Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (32 page)

He felt her smile against his chest, and he caressed the length of her hair, resting his chin atop her head, marveling at the contentment he felt over such a simple act.

“You're an excellent cook and you said yourself you love cooking.
At first, I didn't like the idea of you cooking for me when I came home because as I told you that very first night, I never meant for you to be a domestic slave.”

She leaned away from his chest so she could look at him, mischief in her eyes. “Just a sex slave,” she teased.

He relaxed, relief surging through his veins because she was no longer tense, nor did she seem angry.

He smacked her playfully on the behind but left his palm there, cupping the soft plumpness of her ass.

“Damn right,” he said with no remorse whatsoever. “But I took something away from you that I shouldn't have. I made you feel as though you contributed nothing to our relationship. You enjoyed cooking for me and you were happy that I loved your meal. Hell, I even loved those fucking cupcakes and you had every single one of my men eating out of your hand so they'd get one too. If someone had told me a month ago that the men who work for me would eagerly be lining up for a cupcake made by an angel, I would have laughed myself stupid.”

She blushed but her eyes were shining in delight, the corners of her mouth tilted upward into that delectable quirky half smile that was so characteristic of her. Some might consider it a fault, but Drake found it endearing. Even now, he paused to drop his head and nibble at the corner of her mouth, running his tongue over that delicious little quirk. She shivered against him in response and his entire body tightened. So fucking responsive. He'd thought it, said it, too many times to count since she'd barged into his life, or, if he was honest, since he'd dragged her into his life.

She lit up for him. Him. Only him. Hell, she'd been around his men, his brothers, all men most bitches couldn't keep their hands off of, and yet Evangeline smiled at them, was affectionate with them all, much to their disgruntlement and bewilderment, but in no way could her actions or responses ever be construed as sensual. She wasn't a flirt. She was too
damn honest, not to mention too innocent to even know how. If she liked you, she was nice to you and she let you know she liked you. It was as simple as that. And apparently she'd decided that she liked all his brothers. Men would die to have a woman go up in flames the instant they looked at her in a certain way. Or touched her, kissed her, whispered the right words. He
had
such a woman right here on his lap and in his arms. In his bed every night, offering her complete submission as sweetly as a woman ever had, and if he wasn't careful, he was going to fuck up and lose her.

He nearly shook his head. Compromise. Not a word in his vocabulary. But when it came to Evangeline, he was fast learning new words and most certainly their definition.

“I love your cooking,” he said. “Best fucking meals I've eaten in my life.”

And they were. He might do a lot to keep a woman like Evangeline, but he wasn't a liar. Not even to make her feel better or to appease her would he lie. She valued self-worth most of all. How hollow would that self-worth be if it was built on lies he'd told her?

Her eyes glowed with pleasure, her entire face lit up with radiance to rival the sun, her cheeks growing rosier by the second. She looked at him as if he'd just saved her from a burning building, for fuck's sake. It didn't take much to please this woman at all, and here he'd been throwing tens of thousands of dollars at her when apparently all she truly wanted was . . .
him
.

He couldn't comprehend it, but the proof was here, looking him in the eyes. She wanted Drake Donovan the man. Not the wealth, power, status or prestige of being on his arm and under his protection.

His money appalled her. The gifts he gave her horrified her. Silas had informed him that she was less than thrilled to accept the cash and credit cards he'd sent over. She'd been more excited over the fucking Chinese takeout than over a credit card with no spending limit. And
he'd bet his entire fortune that she hadn't even touched the cash, much less counted it.

How did you keep a woman like his angel happy when she didn't appear to want anything?

She only wants you.

And that he could give her. If that was all it took to make her happy, to
keep
her happy and to make damn sure she never walked out on him, then he'd give her exactly what she wanted.

“Once a week, same day unless it can't be avoided, you cook for me. I'll arrange my schedule so that I'm home no later than six. And when I say unless it can't be avoided, Angel, I mean that nothing short of death will keep me from being here. Now that's all I can promise,” he said in a serious voice. “You are my single most important responsibility. You gave me your trust and with that trust, you gave me yourself and you placed your faith in me that I'll keep you happy. I take my responsibilities very seriously, and therefore I'm going to continue to spoil the hell out of you. You will not lift a finger except those nights you cook for me and you will not be washing the fucking dishes afterward. That's what I pay a cleaning lady for. And what you can do for me is accept whatever I choose to give you and know that I give it not to take away your sense of self-worth or sharpen the divide between our net worths, but because it makes
me
happy. And what will make me even happier is if, as I told you the night I took you home with me for the first time, you think of creative ways of expressing your gratitude. Not be thinking of ways to pay me back and certainly not dwell on not being able to pay me back. Because that will seriously piss me the fuck off.”

She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. She buried her face in his throat, and the soft whisper of her exhalations blew over his skin, setting fire to his every nerve ending.

“I'm sorry,” she said in an emotional voice that was muffled by his throat.

He pried her away from him and glanced sharply down at her.

“For fuck's sake, what the hell are you sorry for?”

He knew his exasperation was showing, but hell, she was the single most infuriating, complex woman he'd ever known.

“I was—I've been an ungrateful bitch,” she said painfully. “And selfish. I never even considered
your
feelings. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities and every time another gift showed up my panic increased. You're right. About all of it, and I'm so very sorry, Drake.”

She lifted her hand to his jaw and caressed his cheek, the sensation like velvet, the contrast between her baby-soft skin and his much harder, life-roughened features heady and addictive. “And,” she added in a husky whisper, “you can be assured I will be
very
creative in my expressions of gratitude.”

He pressed a finger to her lips and sent her a look of reprimand.

“You will not speak of yourself that way. Ever. I shouldn't even be having this conversation with you considering Silas had the same exact conversation verbatim with you, and if you don't think I'll allow him to turn you over his knee and spank that pretty ass if you say that kind of fucked-up shit about yourself again, then you couldn't be more wrong.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “He wasn't teasing me?” she squeaked.

“Does Silas strike you as the type of man to tease?” Drake asked dryly.

“Point taken,” she muttered.

Then she glanced up at him, a gleam in her eyes that made him go instantly hard.

“What is that look for?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well . . . I did promise to be creative in the way I expressed my
gratitude,” she said solemnly, though the
too
-innocent expression on her face told him she was anything but solemn.

“Oh you did, now didn't you? Just how creative are you, Angel?”

She flashed a shy smile and peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. Then she reached up and twined her arms around his neck, having to stand on tiptoe to elevate her diminutive height.

She looked adorably shy and color rose in her cheeks. “I don't want to disappoint you, Drake. Ever. And you know I have no experience except with you.”

He was inordinately pleased with her assertion that he was her only experience and that no reference at all was made to her shithead ex. He wasn't so pleased with her statement of not wanting to disappoint him, but he didn't interrupt her, because she was obviously struggling with what she wanted to say.

“What I would like is for you to teach me how to please you. Only you. You said the other night was for you, but in reality, it was all about me. Tonight . . .” She sucked in another breath. “Tonight, I want it to
truly
be all about you. I want you to have absolute control and show me how to pleasure you in
any
way you want. I want you to make me do whatever it is you want me to do to you—
for
you. And I don't want you to hold back for fear of hurting or scaring me.”

She paused for a moment as she stared into his eyes as if gauging his reaction.

“I want you. Just you. Nothing else. Just you, your control, your dominance, the man you are, the man I know you to be. I'm not trying to change the rules, I swear. I don't want control tonight. I only want for you to be selfish for once and to
take
what you need from me, however you want it, need it, like it. I just wish I knew enough not to have to ask you how to give you all that I want to give you.”

She finished in a whisper, a thread of regret in her voice.

He was shaken. He, a man who was unshakable. But her sincere plea
cut to the very core and uncovered parts of his heart that had long ago been shut off, never to be opened or to bleed again. For anyone.

He framed her beautiful face in his hands, cradling it gently as he stared down into her eyes, losing all sense of himself.

“I'm
glad
you don't have the experience to know all there is to know about pleasing me,” he said in a savage tone. “There is nothing more beautiful than a woman asking her man to guide her and teach her how to pleasure him. You make me feel like I'm the only man who's ever even entered your world, Angel. You can't imagine how that feels.”

She smiled, her eyes glowing warmly. “Then you'll do it? You'll take me the way you want to take me tonight? Rough, hard, long, sweet. It doesn't matter, Drake. Because pleasing you, bringing you pleasure, gives me the same and so much more. So very much more.”

Dear God, what she was doing to him in such a short time. He was in way over his fucking head and he damn well knew it. He was helpless to keep his defenses rigid and erect around her, and God help him but he didn't want to.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to let someone in. He just prayed that when that happened, and she saw the monster he truly was, that he wouldn't lose the precious gift staring at him as though he were her entire world.

He looked at her sweet smile, going over every single word—gift—she'd given him. Did she know how dark his desires ran? Did she fully understand the things that aroused him sexually? Somehow, he didn't think so. In her innocence, how could she?

He had no doubt that she was utterly sincere and here, in this moment, she would give him anything he wanted. Would do for him anything he wanted. But would she understand, or would she see his dark fantasies as a betrayal of his promise to protect her and always take care of her?

“Be very sure of what you are offering me, Angel,” he said, his tone low and serious.

“I'm sure,” she said with no hesitation.

“Then I want you to remember something, the most important thing of all, when I take what I want from you tonight. You gave me your trust, and you will need to not only remember that, but to believe in that trust—and in me.”

She didn't look or appear frightened. There was a spark of curiosity and a delicate shiver stole over her body, as though she were imagining what he was thinking. What he wanted—would demand of her tonight.

He pulled her in closer to his body. Until nothing separated them and his arms were wrapped around her satiny, naked skin. He allowed his hands to roam down her back, cupping her buttocks and then squeezing.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, allowing her one last out. “Enough not to question anything I ask of you tonight? To follow and heed my instructions regardless of what they may be?”

She leaned her head back, determination and resolve firm in those beautiful eyes. She looped her arms loosely around his neck, but never once did she break free of his gaze.

“My gift to you is me,” she said in a sweet, soul-stirring voice that was a caress all in its own. “I am yours, Drake. I know you'll never hurt me. I can't promise not to ever be afraid at any point tonight, but you need to know that my fear is not of you. Never of you. If I fear anything at all, it will be the unknown. But most of all, my greatest fear will be of letting you down.”

“Then go and prepare for me,” he said in a husky voice. “Take a long bath and soak for a while. There is no hurry, as it will take me a little time to make the proper arrangements for a night my angel has promised is all mine. My fantasy. My pleasure. And know, Evangeline, that you will be repaid in full measure for the gift you are offering me tonight. I too plan to come up with very creative ways of expressing my gratitude.”

He trailed a finger down her silken cheek as their gazes remained locked.

“When you are finished bathing, dry yourself and your hair and then go lie down on the bed. Don't pull the covers and sheets back. I want you to lie in the middle, your hair spread across the pillows, thighs parted, hands above your head with your fingers wrapped around the slats of the headboard.”

She smiled, then sighed and shook her head ruefully. “And yet again, a night that is supposed to be solely about you sounds an awful lot like I'm the one being a pampered, spoiled princess.”