Ice Queen (24 page)

“In this country, men have to be very careful about exploring their Dominant side.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t until I spent time in Asia and South America that I got into venues where I realized it fully in myself. Where men could be alpha, Dominant and it wasn’t considered a taboo.”

He reached out now, deliberately, brushed her hair over her shoulder. Ran his thumb along her collarbone, studying that part of her, making Marguerite’s breath hold in her throat at the sensual scrutiny. The lingering residue of gunpowder burned her nostrils.

“To restrain a woman, bring her to pleasure over and over, see her obeying my commands, spreading her legs when I order her to do so…” He shook his head. “It’s not something I can explain.”

“Maybe it’s beyond us as Master and Mistress to explain or understand it. We just know.”

He held her gaze a long moment. “Yes. We do.”

“Was it that way with your wife?”

“Don’t do that.” His grip tightened on her shoulder close to her neck. Marguerite swallowed at the dangerous flash in his eyes, the instant reaction of her body to his strength at that vulnerable part of her.

She might not know the specific details of his life but she understood the degrees of experience that had created that pattern of shadows. Knew there were likely as many rooms of dark to balance the light in his heart as there were in hers. And from Sarah she knew that at one time it had all gone dark, all the lights shattered. He’d had to stumble around in the dark, scream his fear amid that void. Then pull himself together and find a way to start relighting enough rooms to go on, to make his heart function again. She’d known it the first time she’d looked into his eyes, felt it in his touch. And perhaps that was one of the strongest bonds that connected them.

But she couldn’t go into that room in his soul without agreeing to let him into hers.

So she dropped it. “I apologize. Thank you for giving me that much.” His grip eased, his thumb rubbing the line of her shoulder, his gaze focused but not seeing her. He was seeing other things, things she’d stirred. Ashamed of herself, she raised a hand and put it over his to draw his gaze back to her face.

He had a way of forcing himself into the rooms of her soul without her permission.

She wondered if she could set up one of those buzzer systems like he had for this room, where entry was not possible through the steel-reinforced door unless the person inside let them in. But when he displayed a moment of complex vulnerability such as he’d just given her, she knew any such defense would be useless. Locks did not work if the 147

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person on the other side was compelled by her own heart to open the door herself and let him in.

“Will you show me how to shoot the bigger gun?” The shift of subject was intentional, to take them back to safe ground. He was still for a moment, watching, gauging. She waited, tense until a smile touched his mouth.

“Absolutely. Though I’m sure I’ll regret it.”

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Once they went upstairs, Tyler left her to take a quick shower in his room and let her pack up her tea set. When they reunited in the kitchen area, he found Sarah had finished preparing their lunch. The clean smell of pickles and mustard drew his gaze to the deviled eggs contained in a wicker basket on the table.

Marguerite stood by the table in a light cotton dress. Tyler stopped for a moment in the doorway, looking at the way the light from the window filtered through, outlining her body. She turned at the noise of his approach.

“Where are we going now?” she asked.

“A surprise.” He cocked his head. “Take off the dress. I want you naked.” Marguerite saw Sarah through the open archway to the kitchen. The housekeeper’s fingers paused briefly over her task, but then she kept on slicing vegetables, keeping her attention on the counter.

“Marguerite.” His voice was a low caress. “Obey me.” Marguerite untied and lifted the dress over her head, feeling cool air touch her skin.

She hoped Tyler would take them out of the kitchen before Sarah had to turn. He seemed in no hurry though, his gaze coursing over her slowly. She wondered if he was deliberately putting her in an uncomfortable position to regain some of the control he’d lost with her unexpected invasion into the range area. The satisfaction she should have felt at that idea held little staying power, however. As she stood before him naked, feeling his gaze caress her, her body responded, moistened. Her back instinctively straightened, displaying herself to him, her chin lifted in challenge.

Even if his motives were petty, after a few charged moments she was certain physical desire had taken the upper hand for both of them. Her nerves vibrated as if he were stroking her. Her gaze swept down over his erection pressed against the jeans, clearly revealed because he wore a golf shirt tucked into them. Drifting from that pleasing sight to his hand hooked in his pocket, her eyes dwelled on the rough knuckles, the lean forearm. It made her remember how his hand had held the gun. The strength and steadiness.

He stepped forward at last, clearing his throat gruffly. Picking up the basket, he took her arm. “Come with me before I fuck you right here,” he muttered.

The west wing of the house had a solarium that exited into a very private garden surrounded by hedges and wrought iron. A bed of green grass surrounded a smaller wishing pool. The centerpiece of this one was a Chinese goddess, water spilling out of a vase in her hands. Bright pennies glowed in the bottom of the pool and Marguerite saw 149

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there was a small complement of uncast coins in a shallow earthen bowl on the stone ledge.

“Is that a reproduction?”

“No, she’s from the eighteenth century, Lamaistic period. I like some of the other depictions of her as well, but bronze is my preference for gardens.” He spread out the blanket. “I thought this was an appropriate place to bring you, based on her story.”

“There are a lot of stories about Qwan Yin.”

“Yes, but I have my favorite. Would you like to hear it?” After a moment, she nodded and his eyes warmed on her, making some of the earlier tension ease. “Qwan Yin was a devout Buddhist in her human form, one who demonstrated great sacrifice and boundless love during her life. There was no question she’d earned the right to enter Paradise when she died. But just as she was about to enter the gates, she heard a cry of anguish from the earth below. Unable to bear the thought of not answering that cry, she turned away from Nirvana and found immortality instead as the Goddess of Mercy.”

“I don’t think my subs think of me that way.”

“I think you’d be surprised. Mercy has many forms.” He eased her down into a sitting position on the blanket, putting the basket in between them.

“No way out.” She gestured to the fence that had no gate.

“And why would I want a way out?” He unpacked the basket. “Food, sunshine and a naked woman for company. Beauty in every direction I look.” Though she noted he didn’t seem inclined to look anywhere but at her.

“Maybe I was thinking your guest would need an escape route.”

“Nonsense. All women desire to be in my company.” He winked at her, though she still noted a bit of strain around his mouth, keeping him from a true smile. “I’m charming. And if that’s not true, at least I’m filthy rich.” She choked on the bite of egg he put between her lips. She managed to swallow, wiped her lips as delicately as possible with her fingers. He didn’t offer a napkin, apparently preferring to watch the way she removed it with her own hand. “I can’t decide if you’re just completely self-aware, or an arrogant bastard, or both.”

“Does it matter? I want you to lie on your back, angel. Look up at the clouds.” Once she was settled, this time he put the entire half-egg on her tongue, making it an awkward moment to chew and swallow without getting yellow yolk around her mouth. He collected the excess with his fingertips and inserted them between her lips so she could lick the rest off.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Delicious.” Cicadas were singing their rasping song as the day’s heat soaked into her skin, joining the heat spiraling up from her insides. She wanted to reach up, thread her fingers through his hair, draw his lips down to hers where she lay on the blanket.

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Her eyes lingered on his mouth. When recognition of what she was doing darkened his gaze, she tore hers away.

“Exactly my thought.” This time he took the deviled egg, turned it upside down and spread the filling over her clit and pussy lips. She squirmed at the cold but then he distracted her by moving down to the end of the blanket. Lifting her legs onto his shoulders to pull her hips up to him, he sat on his heels and began to eat the filling.

Rather than trying to stroke her the way that would arouse her using the egg as the excuse, he used her pussy very functionally as his plate, methodically sucking and eating each portion of the filling, licking where needed to get all of it. Her hands and arms lay loosely above her head, the only place for them. She closed her eyes, immersed in the feel of his mouth on her, his utilitarian use of her body. His to do with as he wished. For some reason the thought of that alone could shoot her up a spiral of hard, unrelenting arousal.

He ate his salad on her stomach, drizzling the dressing over the spinach leaves. He gave her bites of it, getting the greenery on his fork with modest pricks that made tiny imprints in her skin. Then he split a sandwich with her, making her eat it from his hand as he watched every movement of her body, the liquid arousal on her thighs, the heightened pulse, the parted lips.

Objectively as a Mistress, she realized he was training her quite effectively to reach full arousal quickly and then stay there, so that she could think of nothing but the demand of her own body, the desire to have him fulfill it. To fulfill him. So it seemed the most natural thing in the world when a crust of bread fell to lift it toward his mouth, wanting to feed him. Serve him.

His eyes were molten gold on hers as he took it, sucking on her fingers while her body trembled, caught in the charged silence.

“Would you take off your shirt?”

She barely recognized her own voice. He nodded, stripped it off, then leaned forward over her, one hand on the opposite side of her shoulder, then the other, bracketing her. Slowly, slowly he moved on top of her, settling his thighs in between her spread ones with a nudge to accommodate himself. His hips were against hers, his bare stomach touching her quivering one, his chest on her bare breasts. He bore his weight on his arms so as not to crush her, going to one elbow to stroke her face with one hand, touch her lips.

“Ask me to kiss you. Marguerite.” Her lips parted involuntarily but her lashes fluttered closed. “Look at me.”

“Just…” Why wouldn’t he just overwhelm her and do it? Do what it was so obvious she was aching to have him do?

“There are limits, angel.” His voice had gotten low, a dangerous rumble.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes. “There are. And you keep pushing them. This isn’t about you and me. I’m not stupid, or gullible. I know you don’t push this hard and personally with another Domme under training.” 151

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“No, you’re not stupid,” he agreed. “You knew it would be about more than that between you and me. Yet you chose me. So just say it. I know you want me to kiss you.” She shook her head, not meaning no, meaning something else that was welling up in her, that his constant barrage on her body was drawing forth from her.

“Damn it—”

“Just
stop
asking,” she burst out. “Just take. Please…just take over. I can’t…give.

You just have to take what you want.”

Tyler stared down at her a full ten seconds, felt her heart pounding beneath his, the taut urgency of her hips pushing against him. He lowered his lips to a fraction above her mouth and she didn’t move, her eyes staring into his, pleading in a way her voice could not. She couldn’t ask but it was obvious how much she wanted. And he could deny her nothing, whether she realized it or not.

“You never answered me, about pregnancy.”

“I’m safe. And I can’t have children.”

He saw a wealth of memory and pain behind the simple statement but he could tell she didn’t want this moment to be about that. He capitulated, plunged, covering her mouth with his, swallowing the near sob of relief she made as he fisted his hands in her hair roughly. Taking over, he scraped at her with his teeth, stroking her tongue with his, cognizant of her body rubbing against him, her pussy so wet he could feel it through his jeans, making him lose his mind and restraint.

Her hands were on his head, his neck, digging into his shoulders, his back. He didn’t want to pull back but he did, catching up one of her hands and putting a kiss on her palm before he stood up to remove the jeans. He stripped while standing between her open legs, tall above her. He looked down at her clear pale eyes fastened on his every movement, her hair spread out on the ground around her, the moonlight color gleaming silver in its marriage with the sunlight.

“Put your arms back above your head,” he said roughly. “Leave them there.” He wanted her lying beneath him, completely his for the taking. But she didn’t move, just trembled and looked at him with those hungry eyes. In them, he saw a combination of desire and fragility so powerful he wondered if he could ever get enough of her or let her leave the house. He was overwhelmed with a desire to fuck her senseless and protect her both.

She couldn’t say the words but she was able to form them with her lips.

Make me.

It wasn’t in her to surrender to a Master, as much as he knew she wanted to surrender to him. But her desire was making them both insane.

He wanted to be gentle with her. He wanted to take her hard. Even knowing that he was going down a path he shouldn’t go down, he acted.

She anticipated him, lifting her hand to block him. But as capable as she’d proven herself to be, she was no match for a person with his training. Not combined with his 152

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superior strength which, if she’d had any doubts on the difference in their ratios, he ended it in a split second by catching one wrist in either hand, bringing himself down on her. His knee inserted itself between her thighs and, using the bucking of her body, he slid himself into her.

She was so tight that even with her slickness he felt the resistance, the infinitesimal stiffening and then her attempt to compensate and relax after pain had already been inflicted. He stopped, holding her down while her shuddering reaction gripped him, stroked him, made him want to spill himself into her. Instead he eased forward, millimeter by millimeter.

“Just do it,” she gasped. “Just fuck me, hard.” He shook his head, bent and brushed a kiss along her clenched jaw. “There’s not enough of anything in this world to make me hurt you. We’re not going down that road just so you can keep yourself from me. God, you’re so lovely. You feel like everything that will ever be good, perfect.” He pulled back out, then eased in, slowly. “Ask, angel.” She was panting. “No, not like this. Hard. I don’t want it this way.”

“One, you don’t have a choice. Two, yes, you do want it this way. You’re so close to coming your eyes are glazing.” His voice dropped, his eyes burning into hers. “You think I don’t feel your cunt clamped down on me, rippling? The way your body is moving, tightening, gathering itself?”

“Get off me.” She practically snarled it. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“No. You wanted me to rape you so you could keep me at arm’s length.” He let go of her wrist, caught her chin and jaw in firm fingers to make her look at him. She began to raise her hand.

“You move that arm, I’ll strap you to my bed and prove to you what you really want for the rest of the weekend.”

The fingers curled into a fist but it stayed put after an obvious battle with her own will. He moved again, another slow stroke, then another. Changing his grip, he rested his body wholly on hers, pressing her down, lifting his hips. Sliding out, back in, slight adjustments of angle, deep, slow strokes to the hilt each time, stretching her open. He let her feel the press of his body against her opening, his testicles against the crease of her buttocks. Wrapping his fingers in her hair on either side, he held her face still, his forearms against her arms, his thumbs at the corners of her eyes. Making her look at him as his expression became more intent and hers became more panicked.

“You’ll come for me now,” he whispered, fierce, brutal in his need, his body tense, his muscles hard all along the length of her body as he fought to hold back. “I’m your Master, Marguerite. I am, always have been, always will be. That’s what has terrified you from the beginning. I’m the man who’s supposed to love you, take care of you, be with you. We knew it the first time we met and you’ve avoided me ever since. Come for your Master.”

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He didn’t know where the words had come from. But he looked down in her face, felt her body quivering beneath his, so strong and vulnerable at once and knew there was no going back for him.