Natural Law (17 page)

“You’re a lot to take at once,” she gasped. “Give me a second.”

“All the time you need.” Though his arms were trembling, his thighs quivering with restrained power as she shifted, making some adjustments, torturing him. Teasing him. She rose up, sliding up his length, then lowered herself again, stroking him. “Stay still,” she murmured. “This is too good to rush. You’re too good to rush. I want to fuck you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sugar.”

She smiled, kissed his mouth, held her lips there as her body rose and fell.

“Touch you,” he muttered. “Let me touch you.”

“Yes. God, yes.”

His hands skimmed her arms, down the line of her ribs, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts before he settled at her waist, then lower, gripping her hips, taking her into a line of strong, deep strokes that could please them both, drive them both.

The balance of power shifted. It took a moment before it registered, that she’d stopped using the strength of her own muscles and was just hanging on. She had let him take the reins, to drive them both to the edge.

“You feel so good.”

Inane words, no poetry, but it was all he could manage with need tearing at his insides. No woman had ever felt so good, and somehow he knew that no woman’s pussy would ever feel as good, as right as Violet’s. It was terrifying, the realization that he’d suddenly found everything that could mean home, without knowing how long he’d be welcome there.

Her lips were a distracted smile and he wanted to make her insane, wanted her to lose all control, now that she’d chosen to give him some of it. He wanted to do things that gave her no choice but abandon everything to him, let him pleasure her, take care of her, now and forever.

He tightened his hands on her hips, held her still so he could ever-so-gently close his mouth on her left nipple, run his tongue around it, pull on it with easy tugs that he knew would get exponentially more intense as he kept it up and held her still on his cock.

“Mac,” she whispered.

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Her plea was the music that the soul could hear at sunrise, if the mind was still enough to hear it. Completely wrapped up inside and all around her, he let the desperate rasp of her breath and the convulsive clutch of her fingers on his shoulders guide him as he kept up the suckling caress. He heard her cry his name, felt the glory of her pussy squeeze his cock, struggling to pull him deeper, to get him to thrust into her.

He eased his grip, and began to move her again, but making it more gentle, slow, languorous strokes that widened her eyes, made her nipples tighten even further, her breasts swell before his eyes as he stoked her fires, bringing wet heat to a boiling tempest around him, mirrored by the wake in the tub, matching the lapping noises he made now at her breast as he brought her close with one arm curled high on her back, his other banding her hips, unleashing his strength in ways that were devastatingly controlled, making her his with every long, heated stroke.

“Mac,” she gasped again, “Please—”

“Let it build, sugar,” he urged, his mouth tasting as much of her as he could, teeth nipping, drawing her in deep. He felt her contract on him, felt the shudder as she fought it. He went still, watching in wonder as she hovered on that precipice, keeping her there by not moving, not letting her move. It was like capturing a dolphin in mid-air, sleek and perfect, heartbreakingly beautiful. So alive that she seemed to give life to everything around her.

“Mac,” she gasped, “Damn it. Now. Move now.”

Her mouth was open, drawing in air, her face rigid with the intensity of her pleasure and focus, and so he let the moment go, let them both go, stroking hard into her. Her pussy clenched around him like the fists she clenched on his shoulders now, her nails digging into him, marking him as hers. He used his strength to serve her relentlessly, stroking deep and fast, proving his power and devotion to her, driving her higher.

“Mac…oh, God…” Reason left and the power of the climax took over, her body undulating on his, breasts quivering with each rise and fall of her torso, pale skin slick with water so that light flashed over her as she moved.

“Scream for me, Mistress,” he urged.

Almost as the words left his lips, the cry burst from her lips. Her eyes reflected that beautiful moment between ecstasy and panic, when everything became about one thing, every function of the body focused on experiencing and surviving a force that seemed too powerful to be survived.

Her hands scrabbled, found his hair and latched on, a painful tugging he relished.

He knew by now that she liked to pull hair, bite and claw, his little Mistress, and she sank her tiny fangs into the top of his ear. He growled in response, then groaned, long and primal, as his cock did the impossible and gave up more seed to her than he thought he had left. He wished it were not hampered by the condom, wished he could make her feel the hot stream of his need, but it was the only mar on a moment of 110

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Paradise, like the imperfection on the perfection of an original Persian rug woven by the finest artists.

She rode him through her aftershocks, whispered to him, demanded that he make her keep feeling it, fuck her harder, and he did. Tyler had had the tub built inside a sunken tile area with additional discreet drains to take away the water that now furled and rolled out of the Jacuzzi, drops sparkling in the candlelight.

She lost purchase on his shoulders and fell against him, letting him press his face into the valley of her sweet breasts, feel the quiver of her curves against him.

“Oh, God. Oh, darling. Darling, darling…” Her lips pulled into a smile against his face, and he turned his head to capture them, locked her tight in his arms, holding her so close he thought he could have wrapped his arms around her twice if it was anatomically possible.

Holding onto him with one hand for support, she lifted her upper body and the free hand to show him what she held in it. A silver, black and white ribbon of his hair was wrapped around her wet fingers. She made a rueful face. “Sorry.” He kissed her palm, closed her fingers over the strands. “They’re yours. Like every other piece of me you want. I’m all yours, Mistress.” 111

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“I want to take us a little off the beaten path on the way home,” she told him. “Take the turnoff to Lilesville up here. I have a gift certificate to use and you’re going to help me spend it.”

“Nope. Female shopping is definitely a boundary. Way too cruel a punishment.”

“Jerk,” she punched his arm. “You’ll like this. It’s a sex shop.” She wouldn’t give him further explanation, so when they pulled off the scenic rural route and drove up to the quaint rambling house that had been attractively landscaped for its purpose as a retail venue, Mac raised a brow at the “For Hers” sign. “I’ve been conned. This is one of those women’s boutiques.”

“It’s a woman’s sensuality shop,” she corrected. “
For Hers
sells sexy things that turn women on, and the owner sells it in a way that women feel comfortable shopping for it.

Erotic, not pornographic. I know him, Justin Herne. See, there he is now.” Mac saw the tall man come to the door, well-dressed in slacks and tailored shirt. He had a lean, muscular build and his brown hair was pulled back in a sleek tail, emphasizing the precise perfection of his features.

“And just how do you know him?”

She slanted him a mischievous glance. “He’s something to look at, isn’t he? He’s my friend Sarah’s husband. Newlyweds, in fact. I did Sarah a favor that helped bring them together. As a result, Justin gave me this very generous gift certificate.” She pulled it from her purse, laid it in his hand. “Which I want you to go in and use.” Surprised, he glanced down at the five hundred dollar certificate. “Must have been some favor.”

“A story I’ll tell you on the trip home. I got all the intimate details, and I promise hearing them will get you hard as a rock.” Her hand wandered over his leg and his cock stirred.

“What do you want me to buy, Mistress?”

Her fingers moved to the inside of his thigh. He shifted to accommodate her, so she could tease his testicles as she lifted her other hand in greeting to Justin. “Pick me out something you know I’d like. And no cheating. No asking Justin or another customer for help.”

With that, she stepped out of the car, leaving him watching the distracting sway of her ass in the snug denim as she went to greet Justin. The man met her with a warm embrace, Mac noted, married or not. He decided it was time to get out of the car. A guy who owned a women’s sex shop might have some different ideas about monogamy.

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“Justin, Mac. Mac, Justin.” Violet introduced them. “I’m going to go enjoy your garden, Justin, and Mac is going to decide what would please me.” She caressed Mac’s forearm. “He’s learning to be very good at pleasing me.” Justin’s dark eyes shifted to Mac. It was the first time any Mistress had exerted her Dominance publicly over him, and lust warred with discomfort, his body roused by her obvious claim stake even as he felt embarrassed to be revealed as such to another man outside the strict structure of a place like The Zone or Tyler’s. But when he left the two of them chatting in the garden and stepped into Justin’s shop, he realized Justin was already keyed in to the dynamics that ruled their type of erotic play.

Every item in the shop—lingerie, play toys, costumes, videos and erotic romances, even bath oils and soaps—were selected to further a woman’s erotic fantasies, including some very classy and high-priced bondage toys and restraint devices.

Mac’s lips twitched at a butt plug with a horse tail. With her equine fetish, she might like that, but he damn well wasn’t picking it out for her. He’d let her discover that one on her own and then torture him with the threat of it. Which, with her sadistic streak, he wouldn’t put past her. He grinned at the thought. As he passed his fingers over a soft camisole, he remembered the texture of her skin beneath his, the arch of her throat, her cries as she came, the clutch of her fingers on his arms, his hips. The smell of her hair, her half-smile.

“It’s hard to know what to get for a woman when you want to give her everything, isn’t it?”

Justin had apparently stepped into the doorway while he was touching the garment, staring into space. Mac realized he had a tight, crushing grip on the soft fabric and he released the satin, making an awkward attempt to smooth it.

“It is,” he agreed shortly.

“Do you want a suggestion?”

Mac opened his mouth, closed it, gave a shake of his head.

“She forbade you to ask for help.”

That definitely pushed way past the threshold of his comfort zone, and made itself uncomfortably at home in the living room of his psyche. So he shrugged. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t engage a man like Justin Herne on this issue. “I have to know what it is,” he said. “That’s the point.” Justin nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said. He stepped forward, placed a brief hand on Mac’s shoulder, met his eyes from an equal height. “Take care of her.

She’s very special to us.”

As another customer came in, he turned away, and Mac watched him slip into the mode of the warm, professional shopkeeper. He shifted his gaze to the window and found his Mistress sitting on a bench amid the early autumn flowers of the courtyard garden, gazing into the sparkling ripples of a fountain. The sun was making her a bit sleepy, and she laid her head on her hand, turning sideways on the bench so she could watch the fountain and let her thoughts wander where they would. All she needed 113

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were wings and a sprinkling of dust across her cheeks and he’d easily imagine her as a garden fairy, alighting in this sensual, quiet place to dream dreams only fairies understood. Of butterfly princes, rides on the backs of swallows, or naps taken in the cradle of a blooming rose.

As the customer brushed past him with a murmured, “Excuse me,” and a lingering, appreciative glance, he realized he’d been drifting himself, just standing there watching her for nearly ten minutes.

As if she sensed his attention, Violet’s head rose, and she looked his way. She studied him with serious eyes, then lifted her hand, pressed her lips to her palm and blew a kiss.

Watching those delicate fingers, that moist mouth press against her skin, a warmth swept through him, as if she’d blown pixie dust to him in truth. He smiled, lifted a hand and turned to find something that would make his fairy queen happy.

* * * * *

Violet opened her eyes at a feather light touch on her calf.

Mac sat on the ground next to the small bench, one leg crooked up, his fingers cupped over his knee while his other hand played lightly with her calf. The bench was small, but he could have sat with her. He hadn’t. He had waited at her feet, patiently, for her to wake.

She feigned a casual stretch, aware of his eyes coursing over the tilt of her breasts as she did so. “I didn’t mean to nod off on you,” she said.

It was surprising to have to admit to herself that she was flustered as much as pleased by his devotion to her needs. It was one thing to have it in The Zone or at Tyler’s, where the environment demanded and expected it. She knew she had thrown down the gauntlet when she had introduced him to Justin in the way she did. He had met the test, accepting her unspoken desire to have him embrace his submissive role in a semi-public manner with barely a hitch in his stride, and he’d stayed in it, as if he had taken her actions as an unspoken command to do so until she said otherwise. It was unsettling, but undeniably arousing.

She stroked his neck, ran her hand through the thick curls, grazed her knuckles down his jaw, across his upper lip, along the facial hair that was so soft in one direction, so marvelously not when his lips were moving between her legs. He turned his head, kissed her fingertips one by one as she offered each. His gaze never left hers, and her nipples tightened sweetly beneath her shirt, rising up for his attention.

“So what are you thinking, Mackenzie?” she asked quietly, stroking him.

“I’m thinking I’d like to sit on the bench, hold you in my lap while you sleep as long as you like.”

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“Mmm. What did you buy me?”

He turned to the decorative bag behind him, pulled it forward. Violet was conscious of his nervous tension as she reached in.

“I bought you two things. I was sure you’d like…at least one of them.” She lifted out the custom-made Italian ankle boots. Designed in a hunter green velvet that would perfectly match the first dress she had worn with him, it had black ribbon lacings, the ends of the laces tipped in emerald beads. The elegant stem of the heel was three inches.

“There’s also three extra sets of laces in there. You can do them up in a gold foil color for Christmas parties, and there’s a brown with these smooth colored earth stone beads to tone it down, wear them with jeans. And then there’s one set in a matching green lace. I chose the boots, but Justin pointed out the laces and the ways you could wear them. I don’t think that’s cheating, exactly.” She suppressed a chuckle. “I love them, Mac. They’re beautiful. They’re perfect.” She set the boot aside, leaned down to kiss his firm mouth. “You’re perfect.” His hand curled up behind her neck, holding her there, prolonging the embrace, and she had no objections. She couldn’t think of a more wonderful moment, basking in the sun of a secluded garden, Mac’s lips on hers, his touch on her body.

He pulled back slightly. “The other thing. If you don’t like it…it may have been too forward, but you said I should get you something you would like…” He stopped, shook his head. “I should probably take it back.”

“Not until I’ve seen it.” She was curious as to what item Justin had in his shop that would be causing Mac such concern, and she reached back in the bag.

It was a hinged box of carved wood, the top engraving of a pair of whooping cranes. “This is beautiful, Mac. What were you so worried about?”

“Inside,” he inclined his head. “The gift is inside. I just thought you’d like the box, so I bought that.” He shifted. “I bought the boots for you, too. This…I thought you’d want to know it was bought with your money, so to speak.”

“I know how much Justin’s shoes cost. You spent too much already, and I told you to use the certificate,” she scolded.

“I did. Inside the box.” He placed a hand over hers on top of the lid. “But I can get you something else if you don’t like it.”

Curiosity fully roused, she released the clasp of the box and raised the lid when Mac reluctantly slid his hand away.

The silk-lined interior held two things. One was a key. The other was a man’s silver bracelet. The Italian design of flat pewter links joined by smaller links would be an appealing look for a man who wasn’t a fashion plate, but who knew how to dress well and attract a woman’s eye. Each of the smaller links was embedded with a discreet diamond chip.

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“It locks,” Mac said, as she looked down at it. “I used Lisbeth’s gift at The Zone so Mistresses would know what I was…but they never really tied me to her. You hate it.

I’m sorry, it was selfish, and presumptuous. I just—” Violet laid the box to the side, reached down to take hold of his shoulders and dropped into his arms, unbalancing him with the unexpected move so he rolled back to take her weight. She ended up stretched full length on top of him on the garden path, her mouth fastened on his, hands fisted in his hair. He recovered quickly, his arms sliding around her back, tightening the embrace so every curve and valley of their bodies fit together, and he swallowed her soft murmur of pleasure with the contact.

Violet lifted her head from the kiss at last, though she thought she could have lain there forever, feeling the hard strong length of his body beneath her, tense with leashed passion.

“So you like it, then?”

She lifted a shoulder, affected a neutral look. “It’ll do.” He grinned.

Violet lifted herself off him, and of course as soon as he recognized her intentions he helped, providing extra strength with his hands at her waist. She took the bench again, looked back into the box and fingered the smooth flat rectangular pieces, nearly an eighth of an inch thick, joined by the smaller square links, like an elegant masculine chain.

“How’d you know my shoe size?” she asked, her mind moving over a myriad of thoughts, desires, possibilities, trying to rope them in, struggling for rationality, caution.

“I noticed your shoes at Tyler’s, lying on the floor this morning.”

“Some men would notice the shoes. Most wouldn’t notice the size.”

“I’m not most men.”

She flicked her lashes up at the arrogant tone, then saw the spark of humor in his eyes, not quite covering his concern at her sudden quiet. It warmed her, his attempt to draw her away from darkness. She wasn’t surprised he knew her shoe size at all, when he was so accomplished at picking up so many of her mood shifts.

As if he read her thoughts, he put his hand against her calf. “I notice everything about you, sugar.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

And the realization was opening up her heart further to him, so that the vulnerable organ was all but lying at his feet, ready for him to pick it up and cradle it in those large hands. Or crush it with his formidable strength, enhanced tenfold by the fact that every third heartbeat in her chest seemed to be caused by him. When a slow smile transformed his expression, it jumped and accelerated, making her revise that. Probably every other damn beat.

Well, she wasn’t a coward.

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Violet closed the box, laid her hands over it, resisting the urge to grip it possessively, the way she wanted to do with him. But relationships didn’t work that way, not D/s or vanilla, or any kind in between.

“I want to put this on your wrist more than anything, Mac,” she said. “But I need to wait.”

His eyes sobered and she looked down at the box beneath her hands. “There’s something I want you to know about me first, and then…” She looked up, met his gaze.

“If you don’t regret choosing this as my gift, I’ll put it on your wrist, and call you mine in truth.”

“All right. Tell me.”

She shook her head. “When we get home. I want to tell you when you have some space to think about it. For now, I want you to come up here and hold me like you said, and if I drop off for three hours and your legs fall off from lack of circulation, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”