Rod of Correction_ Taken and Tamed(21)

He didn’t offer her the option, this time, of bailing. As far as he was concerned, that ship had sailed.

“Who are you?”

She wondered if it was a trick question. “S-Sunny McClure, Sir?”

“And what are you?”

That one she struggled with for a long moment, then she sighed and said, “A submissive, Sir.”

“Whose?”

She kicked her feet a bit before answering, “Yours, Sir.”

To her surprise, he helped her down very gently, making sure she had her full balance before he let go of her arm, then he proceeded to unbutton the shirt she’d put on in haste, not finding her clothes anywhere in the room. “No more clothing, Sunny,” he chided. “If I want you to be dressed, I’ll do it myself.”

He laid the shirt over the couch she had just vacated. “Are you cold?” he asked, frowning, noticing her peaked nipples. “Do you want me to turn up the heat?”

That had her blushing bright red and shaking her lowered head. “No, Sir,” came the soft reply from under that mass of hair, embarrassed to let him know that it wasn’t cold that was causing that reaction.

She might have expected that he would have her kneel before him as he did this, but instead he brought her close to him, one hand splayed on her furnace of a bottom, as if proudly claiming the effect his corrections had had on her, the other buried in the hair at the base of her head holding it tipped up and steady, so that she had no choice than to meet his eyes.

“Fold your hands behind your back and tell me again, Sunny, who and what you are,” came the husky command.

She could feel how aroused he was. They were both nude; there was no hiding it, in his case, anyway, and in that position, her hips pressed outward as her back arched, as if seeking him. She wished he hadn’t made her put her arms out of the way; she would have much preferred to have them around him while confessing something she found so strangely profound. “I’m Sunny McClure, and I belong to you, Sir,” she almost whispered, staring straight into his eyes. As she spoke the words, his hand came around to cup her womanhood, requiring that she spread her legs to accommodate his quiet demand.

She’d changed the wording a bit, but in a way that he loved, so he didn’t chastise her. Of course he couldn’t resist delving a bit, holding her still while his middle finger drowned in her juices. He watched her eyelids shudder, saw her breathing quicken as he drank in her immediate responses to him and felt her melt in his arms.

All of a sudden, though, she found herself standing there, alone, still mesmerized, looking up at him with her every desire mirrored in her eyes, but he was already standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Breakfast is served. Follow me.”

She was very reluctant to be naked outside, but he assured her that he owned enough land around them that they couldn’t be seen, and reminded her that his driveway ended at the front of the house and they were going to be at the back, as well as the fact that no one could get past the gate at the beginning of the driveway without him buzzing it open.

All of which he explained while he was guiding her there - not at all willing to let her prudishness spoil the secret spot he was taking her to. It was a place she’d only seen in once, in darkness, a little alcove patio up against the back wall of the house, with a small wicker table and chairs, that was surrounded by hundreds of bird baths, bird feeders and bird houses. They were so tame they barely took notice of their human observers. He served her a generous portion of fruit salad, bacon, cheesy eggs, and half of the enormous cinnamon bun, as well as pouring her coffee – which he already knew she liked black with two sugars – along with a big glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

The extravagant breakfast was barely enough to pry her attention away from the birds – big jays and tiny finches and nearly everyone in between, even a few humming birds were all busily eating, bathing and, in some cases, fighting, despite there being more than enough of everything to go around.

There was even a squirrel feeder – a concession, he told her – to the housecat sized squirrels, who regularly raided his feeders if not given their vig.

“If you’re out for long enough, and you’re quiet enough, you can feed the hummingbirds from your hand.”

He had to admit he’d hoped she’d like it, but was surprised by her enthusiasm over the spot, which weighed heavily in her favor. He hadn’t shown any other woman this place, preferring, if they stayed to breakfast, to have it in the nook in the kitchen or the dining room, depending on her style, and to keep its charms entirely to himself.

She was so enthralled that her breakfast was getting cold and she’d barely touched it. “Sunny, eat. The birds’ll still be there when we’re done.”