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"You're tearing me into pieces, sugar."
"And I'll know how to put them together," she returned. "But now I hurt, and I want you to make it better."
She rebuckled the harness, restricting his cock again, though one notch looser than before. Before he could orient himself to the surprise of that move, she put pressure on his shoulder, and he understood what she wanted next. Mac dropped to one knee, putting his face level with the damage he had inflicted and that pretty areola, marked with a purple welt and swelling for all the wrong reasons. He placed his lips over it gently, with no sucking pressure, and simply laved her, like a wolf giving succor to his mate's wounds, offering soft caresses with his tongue. His hands at her waist gripped flesh, the softness of her dress, his thumbs sliding across the hip bones he knew were bare of panties beneath the skirt.
Violet closed her eyes and he felt her relax in his grip, let him take over, take care of her. Emotion swelled in him, surpassing even his physical reaction. He moved from one welt to another, tenderly offering his mouth to soothe her needs, and her quivering lessened. It told him that the marks had to hurt like a son of a bitch, even now.
"You should get those tended," he said at last, staying on his knees before her. "With something topical."
Violet ran her fingers through his hair, brushed it from his temple, slowly, meditatively, as if she were calming him as much as herself. "I think it's time to give you some attention," she said.
"I don't deserve it. You should let me take care of your needs."
It felt uncomfortable to be at the center of her focus, particularly after she'd so ruthlessly and efficiently stripped away a couple of his outer layers. He had more, but that wasn't the point. On the first night, he had told himself that she was not the type of Mistress he typically sought. His body didn't give a rat's ass. His surly subconscious was fast losing control of the situation.
"I was cruel to you, to make you sit here so long waiting for me," she said.
"You were punishing me, as I deserved."
"Yes. Yes I was." There was a smile in her voice. "But I also know how to be kind."
She moved away from him to a cabinet. Mac watched the movements of her hands as they withdrew a bottle. She had a light dusting of freckles on her bare shoulders, like a person who spent time in the sun on a job, not a tanning bed. What did his slim pixie do when she wasn't here?
Whoa, boy. He almost winced at the horse reference. It was dangerous to start thinking about what a Mistress did outside club walls. Here is where their relationship belonged, especially since he was here for another reason.
*
Violet turned. He was quick, but she could tell he'd been watching her, studying her in a way she could feel in her bones, deeper than the surface, seeking what she was, who she was. That was what she'd said she wanted, wasn't it? A man who was not a one-nighter, but could go further with her. When the need to sexually dominate a man figured prominently in one's search for a lover, the relationship pretty much had to start within a club like this. Otherwise, she could find herself neck deep in a relationship with a man who had no interest in that, and then how would she handle it? Yes, he might be everything outside the bedroom she wanted, but he would be missing the one key ingredient, the one it had taken her several failed relationships and a couple of therapists to find out she had to have.
Of course, that hadn't been the therapist's diagnosis. According to him, her need to serve as a Mistress was a product of a past she must overcome to enjoy a normal, healthy sexual relationship. He'd also been free with the prescription pad, pushing a list of mood drugs on her to "moderate" her behavior. She wished she could have strapped him to a rack and modified his behavior, with a very different mind-altering experience.
Sometimes, you just were what you were. Unfortunately, this was one of those things that only those who felt it would understand. Tyler had helped her see that, understand and embrace it, integrate it safely into her life. She knew that it would be difficult and tremendously dangerous to translate a relationship outside these walls. If it always had to stay here, she had thought she could live with that. Until now.
She wasn't quite prepared to say that Mac was Mr. Forever, of course, but she could say that she had experienced a stronger reaction to him in twenty-four hours than any man she'd ever met, in or out of these walls. It hadn't been anything he'd said or done, exactly, but something emanating off of him that had hit her hard the moment she looked at him, something that interacted with her own energy and compelled them to this moment. Thrilling and terrifying at once.
She pointed to an upholstered bench of heavy wood, about three feet in length, that was equipped with a variety of restraining straps. "I want you on your stomach on this." At his wary look, she raised the bottle. "I want to rub this into your back."
The bench was long enough that when he complied, it accommodated the length of his torso from the top of his head to his pelvis. He moved carefully, and she noted the relaxing of his features when he took the pressure off his legs and back. It told her the effort it had taken him to maintain the position she ordered. It also told her he hadn't cheated, which did wondrous things to her stomach and all the tingling parts of her.
"Be still," she ordered, and buckled a strap around his waist. She also utilized the ones provided on the front legs of the bench to hold his wrists, effectively binding him to the bench and in his prone position. His knees were on the ground, and she had him lift slightly so she could slide a folded fleece blanket beneath them, ensuring his comfort, and strapped his ankles down to the floor bolts provided for that purpose.
Being restrained had tensed up that powerful back, but she pretended not to notice and ignored the question in his expression. Instead, she poured some of the liquid from the bottle into her hands and worked it in her palms, lubricating them and her fingers. "This is going to go on warm," she said, "And then it gets warmer. Not painful. It's a liniment that should ease muscle strain."
"Mistress does not need to see to my comfort," he protested again. "I am here for her pleasure."
"Taking care of you gives me great pleasure," she assured him, laying her hands on the broad rack of his shoulders. Oh, yes. Great pleasure. She curved her fingers over them, rubbed, circling her thumbs.
He forgot to suppress a grunt and she smiled. "Tell me something about yourself, Mackenzie."
"I like pasta." He cleared his throat. "Alfredo sauces in particular."
Violet shook her head. "You just can't put a sock in that smartass streak, can you? But you'd taste good, flavored with a cream sauce." She spread the liniment lower, working behind the shoulder blades. God, he was built like a linebacker, only leaner and tougher. "How'd you acquire this body of yours? It's not just from a gym. You do something else."
"Yes, Mistress." His arms relaxed further, and she kneaded some more, loving the fact she was giving him pleasure, easing his pain. "I do cross country, survival course competitions. Military camps, things like that."
She watched the ridges of his torso take on a gleam, kept a peripheral sensor on how much he was relaxing beneath her touch. Picking up the bottle, she worked more oil in her hands, then poured a thin stream of the viscous fluid down the valley of his spine. It headed toward the seam of his muscular buttocks, where she knew it would seep in and lubricate him. She saw a tremor go through him, sensed that he knew where her mind was headed.
"It doesn't surprise me to hear that. You like to test yourself. That's what you've used your Mistresses for. They're just an extension of your workout, testing your skills to resist weakness." She kept her tone neutral, but he stiffened up under her touch.
