The Master Series. Box Set 1. Books 1–6

"You don't get it without saying it."

I surrender. "I want you inside me." If I wasn’t tied and supported, I would collapse entirely. "I want you inside me."

He doesn't move. "That's better," he whispers into my ear.

, eh?" he whispers again. "Let's see if we can fix that ..."

misting for the first time, and starts wiping the mirror with one hand. As the view clears, he sees me in the reflection, standing behind him, wrapped in a towel in his shower stall. He starts, then whips around, looking at first furious and perhaps alarmed, but then relaxing as he registers my complete harmlessness.
"I'm sorry. I was so hot. I'll go now ..." I stammer.
"Oh, no need to be so fast," he says, grinning. "Finish your shower. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"
"Please don't tell anyone. I'll lose my job."
He smiles. "Is that right? Yes, I suppose it wouldn't look good, would it? Maid caught using guest facilities." He steps forward, still smiling. He really is very attractive, with deep blue eyes against tanned skin, and tall. "Are you going to make it worth my while not to tell anyone?"
One finger hooks itself around the top of my towel. He tilts his head to one side as he moves still closer, and his other hand takes a curl of my long, wet hair, twiddling it around a finger. “Beautiful hair you have there,” he says.
"I have to get back to work," I stammer. "I have other rooms to do."
"I'll tell the manager I had some extra cleaning for you to do—there's no hurry. I'm sure the hotel would expect you to—service—the guests first ..."
The finger tugs ever so gently at my towel. It parts and then slides down to the floor.
His eyes, meeting mine, smile as they follow the downwards path of the towel. I vaguely clutch at the damp cloth, but my heart isn't in it, and the towel continues its journey south.
"I think you owe me something," he says, and the towel finger wanders downwards between my breasts. I feel I ought to be frightened, but instead, my pulse is beginning to race.
He reaches back and pulls his tie from the hook. Quickly, he binds my wrists together, glancing briefly into my eyes as he does so, looking for a sort of permission. Then, pulling my arms up over my head, he attaches my bound wrists to

Oh, God! Oh, God. Oh, God...
Please don’t let him come in here.

think you owe me something," he says, and the towel finger wanders downwards between my breasts. I feel I ought to be frightened, but instead, my pulse is

"I hope you like the music, Miss Silent,