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"Violet," she muttered. "Don't start doubting yourself now. You know that's bullshit. Nobody is that good at undercover."
But he had been on the job in The Zone, and she'd known it the moment she had seen him for the first time. As clearly as she'd known he was a genuine sexual submissive, the most unexpected combination she'd ever encountered in her life.
But it was five after. Submissives, particularly ones like Mac, were not late. Ever. Not for their Mistress.
She moved to the window again, cursing herself, and saw a black Dodge Ram pickup pull into her driveway, Mac at the wheel.
She hastily stepped back so he wouldn't see her there, but she stayed in the shadow next to the lace curtain panel to watch him get out of the truck, bend into the back area to retrieve the groceries, and turn to come up her walkway.
"My, oh my," she murmured.
She suspected the jeans were new, or he didn't wear them often. They were stretch denim and clung to every muscular curve of his lower body, his ass and long thighs, outlining the heavy bulge of his cock and testicles, creasing in all the right places as he walked. He wore something easy to remove, a heavy weight black cotton T-shirt.
Violet hoped old Mrs. Zerbrowsky wasn't looking out her window or she'd have to call 911 to have the widow's pacemaker jumpstarted. Her own heart was doing a triple-time beat up against the base of her throat, but it wasn't all due to his appearance, though it by itself screamed sex on demand. Her demand.
It had as much to do with the intent focus of his eyes, and the dozen lavender roses he carried in one arm, wrapped in a matching velvet cloth and tied with ribbon, opposite the three bags of groceries he balanced in the other.
He hadn't just showed. With the flowers, he'd made it clear that he'd showed because he wanted to do so.
Violet moved to the foyer. Outside the range of the window, she allowed herself a little spin on the hardwood floor, then composed herself at the door and opened it.
"Hi," she said.
She'd worn a soft knit dress in a deep blue hue that clung to her curves, etching them out in detail, since she'd chosen not to wear a bra or panties. She was barefoot, because she wanted to enhance a casual atmosphere, but as she opened the door, it reminded her forcibly how much taller he was than her.
Those silver eyes covered every inch of her, and when they rested on her face at last, it was all she could do not to seize him by the shirt front and kiss him the way she wanted to do. Because she knew the rewards for waiting, she reined herself in. Also, though he had chosen to be here, there were things they needed to talk about.
"Mistress," he said softly, extending the roses.
She took them and he stepped over the doorway at her gesture. She closed the door with a quiet snick that locked them together in intimate solitude. Mac sat the groceries down on the bench of her antique hallway tree. Crossed his arms over his abdomen in order to grasp his shirt, pull it from the waistband and lift it over his head, baring his upper body as she had ordered.
The naked hip bone she glimpsed when he stretched told her that he had followed her every demand and there was nothing under those form fitting jeans but him. The movement brought the light smell of his aftershave to her, just a touch of cologne, and the musk of the male animal beneath it.
Mac laid the shirt aside, neatly folding it over the arm of the tree, toed off his shoes and placed them beneath the seat.
"I missed you," he said, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks as he lowered his gaze. "I'd like to honor you, Mistress. Show my devotion to you."
Violet swallowed. "Very well," she whispered.
He knelt, one knee then the other. As he had that night at the supper table, he bent, but now he offered the deference to her as a gift, those broad bare shoulders flexing to take him low enough so that his lips touched her sensitive instep. She didn't expect him to be completely well-behaved, and she wasn't disappointed. His tongue traced the arch, and she drew in a breath, the sensation from his mouth tightening every nerve ending between the point of contact up to her pussy.
Moisture flooded her so instantly that she couldn't control it. Her response trickled down her thigh to her knee, paused there only a moment, working its way over the shell of her knee cap, forced by gravitational pull to the inside to run down her calf, as if eager to race to where his lips pressed against her skin.
She knew when it reached his mouth, for he abruptly went still. Then his lips moved slightly, taking in her taste. He licked it away, began to trace the path of her pussy's invitation up her ankle. The heavy soft knit dress covered his head, settling on his shoulders as he followed the track, sucking the dew gently from her skin even as more came down her thigh, like a hot spring from deep within the womb of the earth, her pussy eager to offer its honey to his mouth, but only one drop at a time, wanting to tease. He was above her knee now, his beard brushing her thighs, the hair on his head tickling her clit. Her thighs were too close together to allow him access to the deep channel between them, but he wasn't deterred. Violet moaned as he reached the top of her thigh, his head completely covered by the skirt. She watched his skull turn, jolted and cried out as his lips touched her clit, the tip of his tongue and his moustache making a tiny tickling movement against her, like the quivering of a light bulb filament.
Unbelievably, she came. Suddenly, explosively, a climax of vibration rather than convulsion, shuddering up through the balls of her feet to arrow hard and fast through her cunt. The flowers dropped from her grasp, rolled down his back in their soft wrapping and to the floor, scattering several lavender petals across his calves. Her response gushed forth between her thighs, and he made a soft growl of pleasure but did not move his mouth or tongue from giving butterfly kisses to that tiny jewel of spasming flesh. The moment she started to come, his arms lifted, went around her hips and thighs, a double band to anchor her, keep her steady. Perversely it kept her legs sealed together, so it only doubled the force of the quivering sensation on the clitoral point of contact, especially when she struggled against the inexorable force of his strength.
When she finally could breathe, he was carrying her weight, her toes not even on the floor as she clung to his shoulders, his mouth pressed against her clit, at last unmoving.
"I think you missed me, too," her slave murmured, his face still obscured by her skirt. The movement of his lips, the soft abrasion of his moustache against her made her whimper, a quiet cry. She reached down, cupped his chin, felt his hot moist breath through the fabric, a little ragged.
His act of devotion had been the perfect one to catapult her over the edge, a physical and emotional stimulus she could not resist, sweeping any control away. She could say it was partially the culmination of several days of intense sexual frustration, and partially him, but it was all him. She had denied herself any satisfaction, only wanting it from Mac.
"Put me down," she said, her voice unsteady, and he obeyed, setting her on her feet as if she were porcelain. Violet stepped back, uncovered those beautiful bare shoulders, the tousled head, the face rigid with his own suppressed desires. She bent, kissed him gently on the lips, let him clasp her trembling hands as she tasted herself on his lips. "Come make me dinner," she said.
*
Violet had never appreciated the erotic art of cooking until she watched a man she desired as much as Mackenzie do it. The capable way his large hands sliced the fresh vegetables after carefully washing them, sliding his fingers into every crevice to gently remove any dirt, leaving the glistening color of the green zucchini and yellow squash unmarred. The firm, human flesh-like covering of the ripe tomatoes responding to his caress by revealing the deepest hue of their red color. The casual way he tossed them into the pot, a man completely at ease with what he was doing. Scents of preparing food filled her kitchen, adding to the warmth already surrounding them. She placed her wine glass on the counter and turned to hitch herself up on it, and found him there, his hands at her waist.
