Mirror of My Soul

words. Certainly words that could change her life, that changed everything, even though perhaps people said ones like them every day and didn’t mean it, just used the phrases as a nicer way of saying what they really wanted to do. But she didn’t say what she didn’t mean and he knew it.
“I can… I don’t want to interrupt your party. But… I can…” She took a breath.
Closed her eyes. Felt him waiting. 1…2…3…4…5…
“I want you to make love to me. I want to go to your room, your bed, be under you, feel you inside me, see your eyes, feel your body and know…we’re together. I don’t know if that’s love or just need, but I know I need you. I need that with you. I need what I’ve never known and I need it from you. Only you. And it may destroy everything or build something. I really don’t know. I just know… Please make love to me.”
She opened her eyes and she was staring into his, which had filled with an emotion so strong that she couldn’t face it.
“No. No, damn it, don’t you look away.” He caught her face, held her there,
brushed his thumbs along the soft skin under her eyes. “There’s nothing on earth I’d rather do, angel. You know… You understand what I am, who I am. How I’ll make love to you. How I want to make love to you. As I said before, it doesn’t—”
65
Joey W. Hill
“Turn off at The Zone doors.” A shudder ran through her, her pulse increasing
under his touch as the light in his eyes flared, telling her he felt it, as well as understood the meaning of her acknowledgement.
She lifted her chin and his hand lowered, collaring her throat where the pulse beat strong and fast beneath his palm. She shuddered.
“That’s what I want.”
He nodded and his lips brushed hers. When she parted them, inviting, he swore
softly. “You’re going to destroy me,” he stated. Taking the pins from her hair, he brought it tumbling down. He spread the silk of it over her shoulders, an intimate but not indecent gesture that she knew was just confirming their conversation. She swallowed, aching, somehow wanting at this moment to do as she had done at The Zone. Go to her knees, press her body against his calves, tell him how she needed him.
His Dominance, his care. How much she needed to let go at last. She could sit here between his knees, at his feet, holding on to him while he held his court, happy to be quiet and still just under the touch of his hand.
“I want to feel like I’m yours.” I want to be yours. She leaned into his touch, rose upon her toes against his hold and put her lips against his ear, caressing him with her breath. Now the words flowed out of her with the ease of terrifying truth.
“Make love to me, please. Master.”
She’d accepted that her wanting him was inseparable from wanting his Mastery,
that undeniable part of himself. Understanding that truth in herself had been as much a source of her fear as simply wanting the man. But now it thrilled her to feel her words ripple through his powerful body, tighten his hand on her throat, his eyes inches from hers, those firm, stern lips. And it brought a wave of energy different in its nature from what she knew as Mistress, but no less potent.
“Damn it,” he muttered against her, his fingers digging into her hips as she shifted, rubbed her abdomen discreetly against his groin.
Marguerite felt a flood of ebullience, almost giddiness. When she drew back she knew her eyes were likely sparkling with feverish exhilaration. “I know you have to finish your evening with your guests.” She slipped from his grip. “I’ll ask your friend to keep me company. Let me know when you’re ready to call it a night.”
She turned away from him, glanced back. “What’s his name?”
Tyler wanted it to be perfect for her. Everything perfect. Which mean he couldn’t take her down underneath him here on the grass in front of fifty strangers. Good God, she wasn’t wearing underwear. There were no panty lines beneath the formfitting dress, which climbed way too high on those gorgeous thighs. “Josh.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Torture is a two-way street.”
She blinked, something almost like a smile playing on her beautiful lips. “I need you. I hope the party is over soon.” She turned to Josh, who’d nearly dumped Tyler’s drink on the ottoman in his haste to rise at her approach.
66
Mirror of My Soul
“Josh?” She extended her hand. “Tyler tells me you have a beautiful and wonderful Mistress. Your wife. I’d like to hear about her. Let’s go sit in the gardens until Tyler finishes with his guests. Would you take me there?”
Josh noted the way her eyes assessed his movements, drifted over him in the way of a Mistress. But he didn’t sense her intentions to be improper. He imagined it was just to spike Tyler’s blood pressure, which she seemed to be doing admirably well. Her blue eyes as clear and fathomless as a crystal ball, she lowered her hand to his elbow, her fingers playing along his biceps. With Mistresses who were strong Dominants, it was almost second nature to casually touch a man they knew was a submissive. It made the situation even more curious.
As he took her hand, Josh got sensory overload as an artist, as a man and as a submissive. But because he was very much in love with his wife, devoted to her monogamously as his Mistress as well as spouse, he also picked up something through all of that. Vulnerability. This woman was doing a masterful job of covering it, but he sensed that she was hanging on the edge of a cliff in a