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it a delicious surprise. He slumped over her, catching his breath. Warm drops of sweat dripped onto her back, his labored breath whispering through her hair.
    She smiled. He’d been saving up on his trip, evidently. Saving up for her.
    They both liked to make her worship his cock with her mouth, revere the gift of his semen. Often, on the days he’d arranged to have her visit him, he’d take great joy (and if she were honest, she did too) in making her kneel naked before him while he brought himself off, thick dollops of hot come spraying over the slopes of her breasts, her exposed neck. Sometimes he’d make her hold her mouth open for him, the strangled purplish head depositing a thick offering on her outstretched tongue. He’d hold her chin gently in his hand raising her gaze to his, his thumb spreading a drop of his come across her swollen lower lip, the warm fondness in his eyes melting her, leaving her defenseless against him. He’d coo to her as he softly told her to swallow, to take all of it like a good girl. Then she’d lower her gaze, shivering as the warmth suffused her cheeks, the pleasure and the shame of it melding within her into a seething mass of lust.
    His spent cock slipped from her sex, drawing a ragged sigh from her. His hands helped her to stand again, easing her back against the hard planes of his chest. Somewhere he’d shed the t-shirt, and she longed to see the sectioned abdominals, the powerful pectorals, worship all of it with her lips and tongue. But he just held her, one muscled arm over her chest, his gentle palm cupping the weight of one of her breasts.
    They just stood there, both of them listening to the other breathe, reveling in the feel of flesh on flesh. The warm metallic scent of her Sir’s semen was strong as it leaked sullenly from her hard-used pussy. She had the urge to run her fingers through it, to taste it, but knew she wasn’t to move unless he ordered it.
    The light of the sun had bled almost totally from the sky, a smudge of magenta and deep blue at the horizon, the night ushering in the dazzling star field above.
    “I never get tired of seeing it,” Blaine murmured. “That incredible sunset.”
    Erica smiled back at him. “I’ve never seen it before, like this. At the ocean.”
    It filled her with such calm, the pure simplicity of it. She thought she knew a little now of why long-time sailors might grow melancholy when away from the sea for too long.
    “When your Mistress and I were first married, we spent time here every chance we got, enjoying this beauty, enjoying each other.”
    The pang of longing gnawed at her. She searched her feelings to make sure it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness. Such things were corrosive, insidious, and she was determined never to let herself succumb to them.
    No, what she felt was… regret. It wasn’t because he’d had that time with Kathryn, but regret that Erica couldn’t have shared it with them. She pictured them standing at this very window, arms wrapped around one another, two beautiful immortals enraptured by their new love. Erica would be there with them, naked, on her knees, the chain to her collar tucked in the crook of Blaine’s muscled arm. She’d press kisses to their thighs, to the fingers offered to her fervent lips. A silent, loving tableau.
    It hadn’t happened of course, but who knew what the future held? It was a future she told herself not to hope for, her naive attempt to stave off the disappointment of reality. She knew she was young, a little rash at times (Mom and Dad would say a lot rash), so she tried not to get too far ahead of things. Blaine, wiser than his years might indicate, had helped her to let events happen on their own, to surrender to them — and to him. He’d tried to show her the peace found in the accepting of the vagaries of chance… and maybe even a little good fortune.
    Erica’s stomach growled loudly, both of them laughing at her startled jump. She turned in his arms,