Branded Sanctuary (32 page)

“Nothing,” she whispered as he came back in deep, and the word was lost in another whimper of pleasure. A climax was coming, but not like any she‟d felt before.

She was going to cut her raft loose or have it yanked free, but from the resolve in his set jaw, the flame of determination and desire in his face, she knew he was going to pull her through those dark waters. But what could she offer him in return?

“Nothing,” she said, louder this time, hoping she was answering his question still and not her own. She grabbed his shoulders, lifting up to bury her face in his shoulder.

“Nothing. I didn‟t do anything.”

He banded his arms around her, and increased his pace just enough.

“Damn right,” he muttered against her as she continued to say it, even as the climax took her. A few more stingy tears came too, wrenching her apart, but they were like the spray when a wave crashed, lost as the climax tumbled them over and over. Crying out, she rode salty foam and wet pleasure with him, muscles tensing and releasing, limbs tangling. They moved together in that tidal rhythm until they‟d spent all their desire and were deposited, replete and still locked together, on a sun drenched, sandy shore.

Afterward, they ate strawberries on his patio. Feeling drained and energized at once, she quickly decided sitting next to him in one of the green metal chairs that were roomy and rocked back on their squared bases wasn‟t adequate. So she‟d straddled him, letting her legs dangle on either side of his hips, pleased by his hands curved around her bottom, holding the shirt and her modesty secure, and fed him strawberries with the cream he‟d provided.

She quickly came to the conclusion that Cool Whip was the world‟s most perfect food when he sucked it off her fingers, taking his time as he seemed gifted at doing.

Two could play that game. When she retrieved her fingers, she scooped more of the Cool Whip out with them and painted a curved line over his smooth pectoral, taking it off with three quick nips and swipes of her tongue, earning a skipped beat from his heart under her mouth.

“Do you shave your chest because you‟re…” She grimaced. “I don‟t know why I have trouble saying it. Or maybe I do, but I‟m afraid I‟ll offend you.” For an answer, he shifted, propping his feet on his fire pit so she could lean back comfortably against the backrest his knees provided. Putting his hands beneath the T-shirt, he teased the crease beneath her breasts. “Tell me anyway.” She did, not merely because of his irresistible look, but because she needed to talk about something not related to what had just happened in the kitchen, the decisions she still couldn‟t bring herself to make. But she had to look down at his chest to say it. She put another dollop of whipped topping on it, her fingers dipping in and making tiny dots in the froth.

“It feels insulting to call a guy a submissive. Which, since you are one, suggests that‟s my hangup, not yours, right? I mean, I don‟t view you being that way as wrong…or…well, I guess I just didn‟t expect it to be sexy. I envisioned a male submissive as some wimpy person who‟d hide behind me if I was ever mugged. Or who‟d be afraid to tell the waitress the cook made me the wrong thing. Don‟t get me wrong, I‟m not a 1950s kind of girl, I could tell her myself. There are just certain things…”

“A woman should expect from a man.” His mouth tugged up. “I get that.” Yes, she knew he did. She was beginning to understand there was far more than one definition to this. “Well, anyway, I‟m sure Submissive Males of America will do a PR campaign to improve their image—as soon as their Mistresses okay it.”

“Like a public service commercial?” He narrowed his gaze at her in mock warning.

She tried to suppress the humor quivering at the corners of her mouth as his thumbs swept down over her abdomen, tickling.

“Yep. It could start in a gym, with a bunch of sweaty guys pounding sandbags. Or better, in basic training, and then this female sergeant comes in, all tough in tight camouflage…”

She started giggling as he tickled her in earnest and squirmed in his lap. “Quit it.

Okay, I‟ll stop, I‟ll stop. Hey, be still or you‟ll upset the whipped cream.” Leaning forward, she brought his retribution to a sliding halt when she put her mouth back on the Cool Whip, and the man beneath. His fingers gripped her hips as she licked and tasted. She gave him several more short nips, not entirely gentle, moving down to tease his nipple, registering the hardening beneath her ass and the increased demand in the grip of his hands. His mouth brushed the crown of her head, his breath rasping out on her muttered name.

“I just want to taste you,” she said. “Nothing else.”

She could want a lot more, she knew, but despite the dampness between her thighs and the tingle in her breasts from his caressing strokes just below them, she liked this, taking her pleasure of him, knowing she could keep it at just this level.

“Yes, that‟s why I remove it. And sometimes for swimming.” She lifted her head, licking the last of the cream off her lips. His eyes riveted on that motion, made muscles in her lower abdomen contract. “What?”

“That‟s why I remove my chest hair. For The Zone. And swim meets.” She cocked her head and straightened, seeing his gaze drop to her breasts, the aroused nipples evident through the cloth. The nipple she‟d been tasting was a hard point as well, and she passed her fingers over it, at the same time she lifted the other hand and touched one of her own, feeling the arousal in both.

“Chloe. You‟re torturing me.”

She nodded, but then gave him an impish smile. “Have you won any medals?”

“For swimming?” He gave her that sexy grin, teasing her right back. “Yeah. A couple.”

Regarding him for a few minutes in silence, she listened to the sounds of the geese on the pond behind them. She bit into a strawberry herself, picking it up off the bowl next to them. “So what‟s in the closet?”

As he propped his head on the chair back, he gave her a lazy smile. “What would you imagine was in there?”

“Cuffs. Whips. Scalpels, electrodes. Maybe a portable cage.”

“Exactly right. Now if you finish your strawberries, I can take you to the park.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That was an evasion.”

“Not entirely.” Taking the bowl of Cool Whip from between them, he rose, holding her around the waist with such sure strength she was able to curl her legs around his hips, hold onto him as he walked them back inside. As he did, he brought his mouth to hers, spoke against her lips. “I‟m concerned that if you don‟t get dressed, I‟m not going to do anything more than fuck you, all day long. I‟ve already had a hard-on longer than they recommend for Viagra.”

“You say that like it‟s a bad thing.” But she smiled and looped her arms around his shoulders. Pressing her face into the heat of his neck as he carried her back to the bedroom, she knew she didn‟t really care which he chose to do, as long as she could hold onto this feeling.

* * * * *

The park had lots of sequestered places to spread a picnic blanket and enjoy privacy, as well as the water view the park offered. Despite her earlier energy, when they reached the park she‟d lain down on the picnic blanket, her head on his thigh as he talked about the waterfowl, the campers they saw, a quiet run of words that sent her off to dreamland.

Waking some time later, she was amazed to find he hadn‟t moved, making sure her rest was undisturbed, her cheek pillowed on him. He‟d slid down so she could rest her neck more comfortably, with her head on his abdomen. It was a particularly aggressive growl from that stomach that she thought had woken her, but the waking view was a pleasure. Denim covered thighs, ankles crossed to cradle the groin area in that nice curved way that jeans did. His feet were still in his hiking boots. Just past them, she saw the water, rippling with wind and the air traffic of herons and seagulls and the occasional boat passage.

When she turned her head, the upward view wasn‟t bad either. He had an arm propped under his head, and was gazing up into the trees. There was a worn paperback next to him. The stage play
Camelot.

“I don‟t think I‟ve met anyone as comfortable with himself in my whole life,” she observed in a groggy voice, not wanting to disturb the peaceful hush over their world.

He slanted a glance down at her, his hazel eyes showing pleasure at her being awake, though no impression that he‟d been impatient with her sleep. “I have. It was this really hot girl I met at a wedding last year. Lucky me, she finally took pity on me and decided to give me a call.”

She smiled, curling her hand in his shirt over his stomach. “You sound hungry. You should have eaten, or woken me.”

“You needed the sleep to keep up with my voracious sexual appetite. Are you hungry?”

She snorted, but nodded. He sat up, putting his arm around her back to hold her close, help her as she rose as well, running a hand through her short curls to loosen them from the compression of her nap. She hoped she hadn‟t drooled on his shirt, but thankfully a discreet glance showed no evidence of that.

As he unpacked the sandwiches they‟d picked up, along with the assorted tidbits of chocolate and crackers, chunks of fruit and cheese he‟d thrown in from his house, she studied his profile, thought about that night at the carnival. A question was still hovering in her mind, but she found she wasn‟t yet ready to ask it. Instead, she pointed to the paperback. “There‟s a playbill for that up at Tea Leaves, on the community board.

I think Marguerite plans to take a group of the neighborhood kids. Are you in it?”

“No. I‟m the coach and helping with the production for the students who are.”

“Did you ever act yourself?”

“All the time, growing up. I enjoy it, but I‟m better at teaching people with a real talent for it, bringing that talent out. I also do a couple night classes for people who don‟t want to perform in public, but like to tap into that part of themselves. It gives you skills a lot like Toastmasters, self-confidence, public speaking, etc.” His eyes sparkled.

“Of course, I eventually talk a lot of them into auditioning for the community plays.”

“You‟d be a great Lancelot.”

He lifted a brow. “I was always partial to Percival. His interest was serving the king and the ideals of Camelot, not achieving greatness. Lancelot seemed torn. He wasn‟t ambitious, but he had a great need to be the best. He saw that as service to the king, and it was, but it diluted his focus on his primary duty.”

“And hence, his love for Guinevere, as much as he didn‟t want it to happen.” Chloe smiled. “Course, I think they should have become a threesome. I mean, Arthur loved Lancelot as much as Guinevere, just in a different way. It would have been hard for Mordred to claim they‟d betrayed the king if they were all sharing a bed together. If they‟d been a little more sexually enlightened, Camelot might have persevered.”

“I think the idea would have given T.H. White and Lerner and Loewe a heart attack. Sandwich or chocolate first?”

“Both. Well, Loewe was gay.”

“Gay doesn‟t mean a predisposition to a threesome.” Brendan laughed.

“How about you? How do you feel about sharing?”

His eyes sharpened on her, considering. “That depends on the lover. I‟ve had some that prefer sharing, some that don‟t. I do what gives them pleasure.”

“What about me? What if I wanted to share you? Or have another guy, both of you…with me?”

For so long she‟d been so focused on herself, she‟d forgotten how good she was at reading faces. That skill came in handy now, because the look she saw was so quick, she would have missed it if she hadn‟t been looking for it. As he began to open his mouth, she put her fingers on it.

“No, don‟t say anything. You wouldn‟t like it, but you were going to say you‟d do what makes me happy. You know, you‟re not exempt. You‟re one of those „lovers‟

whose desires should be taken into consideration as well. If I fell in love with you… If, my present dysfunctional behavior aside, I
am
in love with you…” A tremor, not unpleasant but definitely scary, went through her stomach at the look in his eyes, but she pressed on. “What you want would be as important to my happiness as what I want is to yours.”

“What you want is always going to be more important to me, Chloe.”

“Maybe. Because you‟re wonderful and unreal. But even superheroes should have a line.” Despite her humor, her brow creased, noticing how he broke the link between their gazes to arrange the food on the blanket. She reached out, put a hand on his wrist, stilling him. “Look at me.”

A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched, but then his gaze flicked up, showing her those hazel eyes had become far more guarded. She‟d seen traces of it since they‟d met, but if there was a fortress inside Brendan, protecting his deepest needs, she was pretty sure this subject kept bringing her right to the locked drawbridge.

“I don‟t know a lot,” she said quietly, “but I do know that being a submissive doesn‟t mean you have to be okay with everything your lover wants to do. If that was the case, all those program designations wouldn‟t have been necessary. And you‟d have let me go down on you without a seatbelt. Maybe you‟ve had some really inconsiderate assholes in your life that made you feel like you‟ve failed if you don‟t give them everything they want. But I think I‟m different for you, Brendan. I think you want specific things with me. Things that would be limits, conditions. Like wanting me only for yourself.”

“Chloe—”

“I think I said not to talk,” she said mildly.

Whoa.
She‟d surprised herself on that one, as much as him. But she tried not to let it show in her face as she took her fingers up to his lips, caressed them. His attention was riveted on her, the increased focus she‟d noted he demonstrated when a woman took the reins, so irresistible in its flood of power. She pushed that back, though, keeping her concentration where it would do more good for both of them. She hoped. “Have you ever thought that your possessiveness toward me, your desire for exclusivity, might be something I want from you? That it makes me feel special?” He closed his hand around her wrist as if she were made of glass. However, as her pulse ratcheted up, she had a feeling if she tried to withdraw her arm just then, he might have resisted. Just for a moment, giving her the thrill of confirming her theory.