Her thighs were trembling, and she started to close them. She tended to close her legs when she came, something she’d explained to him when he’d tied her legs open the first time they’d played together. But forcing them to stay open made her come harder, and he wanted her to come hard.

“Keep your fucking legs open,” he snapped. She jolted, her eyes flying wide and her legs freezing halfway closed. “Open them, Olivia. And don’t stop working your clit.”

Panting, she obeyed, moving her legs so far apart the tendons on her inner thighs stood out. Her hand picked up speed, her whimpers turning to moans as she raced to the finish.

She went still for one sharp, razor-thin moment, tension visible in the taut muscles of her thighs, in the arch of her neck, then the orgasm overtook her. She let out a surprisingly soft cry and convulsed, her belly rippling and thighs shaking.

He watched her ride it out, part of his mind cataloguing the details for later. The way her whole chest flushed when she came, her nipples tight and reddish brown. The way her teeth bit into her lower lip and her legs jerked as though controlled by invisible marionette strings.

He filed away every nuance of her expression, every tremble of her body. And when she subsided, sheened with sweat and breathing hard, he stood.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” he said mildly, and stepped between her spread thighs. He ignored her instinctive startle and drew the edges of her bodice together. He began to refasten the dress, fumbling only a little with the tiny buttons.

“I did,” she admitted with a hint of defiance.

“Good,” he said, and he meant it. He wanted her to enjoy everything they did together, even when it made her cry. Maybe especially when it made her cry. “Because it’s the last one you get this week.”

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” she said, and he looked up into her sleepy eyes.

“No, you weren’t.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she echoed, and her lips curved into a soft smile. “Any other rules for this week?”

“I want you to check in with me every day at least twice,” he decided, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

She frowned. “Why?”

“I want to know about your day,” he told her, and grasped her hands to pull her to her feet. “If something happens that impacts you, I want to hear about it. Good, bad, or otherwise.”

“Okay,” she said agreeably, but there was a little line between her eyebrows that told him she was thinking.

“This is part of my D/s requirements,” he went on calmly. “Even if it was possible for me to be with you every second of the day, I doubt you would want that.”

She cleared her throat and took a sudden interest in the ceiling, making him grin.