Submissive by Moonlight (12 page)

Girlfriend. That sounded pretty good, actually. Although maybe he should make that call when he was less drug-addled.

“I was thinking of you while I was asleep.”

She smiled. “I know.”

Right, because you can read minds
. He almost said it, voice dripping with sarcasm, but he didn’t. Possibly because the drugs slowed him down even as they reduced his inhibitions. Besides, maybe she could. Or maybe he’d been talking in his sleep.

Maybe she was that confident. Although he doubted that. He got the impression that as sure of herself as she generally was, it didn’t extend to thinking she was attractive to men.

“They’ll want someone to stay with you. Chief Jacobsen said he could call your mom.”

“Oh my God, no.” His mother was an admirable, caring woman who loved him very much. She would make him hot cocoa, tuck him in, and wait on him hand and foot in between lectures on the Bible and the importance of giving his life to Jesus. His mother’s faith worked for her, and the last thing he wanted to do was take it away from her, so he tried not to argue.

Marisa raised her eyebrows. The idea of her and his mother together made him chuckle. Okay,
that
hurt, although in a way it was good to feel the pain. The drugs only did a halfway decent job of deadening the pain. Mostly they made him not care whether he hurt or not, and he liked that even less than not feeling.

“What’s funny?”

“My mother.”

“She wouldn’t come?”

“She’d be on the first plane and get here as fast as she can.”

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live
. Wasn’t that in the Bible somewhere? Not that his mother would put it into practice. But the two would clash, for sure. And maybe at some point reach an agreement to disagree. He wanted things to be more solid with Marisa first. But someday.
My God, I’m planning how it will go when she meets my mother. I guess she is my girlfriend.

“Well, your other option is to stay with me.”

He smiled. “I think I’d like that very much.”

* * * *

Marisa took Nolan back to his place, but it was a small apartment, and they both agreed it was cramped for two. So she helped him pack up a suitcase, which he wasn’t allowed to lift, and she drove him to her house.

She provided him with a stack of books and moved the television into the bedroom so he could lie down and watch. She told him to ring for her if he needed anything and went to the kitchen. For some reason, she felt like baking. It was something to do with her hands that let her think at the same time.

 “I love you,”
he’d said in the hospital.

Of course he was half-conscious and drugged when he’d said it, so it didn’t count. Maybe he didn’t even remember it. Maybe he would have said it to a complete stranger.

Or maybe he meant it.

She was thinking maybe she meant it back. She knew there was something there. Sexual sparks, for sure. A bond that she could feel as surely as her bond with the Goddess. An almost—no, not almost—a magical connection. They were soul mates. She wasn’t sure why she balked at the word “love.”

She chuckled. It was easier to believe in magic than in love. Maybe it was the reverse for Nolan.

She had the dough all made and was rolling out a pie crust on the counter when she heard his footsteps. She glanced over to make sure he was all right. He filled the doorway. Wearing nothing but shorts and some medical tape, he sure looked good.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” she chided.

“The doctor said rest. I’m not exerting myself.”

“He said take it easy.”

“You’re easy on the eyes.”

She blushed and looked back at the pie.

“I’m not allowed to do any heavy lifting,” he said. She could tell from his voice that he’d moved behind her, but his footsteps had made almost no sound on the kitchen tile.

“Well, then you better not lift me,” she retorted.

“Not for a while,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She wanted to lean back into him and rest her head against his shoulder. But he should be in bed. “You’re a rotten patient.”

“Huh. I think I’ve been told that before.”

“By who?” she asked, instantly jealous of the last woman who got to be with him when he was sick.

He laughed. “By doctors, nurses, and my mother. However, I always get better. And I do listen to doctors’ instructions.” He moved his hands upward, cupping her breasts. “I don’t think he meant I couldn’t lift these.” His thumbs brushed against her nipples through two layers of fabric.

She resisted the temptation to moan but couldn’t avoid a gasp. His hands felt so good. She ought to have a retort ready, but her brain wasn’t functioning. She gripped the rolling pin tighter.

“Can’t have you on top, though, I’m afraid,” he said. “And me on top is too much like doing push-ups, so that’s out too.”

A minute earlier she wouldn’t have thought a few days without sex would be that horrible, but her opinion was changing as he played with her breasts. Still, she should be strong. “Rest, and you’ll be able to have me any way you want.”
Any way he wants
. God that felt good to say.

“Actually,” he said, giving her a nudge in the backside, “I was thinking that since I’m up to standing and some moving, I could simply take you from behind.” He lifted the hem of her skirt and pulled her panties down.

“Here?” She was sure that wasn’t what the doctor meant by rest. But she couldn’t help but visualize his cock sliding into her, and her pussy clenched at the thought.

“In bed. Later. But keep your panties off. I want you to remember what I’m going to do.”

She nodded. Not trusting herself to speak.

“Do you have anything you need to tell me?”

Do I dare say I love you?
There was a silence that seemed to extend painfully long. And then she thought of something else he’d asked her to say, something that had seemed impossibly difficult at the time. But now it seemed the easier course, almost a cop out. But at least it was true. “I’m wet.”

“Good girl. I’ll be able to do something about that. Soon.” He let go of her and took a step back. A grunt accompanied the step, causing Marisa to turn in alarm.

“I’ll go lie down now,” he said. “I’m okay. It’s only pain. The drugs are wearing off.”

She frowned at him out of concern. “I’ll bring you some more. It’s been four hours. You’re entitled. Want me to help you back to bed?”

“I’ll lie on the couch.”

“The television’s back in the bedroom.”

“That’s okay. There’s no football on till Saturday. Besides, I tossed one of the sci-fi books you brought me on the couch on the way here.”

Obviously, he’d planned to end up there all along. Maybe he wasn’t as bad a patient as she thought. Or maybe he didn’t like the frills of a girl’s bedroom. She watched him until he was lying down again, and then brought him two of his pills and a glass of orange juice to wash them down with before going back to making her pie.

* * * *

They made love that night on her bed over Marisa’s feeble and unmeant protests. She knelt on the bed on her forearms and knees, her ass up in the air, and he knelt behind her. His hands were expert. He seemed to know when to caress her breasts and when to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. She came softly, and he achieved his release a few moments later.

“I love you, Marisa,” he whispered.

She wanted to say it back, but she didn’t. He was asleep shortly after he disposed of the condom.

She watched him for a while. The painkillers she had brought him were still on the table next to the couch, untaken. But having a bullet go through your body had to hurt for a few days. She was pretty sure she’d be slamming down anything they gave her to make her feel better, and if it made her drowsy, so much the better. But despite her earlier comment, he wasn’t a bad patient. He didn’t complain, and he didn’t make demands. She missed him making demands, actually.

In a few days he was up to making love in the missionary position. There was no doubt that was what it was, making love and not just fucking, but she still couldn’t say the words. She wasn’t sure what was holding her back, but there was something missing. He was being gentle and loving. He was healed up enough to go back home, but he was staying. She wanted him to stay.

“Do you believe in me?” she asked him one day at the breakfast table, over the delicious sausage and eggs he had made.

He smiled. “Is that a personal question or a theology question?”

“Both, I think.”

“Then yes. And no.”

She frowned, not sure what to make of that. “Am I just a hot lay? Maybe a little more so, because I’m crazy? What do you believe, anyway, after I helped you find Jerry and sent the police to rescue you?” She regretted saying the last part. It was too close to
I saved your life
, and she wasn’t sure she could claim that much credit. Still, the doctor said that if he’d bled a little longer…

“I don’t know what to believe, Marisa. I’d stake my life on one your hunches. But…”

“But?”

“There has to be a rational explanation.”

“Does there?”

He nodded. “I don’t know what it is. And I need to be okay with that. I don’t know how a lot of things work, and no one else does either.”

She stared at him. “But it can’t be magic.”

“I am who I am, Marisa. I think you have incredible insight. Maybe you piece together things subconsciously. I don’t know. That’s the bottom line. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a better word than magic. I guess it’s a hard word for me, though.”

Like love
. Her heart softened. “I know all about hard words. And yes, we both have to be who we are. So thank you for the honesty.”

Their eyes met. She wasn’t sure if they’d reached an understanding of sorts or not. She didn’t need him to say he believed what she did was magic to say she loved him. She felt she should say it, right then and there, even though something was gnawing at her. Something was missing.

He smiled, although it wasn’t a totally convincing smile. “I think I need to go for a walk, little witch. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and took her plate to the dishwasher.

NOLAN WALKED TOWARD where he’d seen Marisa doing her ritual. Was it only months ago? It seemed liked yesterday in some ways, but it was an eternity. It was colder now. In fact, the weatherman had predicted a few inches of snow for the evening.

Marisa had given him a lot to think about since he’d met her, a lot to doubt, and something to have faith in.

I love that woman.

He was more sure of it than ever.

She’d struck a nerve with her comment about having to be who they were. She was a witch. He needed to wrap his brain around that. Whether there was such a thing as magic or not, it was a part of her identity that wasn’t going away. And he didn’t believe for a moment she was simply deluded or lying. There was something about her he couldn’t explain, some special understanding of the world, and she chose to call it magic and witchcraft.

He walked farther, toward where she’d told him he could find the lost little girl.

He’d wanted Marisa to tell him she loved him ever since he’d said the words to her. Was that what she meant by difficult words? She’d adapted to telling him she was wet, although that had clearly challenged her at first.

A tree had fallen in front of him. It hadn’t been there the last time he’d come that way. He carefully worked his way around it, blazing a new path. The animals went under it, but he was too big for that.

He’d been patient with her. Gentle. He’d been holding back—at first because of the wound in his side, but lately because he wanted to coax the words out of her. He wanted to show her how much he loved her by how much restraint he could show. He longed to be rough with her.

A blur moved in front of him and then vanished deeper into the forest. A coyote. They were natural cowards, running away from trouble, never picking on anything their own size. It would look for more defenseless prey. That was what a coyote did. What it was.

And who am I?

The science fiction he’d been reading made him think about a television show he used to watch. The bad aliens were always asking people “What do you want?” The good ones asked “Who are you?” He’d been focusing the entire time on what he wanted, and that was for Marisa to love him and tell him so. He wanted to keep her in his life. That was what he wanted. Simple.

But he’d been doing it by trying to be someone else. He wasn’t vanilla. He wasn’t even close. His attempts to have purely vanilla relationships had never ultimately been successful, and he either ended it himself or scared the girl off. And lately he hadn’t even tried, because he knew himself better. So why was he trying to be vanilla with a woman he knew was submissive? To show he could do it?

Somewhere in there I decided that loving a woman and dominating her didn’t go together. But I’m going to have to make them fit.

He knew what he should do. He turned around and walked toward the house, and when he came to the fallen tree, he indulged himself by jumping over it. The landing hurt his side but not too badly. It was worth it.

She met him at the door and gave him a hug far gentler than it needed to be. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He didn’t let the silence have time to get awkward. “I need to pick up some things from my place. Would you drive me, or should I call a cab?”

“You’re coming back, right?”

It wasn’t
I love you
, but it would do in a pinch. He grinned. He didn’t want to get off track. “Yes, I’m coming back.”

“Well, then, why don’t you borrow my car, if you’re up to driving.” She detached a clip from her belt loop and sorted through various keys until she found the right one. “Try not to wander along any dirt roads. And my car is not for tailing bad guys. Oh. And we’re out of milk and flour. And bread. Maybe I should come along?”

“I can get all those things.” Now that he thought of it, he preferred her not to come. He took the keys from her hand before she changed her mind. Her company would be enjoyable, but he didn’t want her to see what items he was retrieving, because that was better as a surprise. While he could tell her to wait in the car and not invite her up, that would be awkward.