the room.

…

Dinner is a slightly sombre affair. Rachael is not speaking to me, outside of bare necessities. She has put on the radio to fill the awkward silence between us. Local news is being reported, and I smile over the announcement of a major bank robbery. A great deal of money missing, apparently – and no clue as to how it was taken.

I must be looking smugly satisfied, for Rachael looks up at me and her eyes narrow…though probably more out of ill-temper than any suspicion.

Dinner is delicious, again – a dish she calls ‘Hunan chicken’ which leaves my lips burning slightly. I must admit that the fare here is infinitely better than back home. I would compliment Rachael, were she not looking so resentful and taciturn. It’s time to deal with her, I think.

I finish my glass of welcomingly cool water and push myself away from the table. Shutting off the noise of the radio, I turn to Rachael. She’s watching me, angry eyes widened, obviously wondering what’s coming.

Seeing little point in putting it off, I reach down and take her wrist, pulling her struggling to her feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she blazes at me, then, in the same tone, “Where are we going?”as I pull her firmly along with me, out of the kitchen.

“To have a discussion,” I answer her, grabbing her other wrist to stop her from hitting me again. We move through into the bedroom and I kick the door shut behind me.

“Stop struggling, Rachael,” I grunt between set teeth, for she is fighting against me for all she’s worth. “I’m not going to hurt you, if you calm down. I said we’re going to talk.”

“We could have ‘talked’ in the kitchen!” she points out angrily, still pulling at her restrained hands.

“It might prove to be a long discussion,” I observe, growing frustrated. “We’ll be more comfortable in here.”

“I’ll bet,” she snaps.

“Enough!” My restrained temper begins to flare up. “Sit down and be quiet, woman, or you’ll be sorry.”

I release her hands abruptly and she spins around to face me.

“I won’t! This is my home! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I can and I will, and you will obey me. You must learn this, Rachael.”

She is pushed beyond anger, I see, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes wide as saucers.

“You want me to stay, don’t you?” I ask her bluntly, meeting her gaze. “Or shall I go?” I turn slightly and put my hand on the doorknob, raising my eyebrows in question.

She does not respond instantly, showing signs of mental struggle, but at last she shakes her head, her eyes almost pleading.

“Don’t go,” she says softly.

I turn back to her, dropping my hand again.

“I won’t. I want to stay. But you must understand this relationship.”

I step closer to her, and she backs away, running up quickly against the bed’s footboard. I keep walking, until I’m standing very close to her.

“I’m your master now.” I tell her quietly but firmly. “I find you a very pleasing companion, and I will stay here with you, but you must obey me and show me proper respect. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. Do you understand me? This is the only warning you’ll receive. I have no patience with disobedience or recalcitrance.”

She is shaking her head, showing some disbelief. Her eyes narrow at me in confusion and protest.

“I’m not…a slave!” she asserts is a soft, desperate voice. “I do want you to stay here…but I can’t live like that…”

“You have no choices, Rachael. I’m not asking for your approval. This is how it is, if I’m to stay. And I’m going to stay.”

She shakes her head again, repeating, “I can’t.”

I reach forward and grasp her shoulders, quite tightly.

“The debate is over. You’ve asked me to stay – I’ve agreed. No more games. No more warnings. You’ve heard the rules.”

“Let go of me,” she demands. She really doesn’t like being restrained.

“I’ll touch you when I wish, and how I wish. And you will not complain.” I’m beginning to lose my temper. I had hoped this would be easier, but she’s so headstrong.

“You won’t,” she warns me. “And I want you to leave. Now.”

I exhale in annoyance and succumb to the inevitable.

“That’s a lie, and insolence as well. It’s time for a lesson.”

I let her go then, moving over to her closet as she rushes to the door, hoping to escape. She discovers she can’t, however – I’m holding the door shut with my rapidly waning energy. I search through her disorganized clothing and possessions until I find what I’m looking for – a good-sized leather belt.

She is yanking frenziedly on the door, growing very frightened for there is no lock and no reasonable explanation for why it will not open.

There is no chair here. The bed will have to suffice.

I step quickly over to her, and grab her by the waist. She writhes and kicks and even tries to bite me, but I easily heft her into my arms and carry her to the bed. I sit down on its edge and with some struggle, lay her over my lap, but even as I do, I realize it will be too hard to hold her still. I pick her up again and throw her onto the bed and sit on her legs, pressing down on her back.

She is yelling now, nearly screaming…she’ll certainly be screaming soon. I dig around to the front of her waist to unfasten her jeans, then yank both them and her black lace-edged panties beneath down, as best as I can one-handed.

“Don’t!” she cries, “Please don’t!!”

“It’s not nearly as convincing through clothing,” I explain tersely.

“Please, Nephrite,” she begs, more gently, genuinely afraid. “Don’t beat me. I’ll do as you wish.”

“Too late, Rachael. Mere words.” I fold the belt in my hand, getting a good grip on it.

“I mean it, I mean it!” she cries, her voice muffled against the bed sheets.

I did not rise to general by allowing insolence or showing pity. She must have her punishment.

“If you can take your medicine bravely, and not struggle or scream, I’ll let you off with six.” I know it’s hopeless, though. Later, when she has learned her place, she will realize her own transgressions and accept her punishment…but now she simply needs to be taught who is master.

I raise my arm and bring the leather down with a snap on her beautiful soft bottom. She screams without hesitation, rolling and kicking harder, trying to get away.

“So be it, Rachael,” I growl, leaning harder on her back and unleashing my anger on her, beating her without mercy.

After at least fifteen blows, her struggling and defiance is at last abating. She shrieks as the belt falls, but lies still otherwise, softly crying and accepting her miserable fate.

“Call me ‘master’.” I demand quietly, pausing a moment, belt raised again. She doesn’t respond right away and I give her another and repeat my order. She screams in pain, but still does not obey.

I strike her again and again, cruelly aiming for the reddest spots – amazed at her continued defiance. What a will she has!

After at least ten more, I throw the belt violently across the room, furious at her, and at myself. This heartless beating is light years from the brief warning I’d intended to give her.

“Damn you, Rachael!” I thunder at her, then rake a hand through my hair in annoyance and exasperation.

I make an effort to calm myself down, still afraid, as I was a moment ago, that I might seriously hurt her in this rage. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, inhaling through my nose…

When I’m reasonably sane again, I open my eyes and take my hand off her back, running it lightly over her poor red backside…a few welts, but hopefully nothing that will stay.

I get off her legs and lie down beside her, staring at the ceiling perplexed.

It’s only a word – one word. How can she be so bloody stubborn? Can she not say it – even without meaning it? Not even to end her agony? Why?

Maybe it’s her remarkably strong independence. It might mean so much to her that she won’t surrender it, or even pretend to.

Or perhaps…she might have a strangely clear sense of what it means to truly call someone master…to give herself to them wholly, in every sense…perhaps she even desires this…so much so that she won’t cheapen the title by using it falsely – not even in terrible pain.

I am intrigued by this notion, and feel more determined than ever to hear her speak that word, to win that title…but it seems I have to earn it, and that I can’t beat it out of her. Not without substantial torture, anyway. I shall have to try another tack…if not pain, then perhaps pleasure?

Rachael’s weeping has abated and finally stopped. She lies now not moving or speaking. Pity rises in me, but I fight it down. It was necessary. If we are to be together, she must change her ways. She must learn the price she’ll pay for insolence.

“Get dressed for bed now,” I order her softly.

She doesn’t move for another few seconds, then lifelessly rises and pulls her jeans and panties all the way off. She strips off her shirt and bra also, keeping her back to me. She is so lovely, my breath quickens as I look upon her. I long to order her to turn around, but I decide she will see that as humiliation, and she’s had enough of that for one day.

She slips the green dress of this morning over her head, and I feel slight encouragement with her progress. She knows that I like that dress, and has considered my pleasure first in her actions. But has she done it to please me, or to avoid my displeasure? There is a difference, and I want the former.

She turns now back towards me, her face still wet with tears, her eyes showing nothing but hopeless misery. Plainly she’s lost sight of my original purpose and merely feels herself trapped and abused. She’s taken her punishment…now she needs to be reminded why.

I stand up myself and remove my jacket, still watching her.

“You don’t have to stand there,” I tell her gently. “Go ahead and go to bed.”

She pulls back the bed covers and lies down apathetically on her stomach, closing her eyes.

I remove the rest of my clothes, hanging them carefully, then climb slowly into bed next to her. She doesn’t move or speak, but I see the muscles in her back and shoulders tense.

I reach gingerly over and run just my fingers along her back, then gradually more of my hand, in a massage, trying to calm the knotted muscles. I reach higher after a time, and run my fingers through her soft, shiny hair.

“Look at me?” I ask, not order, wishing to coddle her a bit now.

She does turn her head, though there’s still very little expression in her eyes. I caress my hand over her face, wiping a tear from her cheek, running my thumb along her jaw-line.

“I’m going to take you now.” I tell her quietly, holding her eyes. “I’m going to make you mine. I want you, very badly. And I know you want me. I wouldn’t do this were I not very certain of that. You’ve wanted me since I came here. I know you’re too angry with me to admit that, so you don’t need to say anything…just don’t fight me, Rachael.”

She doesn’t speak, but her eyes glint with hostility and resentment. It seems she will resist, despite my speech. Why am I not surprised?

I move close to her, steeling myself for the battle. I take her shoulder and pull her onto her side, then draw her hard against me.

“Stop it,” she says, still ordering, but with much less defiance in her voice than before her beating.

I use one hand to grab her jaw, and put my mouth on hers, muting her protests. Moving my hand behind her head, I press her lips hard against mine. She struggles harder, but she can’t get away from me – all her writhing does is arouse me further. I move my tongue into her sweet mouth, exploring and stroking, running it along hers as she tries fruitlessly to keep it from me.

Then without warning, Rachael bites – closing her teeth hard over my outstretched tongue, drawing blood and filling my mind with pain and rage. With a stifled roar of fury, I quickly move both hands to her ass, squeezing the tender flesh mercilessly.

She screams, opening her mouth and releasing me as she does so.

“Bitch!” I growl at her, throwing her onto her back now, no longer caring about her comfort. She arches her hips, lifting her bottom off the sheets, trying to escape the pain. I grind my pelvis against hers, forcing her back against the bed.

Recovering my temper very slightly, I press her shoulders down hard and glare at her, my face inches from hers.

“Be careful, Rachael,” I warn her, icily. “I can hurt you, if that’s what you desire…more than you could ever imagine. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Her eyes widen as anger turns to fear, but she has the courage to speak accusingly.

“No, I don’t! I took you in and gave you all I could, out of kindness – and you reward this by treating me like a slave, and beating the hell out of me – and now you’re going to rape me? You’re right – I have no idea who or what you are!”

I smile somewhat evilly at this, and gentle my voice a bit.

“It’s not rape, Rachael, however much you struggle. You want it as much as I do.”

And I do – my passion returns to me with a vengeance as she lies beneath me looking so beautiful and helpless.

“I do not!” she spits indignantly, “I want you to get off me and go away and never come back!”

Her protests stop sharply, replaced by a sharp, shocked intake of breath as I slide my hand down between her legs, exploring her dripping wetness. I turn my eyes to hers, smiling again.

“You seem to be lying.”

“I’m not, I’m…” She stops in mid-sentence, this time to gasp in shock and indisguiseable pleasure as I move two fingers within her effortlessly, spreading them and stretching her – getting her ready for me.

“Stop it…,” she moans, and I almost have to laugh at the irony between her words and the hunger in her tone. “More” is what she means, and I’ll certainly oblige her.

I withdraw my fingers and bring them to my mouth, tasting her and holding her eyes as I do so, smiling at the shiver of lust that goes over her. She moans again, undeniably in wanting, and her cheeks colour in shame.

“Rachael, why are you so damn stubborn?” I demand, bringing my face down to hers, kissing her cheek, then her forehead, then her ear… “Why can’t you cry out? What will it hurt? All it will mean is that you want me, and we both already know that.”

She doesn’t reply but inhales sharply again as I pull her dress up out of my way and take her full breasts in my hands.

“Mmmm…,” I groan appreciatively, squeezing and stroking then sliding my hands along her delightful hourglass curves from breast to narrow waist to wide round hips.

“You’re so beautiful.” I murmur truthfully, bending my head to take a hardened nipple into my mouth.

“Nnnnn…ohhh…” Rachael cries, presumably trying to produce ‘no’ and failing miserably. I glance up at her and her eyes are closed in apparent bliss. Smiling to myself, I move to the other side, my fingers pulling and pinching gently the nipple I’ve just left. Rachael arches her chest upwards toward me in response.

Nearly ready, I think self-satisfied. But I don’t say anything. It’s too soon yet – she’s not far enough gone.

Slowly, I trail my tongue down, over her ribs, over her soft stomach, and finally between her legs.

“No…,” Rachael protests, all the while thrusting herself closer to me, begging for more. “Oh god…”

In response, I move my mouth to her clit, flicking my tongue teasingly over it at first, listening to her contradictory cries, then sucking and drawing on it more insistently, holding her hips as she tries to pull away.

“Oh god…,” she pants again, tossing her head in resistance. “Oh god oh god oh god…”

“’God’ is more than I’m asking for,” I comment darkly, stopping myself before she reaches ecstasy – hopefully just a hair-span before. “’Master’ will do.”

I keep one hand caressing her as I move my face back up to hers. My fingers brush over her center every few seconds, keeping her desire raging but not giving her as much as she needs.

“Bastard,” she moans sadly, writhing in unfulfilled desire.

“Close,” I answer, unable to keep from grinning at the rhyme. “But that’s not it.”

I kiss her again, hungrily, forgetting my lesson and snaking my tongue within her mouth again. She doesn’t bite me this time, however, but meets my tongue with her own, circling round mine slowly, then tightening her lips around it and sucking gently. I inhale sharply in startled pleasure.

We break our kiss, and I pull back slightly. She looks at me, a little shyly but with the ghost of a seductive smile. She reaches her head up to meet my lips again and I press back against her. She kisses me now with as much passion as she fought me with earlier, and I’m filled with an answering rush of desire and relief. I feel myself growing harder still, and becoming sore from the delay. I must have her soon…

She breaks away and begins kissing my chin, and ears, and neck – running her fingers through my hair, moaning vaguely in the back of her throat. I feel her hand now on my cock, moving unsurely, gingerly stroking. I catch her eye and she is looking at me questioningly, blushing slightly.

“Yes,” I encourage, hoarsely, “That’s it, Rachael. Don’t stop.”

In response, she begins to stroke my entire length and to my considerable pleasure, pushes me to lie on my back, then lowers her hot mouth upon me as I comply.

I cannot help groaning as she takes me within her, teasing the tip of her tongue along my length, drawing hard on me as she lifts her head back. She has only a small portion of me -–but she’s doing her level best, for I feel myself bump the back of her throat as she lowers her head.

“Mmmmm…” she moans, as if in ecstasy, creating delicious vibrations and causing my whole body to tense in pleasure and expectation.

“Rachael…,” I manage, reaching down to grasp her shoulders, pulling her towards me. “Enough. Come here.”

But she does not release me, defiantly sucking harder and causing me sweet torment.

“Please…,” I find myself begging, getting far too close…and suddenly a light goes on in my mind. I look down at her, eyes widened in something like anger.

“You conniving wench!” I admonish her, hauling her off me and up to my face. To my surprise, she does not look shame-faced, but smiles broadly, infinitely pleased with herself. I find I cannot help echoing her smile.

“Stubborn AND sly…,” I comment reflectively, returning her to her back and lifting her legs up to rest them on my shoulders, taking any weight off her sore bottom. “We’ll see who gives in first.”

She is still hot and wet, and I enter her easily, then push further with a thrust and a groan. She gasps slightly in pain, but doesn’t otherwise discourage me. She is ungodly tight – I’m not even halfway buried. Yet she doesn’t seem to be virgin. I felt no barrier give.

I pull back slightly, then plunge again, deeper than before. She cries out in pain and pleasure, begging me to go on. This position is a mistake, I think – it’s my favorite, but it spares her nothing. I’m so big for her she’s almost hurting me.

I withdraw entirely, then move to take her legs off me, but she grabs my forearms firmly, and replaces my hands on her hips.

“Don’t,” she says resolutely. “Don’t gentle yourself for me.”

“It will hurt you,” I tell her, meeting her serious glance.

“Hurt me, then,” she says, closing her eyes as if in preparation. “I didn’t ask you to stop.” She smiles again suddenly, and reopens her eyes. “You know, you’re bloody annoying. You go on when I beg you to stop, then stop when I beg you to go on!”

I smile briefly back at her, amused, then bend down to kiss her, long and slow and hard, washing away our brief frivolity, and re-igniting our passion. I slide myself back inside her, moving forward slowly, then pressing deeply when I’m halted.

“Mmm, yes.” Rachael sighs against my face. “Go on…”

I do, starting a slow rhythm of long drawn out strokes, getting gradually further and faster by degrees.

“Yes,” she begs softly, her cheek pressed against mine, her face hidden…buried in my hair. “Make me yours, as you promised. Pleasure yourself, Nephrite, my lord. Give me all of you.”

Her words, and my sudden victory, send a spasm of vicious lust through me, and I almost lose myself. As Rachael deviously intended, I am in no way capable of denying myself much longer, and I thank the stars I held back long enough to outlast her stubborn will. I increase my tempo and my force, pounding into her, again and again. Rachael lays her head back on the pillow and arches her back. I know I must be hurting her, but her cries are all of passion and none of protest.

She is crying out now continually, begging me for release, and my own breath is starting to come short. I slide one hand over her stomach and down, between us, caressing her, and she suddenly goes over the edge, arching her whole body in pleasure, and crying my name, squeezing me impossibly tighter within her. I plunge back with even greater difficulty through her tightly contracting muscles, and can take it no more.

A rush of exquisite power and pleasure surges through me, and I grab her hips, slamming into her one last time, as deeply as I possibly can. My body and spirit throb with energy as my orgasm takes me, and I pour myself into her, filling her with my seed. I slip her legs off me and fall onto her chest, reaching my arms behind her to press her against me, wanting our bodies to melt together.

I close my eyes, savouring the ecstasy, and I’m blissfully unaware for a few minutes that Rachael is limp in my arms. As the haze of pleasure gradually fades, I at last notice that her head lolls and her arms hang relaxed. Slightly alarmed, I call her name gently, withdrawing myself and moving off her chest. She still breathes, thank mercy, but she’s quite unconscious.

I lie down alongside her, pulling up the blankets to cover and warm us, then reach a hand to her cheek, patting it lightly, still calling her name.

I’m needled by guilt. Was I too rough for her? I don’t think so…she begged for me, and didn’t complain. She didn’t even have all my weight upon her…

Rachael at last begins to groan softly, to my infinite relief, and I embrace her thankfully, pulling her over onto my chest. I sternly remind myself that we are very different…I believe my energy surge must have knocked her senseless.

“Mmmm…,” Rachael is saying now, dreamily, snuggling her soft hair and face against my chest. I find her face with my hands and pull it to mine to kiss her deeply and gratefully. She drinks me in, and smiles when I pull away.

“You’re all right?” I confirm, running my fingers through the boyish bangs over her forehead.

“God, yes…,” she almost purrs, snuggling her head back down onto my chest, plainly feeling sleepy. “Mmmmm,” she says again, languidly, as I ease her onto my shoulder, and wrap my arms around her, settling us down to rest.

I close my eyes, and once again notice the light. Without thinking I will it off, and with Rachael’s warm, soft body in my arms, and our mingled scents in my nostrils, I drift quickly off to exhausted, sated slumber.