His cock was hard enough to make her mouth water, but he sounded entirely calm, placid as a lake.

“Keep your mind in a meditative state. Let the arousal take you where you need to go. Just let it happen, Rachel.”

He shifted so she could stretch her legs back into chaturanga, Plank, then she lifted her hips to lean back into Down Dog, taking the stretch to her shoulders, the back of her legs. He ran his hands along her buttocks now, down over the long muscles in her thighs.

“One day, I"ll make you hold this pose while I slide inside, let you feel how my cock buries into the very heart of you.” His fingers trailed over her dampening crotch panel and her arms quivered harder. But now he bent over her, his arm around her waist, steadying her as he dropped a kiss on the bump of her spine in the center of her back.

“Have you ever done the camatkarasana, Rachel? The Wild Thing pose?” She shook her head. She"d seen it of course, but maybe because of what it symbolized, a celebration of personal power and freedom, she"d avoided it.

“Well, we"re going to do it now.”

It was a very advanced position. From Down Dog, it took a lithe lift of hips, swinging one leg over so she"d go to a backbend asana, where her right leg would be straight out to the floor, foot rolled on its edge, while her left leg stayed bent, foot flat on the mat. One arm reaching up and out, off the mat, the other braced, then she"d arch her back farther to complete the pose.

He backed off then, but stayed close enough to spot her. “You can do it, Rachel. I want to see you do it. Do it for me. And for yourself. Deep breaths, feel what it means.

Prepare yourself for it. Embrace it. When you"re ready, go.” She breathed, closed her eyes, felt the thrum in her muscles, the energy flow through her. She"d found peace in yoga, balance, but she hadn"t become whole, because she"d hidden there, instead of treating it as a sacred sanctuary. Hiding meant that a person stayed out of sight of the good as well as the bad. A sanctuary had windows to see the world, a door to invite it in, because there was nothing to fear there.

She lifted her hips, giving herself the momentum she needed to do a slow turnover.

Then she was there, him over her. He didn"t touch her, but his energy was close, ready if she slipped. Letting her make the step, but providing her the courage to give all of herself to it. That focus and attention of his was there, radiating on her even as he straightened, moved back, and let her finish it under his satisfied expression. She could see herself in the mirror, and it was an extremely sensual and feminine pose, the body reaching out as if it was flying backward through the clouds. The short name was apt, but she was also aware of another translation for camatkarasana.

The ecstatic unfolding of the enraptured heart.

“God, you"re gorgeous.” His fervency was impossible to deny, as was the passion that was starting to swell in her body in this thrown-open wide pose, all under the heat of his gaze. Her hair brushed her fingertips. He bent then, and she drew in another breath, feeling that energy surge through her as he pressed his mouth to her arched throat, his hand passing over the curve of her breast, her distended rib cage and stretched abdomen, coming to rest over her mound, and lower, cupping her pussy and pressing on her there.

“Hold the pose, sweet girl. Just hold it. Feel what this does to the energy.” It spiked it like a rubber ball through her body, but there was a contained focus to it that let her hold the position, the energy so dense she was helpless and yet exuberant in its grasp. He was taking her to that place she kept denying existed, that she refused to accept for herself. And she knew he was right. Her acceptance was irrelevant. She belonged to him.

He"d make a Master"s decisions for her, because he"d never let her hide from her own desires. And there was a freedom in that type of bondage impossible to explain, but it was something her heart had understood for a very long time.

“To give yourself to me, you have to believe in your power and freedom, Rachel,” he said, his eyes very close. He was squatting next to her, trailing his hand along that open line of her body, as if admiring a sculpture, too tempting not to touch. “I believe in your courage, even if you don"t. I"m not afraid of your pain and memories. You can trust me with them, know that I"ll help you with them.” He held her gaze now, showing her the truth of it. “And I promise I"ll love you all the more, seeing what you"ve endured, yet what you"re becoming when you let yourself love again, let yourself be the submissive you"ve always known yourself to be.”

She shuddered at the idea, wanting so badly to believe. To hope. Her arms were starting to tire. He straightened and slid his arms under her, taking her weight when she began to falter. She abandoned the pose entirely, wanting to touch his face.

Reaching up, she traced his temple, his jawline, and he caught her thumb in his teeth, nuzzling it with his tongue.

“Give yourself to me, Rachel,” he repeated. “Tell me you"re mine, just once, and I promise to be with you, no matter what you need. You just have to be willing to try, to trust me.” That intent expression filled up her entire universe. “Do you love me, sweet girl?”

She couldn"t lie to him, not here, not like this. And though the pose was broken, the feeling wasn"t. He was right. This was where she"d found her truth, her center, when she"d had to put her life back together. And now she found she was no longer alone in that center. She swallowed. “Yes, Jon. I love you. I love you so much.” His eyes deepened to that midnight blue color. The energy that came from him went through the soles of her bare feet, pressed into the mat. It almost made her smile, made her want to laugh. To cry. To celebrate and yet be held, quiet and still, in his arms.

Joined with him in the most intimate way possible.

He was holding her in one arm, and as if reading her mind, he now slid the other hand back over her mound, caressing her. She gripped his biceps, held him harder. He lowered her to the floor but gave her the unspoken direction to keep her legs closed together with the pressure of his hands on her thighs. Then he slipped her yoga pants off her legs, stroking her thighs and calves, the soles of her feet. He took the panties with the pants. Then he removed her snug tee, making her arch her body and stretch her arms back. He closed his hand over both of her palms, pressing her knuckles to the floor to keep her arms over her head.

Rising, he stripped as well. Her gaze devoured every inch of him, down to his aroused cock, and the lean ropes of thigh muscles that he would use to thrust into her.

When he turned and bent, pulling something from his backpack, she savored the delectable view.

“Close your eyes. I don"t want you to see this for a moment, and I want you to feel everything.”

She obeyed, heard a metallic tone as something was laid near her head. But then her attention was pulled from that when he brought his body fully down upon hers, naked flesh to naked flesh. With his hands on her hips and upper thighs to remind her to hold her thighs closed together, he positioned himself so that his cock slid into the narrow opening between her thighs, slowly finding the moist path to full penetration.

In this position the angle was higher and yet somehow deeper. It was a Tantric position, one she"d seen before in her studies, where the lovemaking was prolonged and more excruciating, because it was a helpless position as well, everything concentrated in one narrow section of their connected bodies. She made a soft, inarticulate sound that had him curving his hands against her head, tangling fingers in her hair.

He thrust in, rotated, and slowly drew back, then went back in, seating himself as deeply as the position allowed, making her groan of need deepen. “That"s it, sweet girl.

You"re so wet for me. I wanted my cock deep inside of you when I did this. You remember I told you that velvet collar wasn"t your permanent one? I finished the permanent one. Open your eyes.”

She did, immediately. He propped himself on one elbow, breast to chest with her, and showed her a choker of sterling silver wire, yoked at intervals by vertical supports made of gold. Several strands of the silver wire had been twisted into a decorative band running horizontally through the center of the collar, flanked by the simple straight lines of the others. A sapphire pendant, bound in a sinuous pattern of silver wire as a setting, was attached to one of the gold supports.

“It has a screw-down lock in the back.” He lifted it to show her, his weight resting on his arm so he wasn"t crushing her. As he did, he moved inside of her, making her catch her lip in her teeth. But her eyes didn"t leave the collar as he spoke again. “Once it"s on, only I can remove it, with a tool I designed specifically for the lock. On the gold support closest to it, I"ve etched the Sanskrit word for “owned”, because I saw how you responded to that at the club. You want me to own you, heart, body and soul.” His eyes delved into hers, pinning her soul in truth. “And that"s a good thing, because it"s what I fully intend to do.”

“When did you do this?” she whispered. The collar, his words, the proximity of his body—all of it was a barrage on her senses.

“I started working on it a few months after I met you.” His lips twisted. “I knew it was wrong, because at the time I still thought you were married. Even if I never gave it to you… Well, I didn"t want to send any energy your way that would disrupt your marriage. But I made it anyway. I guess I know why now.” He gave her that look of mild reproof and heated passion that had her pussy muscles constricting around him.

He made a movement, one slight press against her leg, a flex of his thigh muscle, and he settled in deeper, making her gasp.

“Like that, do you?” His voice was almost a growl, but he brushed the smooth metal against her cheek, continued in a deceptively milder tone. “The velvet collar gave me the exact measurement I needed, and so I adjusted it yesterday and put it on a mold to test it for scratching or pinching. I won"t say I want the fit to always be comfortable,” his eyes gleamed, “but I want you to always want to wear it.” The problem wasn"t wanting to wear it. She wanted it so badly, she could already feel it on her throat. But still she hesitated. In response, he shifted again, laying the collar next to her. He settled his hand in its place, letting her feel the fingers press there.