Natural Law (19 page)

Joey W. Hill

“I trained to be an MP and served most of my stint in that. I liked it, and it dovetailed well when I went for my criminal law minor.”

“What gave away that I was a cop?” Mac inserted it as a casual question, but it was bothering him. He needed to know.

She shrugged. “I just knew. You didn’t give it away the way a rookie would, with the constant ready stance, but you had that air about you that… well, you know. We just know sometimes.”

He nodded, understanding perfectly, though it disturbed him that he hadn’t been able to out her in the same way. But then, she’d thrown him off stride from the first.

“What’s the frown about?”

“Just thinking if I put in the right amount of oregano,” he lied. There was male pride to be preserved, after all.

“So, do you always wear black jeans?”

He shrugged. “They don’t show dirt, and they can all go in the wash together.” She chuckled. “Mackenzie, you just without a doubt told me you’re a bachelor.”

“I already told you I wasn’t married.”

“Yes, but now I know I can believe you.”

He looked at her. “You can trust me, Violet.”

“Not yet. Not until you know you can completely trust me.” She gave him an even look in return that told him she’d seen the change in his expression, knew his frown meant something different.

But she didn’t push it. Just gave him that face that said he wasn’t fooling her, and took another sip of her wine.

“What’s in there?” She nodded to the plastic container he’d left on the counter.

“That’s dessert. A chocolate torte.”

Her eyes lit up in anticipation and he grinned. “I think I’ve found your weakness.”
No, that’s you.
Though she thought it rather than said it, he saw it in her eyes as if he’d heard her thoughts. A flush heated his skin, the reaction of an adolescent, but for once he didn’t fight it, didn’t try to remain cool. He let her see how much she was affecting him.

“The fanciest chocolate dessert I’ve had is a Sara Lee fudge cake at Wal-Mart,” she said. “And that was pretty darn good. What’s a torte?”

“A torte is a thin layer of cake with a filling in between the layers. In this case a chocolate gnoche mousse, which is like a whipped chocolate cream. When you place it in your mouth, it should melt into your taste buds. You don’t have to distract yourself with the energy of chewing.”

“And you made it?” She leaned over, lounging her body across the counter like a decadent queen, and peeked into the container. “Wow,” she said. “Mackenzie, I might have to marry you.”

126

Natural Law

He raised his head and saw, though she was teasing him, there was a serious undercurrent to her words.

“I would never be good enough for you, Mistress.”

“I think you should let me decide that. So, what are you making there?” she straightened up, reclaimed her wine and distracted him with the sight of her moist lips pressed against the clear glass. “It looks fairly simple, compared to this.”

“Making perfectly cooked pasta is an art,” he informed her. “And since the dessert is rich, I wanted to provide something simple for the entrée. An angel hair pasta tossed in a blend of garlic and oil, with a bit of herbal seasoning, and organic scrambled egg mixed in for protein. A side dish of steamed vegetables. I make the pasta myself.” He had the pleasure of seeing Violet’s mouth very nearly drop open. She caught it with a snap. “This isn’t a casual thing for you.”

“Yes, and no. The job.” He gestured vaguely with the knife. “I needed a variety of things to keep me human.”

“No meat? Is that typical for you?”

He nodded. “I’ve been a vegetarian for about ten years. When I worked deep cover in the dog fighting rings, early in my career, they liked to warm the dogs up for the crowd with farm animals.” He sampled the herb blend, nodded to himself before he continued. “I saw them tear apart a pig, chickens, a cow, then other, weaker dogs. Later, when I was in situations where I saw men fighting for their lives, knowing they weren’t going to win, I saw them lose all their identity. They were nothing but their fear in those last moments. The faces of those animals were the same, and I can’t eat a hamburger or anything like it anymore without seeing that in my head.” He shrugged. “I don’t have to cause them to die to live. And so I made my choice. I hope that’s okay.” She nodded, let him work in silence for awhile. Mac found it a comfortable one, enjoyed the smell of her perfume, the tilt of her head, the sparkle of interest in her eyes at every step that went into the process of preparing food well. He also liked the way her eyes often wandered over his body, enjoying it as she said she would.

“How did you get into D/s?” she said at length, her tone a little distracted.

Mac gave a self-conscious chuckle before he could stop himself. What the hell, he might as well tell her. The worst she could do was laugh.

“I had this dream growing up, about this woman. She’s no one I know, just a figment of my imagination. She’d come to me, and I couldn’t lift my hands, couldn’t touch her unless she said so, and she’d do incredible things to me. When I was about twenty-five, someone took me to a place like The Zone, only a lot more vanilla, as a joke. Sort of a cross S/M strip club where the girls wrapped around the poles wore leather and cracked whips. It did things to me, watching them, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. “

“So you investigated it some more.”

127

Joey W. Hill

He shook his head. “Not at first, but I wanted to. Told myself I was crazy, that it was crazy for a cop to be looking into something like that. We both know what a dangerous line D/s is to walk, what places it can take you, but it lingered in my mind. It was always there whenever sex was an issue.

“Then I got an undercover assignment where the suspect liked to frequent places like The Zone. I saw the less seedy side of it, started realizing it might not be up there with kiddie porn. On a lark, the suspect talked me into playing Dom one night to one of the willing staff. I sucked at it, but fortunately that helped my cover. When it was over, a Mistress came over to me, whispered into my ear. ‘You’re not a Dom, love. You’re a sub. You ever want to find out what that means, give me a call.’

“I thought she was putting me down because I’d been so bad at it, yanking my chain, but something about the way she looked at me, trailed her hand down my arm like she had the right to touch me, and the way I felt, like I should stand still and let her do anything to me she wanted to do, really got everything churned up inside. I couldn’t get her out of my head. When the case was over, I called her. Lisbeth. And here I am.”

“I liked her,” Violet admitted. “And yet I’m jealous, regardless.”

“No need. She liked breaking me into it, but once that novelty was over, she moved on. She didn’t…there wasn’t a true emotional attachment. Not…”
Like with us.
The words hung between them, too potent and soon to be voiced.

“You’re a complete enigma, Mac.” She shook her head. “Most cops couldn’t do it, even if they had the urge. It’s like you’ve got this split personality thing going, where you crave a Mistress but you’re terrified to let go of the control, because you of all people know how much is outside of your control.”

“I had bad panic attacks the first few times I was tied up. It still…I still have to fight them off. But I’ve learned to control my reaction. The…desire is stronger.”

“Mac, look at me.” When he did, he saw the stunned amazement in her gaze at his admission. “But you do it anyway.”

He lifted a shoulder. “As I said, it doesn’t really make sense. Guess it’s not supposed to. With you…it’s different.”

Standing in her kitchen, cooking, the air full of scents and of her, he felt like he could tell her things he had not told anyone, had not had within him to tell anyone until he met her. But he lowered his attention back to preparing their salad, before he said what else he felt he needed to say.

“You scared me more than anyone, but now I don’t know what I was so afraid of.

There was a wall. I’m not sure I even knew it was there, though you tried to tell me it was there from the first. Every time a Mistress pushed on it, I felt like I had to keep her away from it, but at the same time I wanted her to try and shove past it, fight me for it. I didn’t understand it, still don’t maybe. I just know you did it, and I feel like you’re inside me now, in a place where I’ve always wanted… a woman to be. Fuck me, I can’t explain it right.”

128

Natural Law

“You don’t have to. I don’t think there are any words for the ‘why’ of it, any more than there are for why I knew that’s where I needed to go.” He nodded and opened a small covered dish, laid it out on the counter.

“Appetizers. Marinated mushrooms.” He picked one up, took it to her lips, offering it to her.

She could tell the raw sincerity of his admission had unsettled him. It was time to move it back into more comfortable territory. Violet opened her mouth, closed her lips on the mushroom, watched his face as he brushed his fingers over her lips, carefully taking the oill away and then putting them in his own mouth, a quick lick to clean the oill off his fingertips and take her into him. The warmth of the gesture mingled with the effect of the wine, and spread through her.

“What I can’t figure out is how a four-year rookie made me for a cop and I never once suspected her of being on the job,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

She tilted her head, managed a smile. “What did you think I was?”

“I thought maybe some type of company executive, but that seemed clichéd. I’d about decided you were a construction equipment operator. You know, bulldozers and such. Since you’re so good at pushing around people bigger than you are.”

“You’re picking on me now.”

“Yes.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I am.”

“There’s only one reason I made you for a cop and you didn’t make me,” she observed, watching his delightful ass as he moved around the kitchen. How pants could be that tight and still be legal, she didn’t know, but she thanked the fashion experts for all their blessings. So tight they creased the tops of his thighs and his ass as he moved, shifted, the cleft well defined for her gaze.

“And what was that?”

“I’ll tell you later. Come here.”

Mac put down his knife, brushed his hands on the dishtowel and came to her, until he stood between her knees again. He braced a hand on either side of her hips, bringing all his overwhelming presence within her grasp. She moved a hand around his hip, over the curve of one cheek, squeezed, closed her eyes, enjoyed how the muscles tightened under her touch. She felt him begin to lean in, but shook her head, a bare movement. He stopped in mid-motion.

Her thighs dampened anew. She had spoken the truth. She didn’t know what made her the way she was, why she so enjoyed a man willing to submit to her, why his obedience to the most subtle command, so subtle it was like he’d read her mind, could overwhelm her.

The man between her legs was high-powered, well-trained, but had never been broken. Until her. Until he became hers.

“Take the wine.” She lifted it. “And drink. Drink it all, until the last swallow, and then give me that last swallow from your mouth.” 129

Joey W. Hill

He lifted the glass, his silver gaze now liquid heat, and put it to his lips. She slid both hands along his waistband and to the back of his jeans, firmly grasping his ass in both hands, kneading, stroking, easily imagining what it would be like to feel them flexing, tightening as he drove into her in a slow, pumping rhythm. She watched the glass tilt up, his head back as he downed the wine in slow, measured swallows, his throat working. She brought her hands back around front, palmed the tightly bound package of his erection and testicles, tightened her grasp.

He lowered the glass, holding his mouth closed to contain the wine she’d requested of him.

Violet released him, hooked one hand in the waistband of his jeans, and used her other to bring his head down to her. The wine flooded her mouth with his tongue, and she savored both, swirling them around, tasting their potency, consuming them.

“Perhaps next time I have wine in my mouth,” he murmured against her lips,

“you’ll let me put your legs on my shoulders, and I’ll put my mouth on your pussy, slip my tongue in your cunt and let all that warm, red wine run down inside. Mix with your sweet taste and drink from that.”

“I like that image,” she breathed against him. She felt his other arm slide around her, pull her closer to his hips, and she let him, rubbing herself against him before she eased off the counter at last, down his hard length. Her bare feet came to rest on top of his and she smiled up at him. “But I want dinner first.” 130

Natural Law

She couldn’t help but feel pleasure just in looking at him. Sitting relaxed across from her, leaned back in the chair, knees splayed in the tight jeans. That powerful bare upper torso bathed by the light of the two lavender candles he’d brought with the lavender roses to decorate her table. He’d taken time, care, to make sure the setting was lovely, romantic. He wasn’t just here for sex. He was wooing her as well. It was…flustering. The way he kept gazing at her wasn’t staring. It was a physical caress over every part of her, and she was certain he was far too aware of the effect the attention had on her.

They left the more controversial topics alone at dinner, and talked about the things they wanted to know about each other. Usually, the first date outside of a dungeon was cautious, information warily given, but Violet found she could talk about anything with him, and he was generous with his responses to her questions as well. She learned where his family was from, what kind of upbringing he had, what made him want to be a cop. He was a good listener, and attentive to her in a way that kept her blood on a slow simmer. Mixing their casual conversation with intimate reminders that he intended to serve her needs, he brought her more wine before she asked, retrieved her napkin when she dropped it on the floor, placing a light kiss on her calf when he was down there. And of course doing it all in nothing but a pair of jeans, so his naked chest and shoulders were accessible to her gaze and touch at all times.

She had eaten four bites of the most incredible pasta she’d ever tasted before she realized he wasn’t eating.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. Do you like it?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “It’s wonderful. Did you poison it? Is that why you’re not having any?”

He smiled, did not touch his fork. “I would not presume to eat until my Mistress permits it, and until I’m certain the meal is to her satisfaction.” She nodded. She put another bite to her lips, her body roiling at the sight of him, waiting on her will, his food untouched, capable hands lying flat on either side of the plate, his chest moving with even breaths. His eyes watched her every movement, lingered on her lips as they became glossed with the light oill on the pasta.

“God, you are too much,” she murmured. “Eat.”
Before I leap over the table and eat you
alive.

131

Joey W. Hill

“So, can you tell me why you aren’t married now?” She covered his hand when she asked and he turned it over, lacing his fingers with hers. “Is it the job?” He picked up his fork, so he wasn’t looking at her when he shook his head. “It’s hard for someone like me to make a go of it with a woman without her knowing coming in what I want, the sub angle. I’ve tried to have relationships without it and it doesn’t work. Whether it’s an unhealthy craving, or an obsession, I don’t know. I guess you’d have the same trouble finding men out there who want you to tie them up and slap them around.”

“Why do you think I went into law enforcement?” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re not giving me the total truth, Mac.” He raised his gaze and she held it, steady, unwavering, waiting him out. She saw the annoyance rise, then recede, become rueful resignation. She could almost see him weigh every option to evade the question, discard it. She decided to push a little. “I figured it was primarily the job that’s kept you closed off from women. It’s obvious there’s a lot of anger in you.”

He shrugged, lifted his wineglass. “Only when the Buccaneers piss away a game.”

“Hmm. From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like you did a pretty good stint in undercover work, before you went public and then made Detective. I’ve read the articles. Undercover cops have difficulty reintegrating into life. It takes some of them years. They develop paranoia. Control issues. They avoid committed relationships, because they spin so fast from marriage to divorce it’s not worth the effort. They can’t share everything they’ve experienced, so it poisons them from the inside, unless they find a way to deal with it, share it. Just like soldiers.” She didn’t play with the stem of her wineglass or pick up her fork, kept him pinned under her relentless gaze. “Now you’ve chosen to go undercover again.”

“I cook. I have hobbies. I enjoy trawling places like True Blue and The Zone, getting a couple nights of release here and there.” His eyes glinted. “That’s how I get the shit out of my system that collects from the job. I’m not a stereotype, sugar.”

“Don’t get mean with me, Mackenzie,” she said mildly, but she put a warning in her eyes that was unmistakable. “You know, I went online. Couldn’t find anything about you, but I scoured a lot of stuff about police activity in Tampa, hoping to find a mention of you. I found an interesting photograph from a crime scene. It was a cop coming out of a sewer, one arm broken, dragging a body with him by the other. You couldn’t really see his face, except for this one eye, because it just so happened his head was turned halfway toward the camera. They didn’t name the officer.” Mac changed position again. “Well, that day sucked.”

“You darken out the rest of that picture, that guy with all that deadly fury in his face could have been a Viking raider from centuries ago.”

“Now you’re romanticizing.”

“I’m a woman,” she smiled. “I’m allowed. But I’m also a cop, and I could tell that if you ever seriously pissed that guy off, there would be nothing, not an AK47, not a tank, 132

Natural Law

that would stop him from rolling right over you. I’ve seen some of that fury come out in you, when I’ve pushed your buttons. But you know how to hold it back.” She cocked her head. “You’re not what I expected, in a lot of ways.”

“Being violent is easy, too easy,” he brushed it off. “Holding back, being gentle, restraining your strength when it’s not needed, that takes –”

“Character,” she said. “Loads of it.”

The tension lessened between them somewhat, especially when she reached out, covered his hand with both of hers.

“A good Mistress has to know how to do the same,” he murmured. “So you should know.”

“Mackenzie.” She wanted more than that from him, so she waited him out.

He blew out a breath. “Jesus, you’re like a terrier. I’ve seen a lot of things.” He moved restlessly. “It’s difficult to open up when you see what we see. Too many cops like me do the double life thing with spouses, and it tears them apart. I couldn’t do it.

Didn’t want it. Especially if kids got involved.” He paused. “This is hard to talk about, Violet…Mistress. Can we…what was it that kept you from being married?”

She toyed with his fingers, felt his tension vibrating through his touch and made the decision to ease back for the moment, since he’d made the effort. “Okay. Why I’m not married.” She lifted a shoulder. “Most guys think you’re asking them to turn into, what did you call it? A pony? And I guess some Mistresses are looking for that, a Mother-son fetish thing. But I wanted a man, not a boy. I wanted the hardest bronc to ride.” She leaned forward, her eyes covering his gleaming shoulders, the flat nipples, the tight line of hair down his sectioned stomach to the waistband of the jeans. Her hand reached out, traced a scar on his collarbone. “Not because someone had a cruel strap tightened on his balls or was digging into him with spurs to make him buck, torturing him into ferocity. I wanted the horse that was going to make me earn the right to the ride. I wanted to tame my slave, not have him come housebroken.” He met her halfway, captured her face in a hand that was a little too strong, too forceful in its grip. “Well sugar, you don’t get much more unhousebroken than the ‘pit bull who runs the yard’.”

Her blood ran hot at the look in his eyes, the challenge, the invitation to play. With him, she sensed it would always be this way, the periodic reminder that she hadn’t taken on a groomed pet, but a volatile, complicated man with alpha stamped all over him. And that was part of the excitement she hadn’t known she craved.

“Arrogant stud,” she agreed. She pulled her face from his grasp, put her hand on his chest, applied pressure. “Lean back in your chair. Spread open your legs so I can see that impressive package of yours.”

He grinned, a show of teeth. “Make me, sugar.” 133

Joey W. Hill

The first night, it had been a challenge, a proving of her worth. It was still that, but tonight there was a playfulness to it that stirred her blood almost as much, mainly because she knew beneath it he was still testing her. She had rattled him, shoved him off his foundation at Tyler’s, and she’d unbalanced him further, by making him as a cop when he hadn’t had a clue that she’d been one. And now, forcing a partial confession of what had held him from opening up for a woman. The alpha in him was still trying to figure out where he could one-up her.

She sat back in the chair and smoothly crossed her legs, raised her fingers to the tiny row of buttons at the top of the modest neckline.

“You know why you didn’t make me as a cop, Mackenzie?” One button flicked open.

“Why?” He had picked up his wine glass again, but she noticed he didn’t drink. She took two more buttons through their eyelets, spread the fabric so the valley between the rise of her breasts was visible. Ran her fingers lightly over the visible curve. He swallowed.

“You’re a male, chauvinist…pig.” Three more buttons and she caressed the full breast, tracing one finger down the milky crescent, playing with the nipple beneath the fabric. He adjusted his seat and she tilted her head, deliberately studying the swelling going on beneath that zipper, the straining inseam where his testicles were fighting for room in diminishing capacity.

“You support women being cops, judges, but when the bullets are flying, you’re wishing like hell there were no women around. It drives you crazy that you can’t order them all back. You want a woman to dominate you in the bedroom, but you feel it’s a man’s responsibility to protect a woman, keep her safe from harm. It’s a paradox only a Mistress could understand. A woman who understands you. You want to see how hard my nipples are now, aching for your touch, your mouth?”

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Then sit back, spread your knees open, and stroke that long hard ridge in your pants for me. Masturbate yourself through your jeans. I want to see your hips move, thrust in your hand, slow, like you want to fuck me.”

“Let me fuck you now.”

“Not the way it works, Mackenzie. Obey me.” She sharpened her tone, and he leaned back, watching the play of her hand over herself the whole time as he opened his knees, stretching the fabric tight over himself so she saw the long length of him testing it further. His hand moved over it, hesitated, then he began to stroke himself as she’d commanded.

“Yes,” she purred. “That’s it.” She opened the dress to her waist, giving her more room, allowing him see the shape of her fingers kneading her breast, tightening on the nipple beneath the thin cloth. She arched, letting out a breath as she kept her gaze on his hand, sliding down over himself and back up, the way a man did, his eyes hot for her.

His long legs were stretched out on either side of hers, one beneath the table, one out by 134

Natural Law

her chair, and with her other hand, she reached down, slid a hand up his thigh, tightened her grip on it.

“Unzip your pants,” she murmured. “Take them to your knees, so I can see you hold your cock in your hand. Jerk off for me.”

“Let me please you with it, instead.”

“Do what I tell you and it might get to bury itself in my pussy. But I want you close to exploding, Mackenzie. Show me how much you want me.” His hands went to his waist and he slipped the button, slowly took down the zipper. He had to rise out of the chair to obey, for the pants were that tight, and she enjoyed watching the undulation of his hips, the careful maneuverings necessary to wriggle out of them, push them to his knees. He sat back down, his cock ramrod straight between his thighs, and his hand went back to it. She could almost feel the heat emanating off of it, and her pussy wept for it.

You’ll just have to wait, girl. Waiting is part of the fun.

“Good,” she said. “Very good. Keep fucking yourself.” She removed her hand, slowly did the buttons up back to her throat. Her nipples remain high and taut against the shirt of the dress, holding his attention. With deliberate, casual movements, she cut herself a slice of the chocolate torte waiting in the center of the table. Laid down the knife. Licked one finger. Glanced casually over him to make sure he was obeying her.

Lifting the saucer, she settled back with it and her fork, and took off a small bite, all the while watching him perform for her.

“Tell me what you want, Mackenzie. No posturings. Tell me what’s going through that male chauvinist mind of yours. Keep it going.” His hips pumped forward with his motions, and she could hear the faint slap of his ass against the slick surface of the chair as he thrust up through his fist. She knew her feigned indifference was increasing his desire and his frustration. She was lightly perspiring herself. He slipped his grip down, the loose skin stretching over that long, tall organ. She held the bite of chocolate up to her nose, deeply inhaling the scent of it, and getting that peculiar, heady musk of the male erection with the aroma.

“I want to ram myself into your wet pussy,” he said, low, so she almost couldn’t make out the words, just the guttural threat. “I want to bend you over this table, ruck up your skirt and fuck your ass for making me do this in front of you. I want you under me. I want to feel your body squirming beneath me, your legs locked around my hips. I want you wet and begging me to make you come. I want to own you, body and soul, the way you own me.”

Violet blinked. A slow, controlled opening and closing of her lids. It took her a moment to remember she had cake on her fork. She opened her mouth, took it in, and knew this was the most incredible feast her senses had ever been offered, the light chocolate cream in her mouth, the scent in her nose, and the visual feast he made before her.

135

Joey W. Hill

She separated the remaining cake from the cream and used her fingers to collect it.