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The idea hung between them, ripe fruit, heavy with temptation. All it lacked was a snake peddling it, but they didn't really need that, did they? All they had to have was the desire in one another's eyes.
"I'd like to be able to stand inside your soul, Garron Rand," she said. "I expect it's very much like the man containing it. A stronghold. A safe haven. A place I can say I've had the privilege to be, at least once in my life."
He cupped her face, sliding his fingers along the fair brow, the sculpted cheekbone, the delicate chin. "Beauty and the beast."
"I expect either one of us could be the beast, couldn't we?" She tilted her head into his touch, a response and a caress at once. "I didn't want Beast to turn back into a pretty prince. I liked how he could be vicious and gentle both. You have to understand both sides of the coin to understand the value and purpose of each."
Her gaze slid over his scars. "There are male vampires so beautiful it's arousing just to look at them. Some can also be as cruel as spoiled children, just because no one can tell them no. You understand the word no, Garron. You understand the force of that word, the consequences, the anguish of it. The lessons that can be learned from it. You understand denial and pain, and you know how to turn those things into pleasure for a woman."
"I want you to stand inside my soul," he said abruptly, eyes boring into hers. "I want that. Let me give you that."
Her eyes misted a little. "I'm not sure. I know you say it's temporary but...I'm just not sure. I've barely been here two days, Garron."
He was reluctant to postpone it when it seemed they were both willing to do it, but as usual his gut gave him guidance, seeing her conflict. "Then we wait a bit."
But he wanted to keep her mind on it. His gaze strayed back to the dresser. She'd said giving him a third mark, even temporary, might be too soon, and what he was thinking now could fall into the same category. Even so, he slid the top drawer open and reached into the back, closing his fingers over the box tucked behind neat rolls of underwear and folded socks.
Feeling her eyes on him, he gave himself another moment, thinking it through, but he already knew it was the right choice. What was in the black velvet box had been purchased from a silver shop years ago, after his rehab, when his buddies took him to Hawaii. He knew it had been goaded by sentiment, thinking about a permanent submissive he knew he'd probably never have. But he'd never given it away, letting it travel with him from place to place.
Since he'd come to Eden, he'd realized there were very few strong impulses in life which were random. It was as if there was a thread taking a man toward something inevitable, and he set down his intentions along the way, marking that trail.
He opened the box, lifted out the contents. He heard her draw in a breath, felt that stillness sweep over her body, through her mind. The choker had been crafted with heavy silver links, each one twisted into the figure eight infinity symbol and connected to the next. No other adornment, the weight of it a statement of its own.
As he turned to face her, he wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it turned out words weren't necessary. Both her slender hands cupped his large fist, her head bowing so she could kiss the silver links wrapped over his knuckles. The tremor in her hands matched something in himself.
"I know you're worried about how you'll deal with things when you leave, my lady," he said, as steadily as he could. He touched her chin, met her eyes. "But no matter what happens, I want you to take this with you. It will remind you...you can always come back to me. I'll always consider you mine, Kaela. Maybe that will help."
SS
Help and tear her to pieces at once, to know her dream existed in reality. But she'd take it. Kaela would prefer that to the alternative. She lifted her head, her chin. "May I wear it now?"
He moved behind her to thread the necklace around her throat. She put her hand up to touch it, hold it in place. "You have the strength to break it if you need to do so," he said.
"I won't."
As he adjusted it, he removed three of the links. In his mind, she saw he hadn't known what size neck the woman would have. He'd just known he'd put it on the neck of the woman who would be the one he'd want to always wear it.
Her fingers flexed on the choker. When he fastened it in place, her hand remained there, her breath shallow again. "Master?"
"Yeah." He had his hand on her nape, curved over it as she bowed her head and he leaned in, nuzzled her hair, pressed his body up against her.
"I want to..." She turned, stepped back. As his gaze rested on her, she removed the T-shirt he'd loaned her, revealing her body in the scant swimsuit. Her attention went down, and then the rest of her did, her breasts so ripe and full in the swimsuit top they had a little quiver as she knelt before him. Resting her hands on his thighs, she fixed her gaze on the strained state of those wonderful swim shorts. When she'd first come into the room, she'd zeroed in on them, the way the fabric molded and creased over his muscular buttocks, emphasizing the strength of his thighs, the power of his upper torso. She was pretty certain he'd never have chosen such a style himself, so she blessed the woman who'd talked him into it, even as she had a perverse desire to do her harm. "I don't want to go to the pool yet. I want you to be with me...here."
"You were listening to my thoughts."
"Yes, Master. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not." But his voice had that stern sound that said, rather than being displeased, he was considering exactly what they might both want. He wanted to take her here. Take her in ways neither of them would ever forget, and the sexual heat that surged from him over that idea made her tremble. It was as if the session in his room at Club Sin had been days ago, and she wanted him just as much, all over again.
"Stay on your knees."
Moving to his desk, he opened the top drawer, withdrew a quill. It wasn't a quill with a built-in pen, like most of them were. It was an actual quill, and he took a small pen knife from the same drawer, sharpened it even further. There was a pad of
paper next to him, but she didn't think he was preparing to write.
"Eyes down, my lady." He didn't look up, which made the flutter in her throat and chest more frenetic as the seconds drew out. He hadn't said she couldn't talk, had he?
"What do you really want, Master?" she asked softly. "What can I give you that no other sub can?"
She jumped as he closed the drawer with a decisive slam. He wasn't angry, just catching her attention, but his tone told her he was ready to draw the reins tight. Excruciatingly tight.
"I didn't give you permission to call me Master, did I?"
"No." She shook her head. "I apologize."
"You don't ever apologize to me, Kaela. If you do something wrong, I'll punish you, in my own time and way. Now look at me."
When she did, he was putting the pen knife aside, testing the point of the quill. He stared at it before he lifted his gaze.
"I want the chance to fulfill the dreams of a submissive who's like no other. Who needs it not just as a release at the end of the day, or to have fun, but because it's as vital as breathing or blood to her, and she's done the miraculous--gone without breathing for almost two hundred years."
"Rather easy for vampires, really." The wry humor didn't ease how tight the words made her feel, like she was wrapped up in rope from neck to ankles the way he'd described, completely helpless to him. His crooked smile didn't dilute the intensity of his dark eyes, either.
"Hard to do metaphors with you supernatural folk. Come here, my lady."
At last it occurred to her, why the address sounded different when Garron said "my lady." It wasn't obsequious in the least. It was possessive. My lady.
She went to him. She wanted to kneel at his feet again, so close to his erection he couldn't resist her. Her gaze slid over the terrain above and below, the ropes of muscles on his thighs, the layers sculpted over stomach and chest.
He caught her arm before she let her knees buckle. "Trying to top from the bottom is never a good idea, my lady," he said with deceptive mildness. "Nothing will make me meaner, faster. Open up."
