Terms of Surrender (31 page)

He pulled her down to lay on top of him, reaching up to undo the ties on her wrist, then the blindfold around her eyes.

Slany blinked a couple of times before focusing on his face, almost melted at the look she saw in his eyes, so intense and open and…if she didn't know better she'd swear he was—

Nick cupped the back of her head and pulled her face down for a deep, lingering soul kiss before he pulled away to stare at her and whisper, "Sleep now, Slany. We'll talk later."

Surprisingly, and despite her confusion and disappointment, she drifted off at his command.

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Nick brushed rich, auburn waves from Slany's face and watched her sleep, comforted by the serene angelic look on her caramel face and the low purring sound of her even breathing.

God, he loved her, but think he could have said it? Nooooo, because he was too hard, too busy being the big bad man. Too busy playing Mr. Dominant Alpha to her submissive.

Shit, he knew he'd hurt her by not saying it, had seen the frustration on her face when he'd copped out with his "we'll talk later" line.

How long could he keep her dangling with his ambiguity, hiding parts of himself she was entitled to know, the same way he was asking her to reveal her innermost self to him?

The lessons Mari taught him came to him now in blaring clarity, especially when he realized he had shucked most of them in his dealings with Slany.

Mari taught him how to have the best of both worlds. She had been a woman who could be submissive to him sexually, but capable and his equal in all other areas.

She showed him there was more to the Domination/submission lifestyle than just dark fetish clubs and leather and bondage, that pain and D/s were not mutually dependent. That in a healthy, ideal relationship, the infliction and acceptance of pain was voluntary, only practiced for mutual satisfaction. The most important element in a successful D/s relationship was the submissive's ability to trust and relinquish free will, and the Dominant's willingness to accept them.

A submissive trusted her Dominant to make the right decisions for her, trusted that the Dominant knew what to do to please her and would.

It was an awesome responsibility for anyone, and trust was a gift Nick did not accept lightly—especially the trust of a submissive, something that was erotically beautiful and unique in its completeness.

He couldn’t help thinking that by not telling Slany exactly how he felt about her, by not telling her what sort of danger she might be in, he was violating her trust.

169

Gracie C. McKeever

Nick couldn't lose her. She’d have to move in with him, or he’d move in with her to make sure she was safe until this ordeal was over.

He imagined her reaction when he told her what he planned, and despite his recent punishment of her, knew he'd get an argument from her. She wouldn't be able to hold her defiance in. She was too independent, too used to living alone and making her own decisions.

Slowly, he extricated himself from her arms and immediately felt bereft and cold, but he needed to make some moves.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her cross-trainers before sliding them and her socks off. He caressed her calves, running his hand up one smooth leg until he covered her warm, inviting pussy, so tempted to wake her and start something.

It would have been something he couldn't finish
—
at least, not right now.

He listened to her hum and mumble in her sleep, then pulled the sheet and lightweight comforter up to her shoulders. He smiled and waited for her to start smacking her lips, like she'd done when she'd slept at his house. She didn't. Nor did she wake up, just simply grabbed the pillow and hugged it close, burrowing deeper into sleep.

Nick took the opportunity to get up and slip into his jeans before he strolled down the hallway and made a right into her kitchen.

He searched her refrigerator for something edible. The piles of food he'd had at Angie's was long forgotten, and he had worked up an appetite since then.

He found the requisite Chinese food containers, some home-cooked, leftover fried chicken, packages of lean deli meat, and Swiss cheese. He spotted the honey mustard, the required vegetables in the crisper, and wheat rolls in the bread box, and decided to make several heroes. He was sure Slany would be hungry, too, when she woke up.

Several minutes later, Nick settled down at the kitchen table to a couple of sandwiches, polishing them off in short order and washing them down with the diet tea he found in a pitcher in the fridge.

Full, he went snooping and felt how Slany must have at his condo when she'd gone into his workroom. Unsure of what he'd find, but eager to learn all he could about the person to whom he had just made passionate love.

He hadn't been lying when he told Slany he liked her house. It was cozy, warm, and welcoming like her body, every nook and cranny of the house as feminine and sturdy as the curves and build of their owner.

Nick drifted over to the towering cherry bookshelf, rows of hardbacks and paperbacks sharing space with several framed family portraits.

The collection was nowhere near as large as his own. There was Slany with a small, immediate family photo of mother, father, and what looked to be two younger siblings.

There was one family shot that particularly caught his eye. It portrayed Slany in her early twenties, clad in purple-and-gold graduation garb and surrounded by a distinguished and handsome black man who Nick assumed was her father, and a preteen boy and girl Nick knew 170

Terms of Surrender

were her younger sister and brother. He picked it up to look at it more closely, wondering about Slany's mom, whether or not she had taken the picture.

At the thought, he searched the shelf for pictures of her and found a couple with a beautiful redhead who had Slany's green eyes. One picture was an individual shot, and the other was a shot with Slany and her father. Nick did find one complete family shot, with Slany as a young teen, her parents, and her siblings, who were just toddlers.

He got so caught up in Slany's moderate, but fascinating gallery, he didn't hear her when she came into the room until she'd already sidled behind him and slid her arms around his waist.

She stood on her tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder as she hugged him. "That's the fam, what there is of it."

"I guess compared to my siblings and me, three could be considered small."

"For a long time, I was an only child."

"And how'd you like that?"

Slany released him, shrugged as she strolled a couple of steps away from him. "I thought I'd miss it before my little brother, Kieran, came along. But by the time Megan popped onto the scene soon after him, I kind of liked being a big sis."

Nick smiled at her nostalgic tone, took another look at the family portrait before he replaced it on the shelf where he'd gotten it. "You look just like him."

"My father?"

He nodded. "Actually, your brother and sister favor him, too."

"You think so? Even though he's…"

"Black?" Nick arched a brow and listened as Slany released a breath, as if relieved he'd brought it up. "Do you think it makes a difference to me?"

"I guess I didn't consciously think about it, or I would have mentioned it sooner."

"Why should you have to?"

"Nick…" She gave him a chastising look. "It's something that might be important for you to know in case…you know…"

"No, I don't know. What?"

"Everyone's not as liberal about mixed couples and mixed kids."

He chuckled. "Mixed? When you say it like that, it sounds like you're talking about paint, or ingredients in a stew, not human beings."

"Yeah, yeah, or a mongrel, which I've been called, by the way."

"You're kidding."

"I kid you not. Little old lady, the soul of southern warmth and kindness, told my father what a beautiful little mongrel child I was when we were in Louisiana visiting his family. And I proceeded to tell the woman, before my father could stop me, that I was
not
a dog."

171

Gracie C. McKeever

Nick guffawed, couldn't help himself. He knew his Slany, and could very well imagine her saying exactly that.

"Stop making fun of me. I'm serious. Everyone hasn't jumped on the multi-culti bandwagon just yet."

Nick put his arms around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. "I have. And I'm about to jump on it again," he whispered.

Slany giggled and slapped his chest. "Be serious."

"I am being serious."

"Speaking of, you never mentioned whether or not you want to have kids."

Nick took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had always known their relationship would come to this sooner or later, knew she'd be curious and would want to know about his plans for procreating. Knew she might have a ticking clock, like all the other women he’d been with.

"Nick?"

"I had a, uh…vasectomy several years ago," he said, and waited for her tirade.

"You think you could have mentioned that a little sooner?"

"I'm mentioning it now."

"Don't get defensive. I'm just curious. I think I'm entitled."

"You're right. You are."

"Baby's mama drama?"

He chuckled. "No, I don't have any ki—"

"That you know of."

"No, I don't have any kids or a baby's mama. Period. I'm meticulous about birth control."

"Not with me, you weren't."

He reached out to tweak her nose. "That's because you're special."

"Gee, thanks."

"I guess I have to ask. Do you want children some day?"

"Well, I'd be shit out of luck if I did now, wouldn't I, since I'm with you?"

"Now who's joking? Seriously, you don't ever want kids?"

"My clock's not ticking yet, if that's what you mean."

"You're young yet. Give it time."

She laughed and hugged him around the middle again. "Okay, Methuselah, I'll give it time, but I hate to disappoint you, because I think I got all my mothering out of my system raising my brother and sister and…"

"And?"

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"My father didn't take it too well when my mother died."

"I was wondering what happened to her. I'm sorry."

Slany shrugged. "It was a car accident a long time ago. I was thirteen and took up the slack the best way I could."

No wonder she wasn't anxious to have any kids. She'd spent her childhood raising and nurturing a special-needs brother, a sister, and indulging a grief-stricken father.

"Hey, don't let it worry you too much. If things change, you could always go in for a snip-snip, nip/tuck and reverse it."

"What?" Nick gawked before he saw her smiling and holding in a laugh.

"I'm kidding. But if we really do get serious about it, I guess we could adopt."

He liked the sounds of that, getting serious with her—as if they weren't as serious as a twenty-car pile-up already—liked the way she said "we." "Adopt, huh?"

"Sure. I mean, if either of us changed our minds about having kids."

"I think we've already established I'm not apt to change mine."

"So we'll do without."

He put his arms around her and pulled her close, her willingness to make such a major sacrifice—and it was a sacrifice, whether she was feeling particularly maternal or not—

overwhelmed him.

The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, never needing to be said so urgently before, if at all. No one had ever come close to motivating him to want to say the three magical words, not since Tiffany. Compared to Slany, Tiffany and all the girls and women who had come after her paled in comparison, all trivial schoolboy infatuations he could live without.

Sure, he could live without Slany, but he knew he didn't want to.

"I love you, Nick," she whispered against his chest, pulling the words out of his heart.

Nick swallowed hard, not even her declaration enough incentive to pry his mouth open, and that's when he knew.

He was not the master in their relationship.

Slany was master in their relationship, and the master of his heart.

* * * *

She knew what he was thinking and refused to say anything and give him the satisfaction.

She'd said her peace, had made it perfectly clear how she felt about him. If he didn't have the guts to respond, yah or nay, then that was his problem.

Like she wasn't crumbling inside at the oversight? Like she didn't want to jump across the table right now and hit him over the head with her plate until he admitted his feelings for her?

173

Gracie C. McKeever

"This is really good,” she said.

"You haven't tasted one of my Western omelets yet."

"I'm looking forward to it after this, Dagwood."

He smiled, reached across the table to take her free hand in his, twined his fingers through hers, and just held on as he looked at her.

Everything he did, the way he treated her, said what his mouth wouldn't. Couldn't she just be happy with that, accept him for the strong, silent type he was?

Slany wanted to believe she was that enlightened, that she didn't need him to say the words, but the truth was, she did. She needed to hear them, wanted to be sure, because she didn't trust her heart anymore.

Her heart was telling her everything was fine, that whatever he was hiding from her wasn't important, or that he'd tell her what she needed to know in good time. Her heart was telling her to trust him implicitly, that he only had her best interests in mind.

But her mind wasn't in agreement, didn't have that type of faith.

Why had she even thought twice about telling him what had happened with Ashton? Why did she care about protecting him, when it was obvious he was perfectly capable of protecting himself, especially when it came to protecting his heart from her?

She figured at this rate, when—or if—he did say the words, she'd know it was the real thing, because Nick didn't strike her as a man who said something he didn't mean. Didn't strike her as someone who rushed into anything without thinking long and hard about it.