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"I liked her," Violet admitted. "And yet I'm jealous, regardless."
"No need. She liked breaking me into it, but once that novelty was over, she moved on. She didn't...there wasn't a true emotional attachment. Not..."
Like with us. The words hung between them, too potent and soon to be voiced.
"You're a complete enigma, Mac." She shook her head. "Most cops couldn't do it, even if they had the urge. It's like you've got this split personality thing going, where you crave a Mistress but you're terrified to let go of the control, because you of all people know how much is outside of your control."
"I had bad panic attacks the first few times I was tied up. It still...I still have to fight them off. But I've learned to control my reaction. The...desire is stronger."
"Mac, look at me." When he did, he saw the stunned amazement in her gaze at his admission. "But you do it anyway."
He lifted a shoulder. "As I said, it doesn't really make sense. Guess it's not supposed to. With you...it's different."
Standing in her kitchen, cooking, the air full of scents and of her, he felt like he could tell her things he had not told anyone, had not had within him to tell anyone until he met her. But he lowered his attention back to preparing their salad, before he said what else he felt he needed to say.
"You scared me more than anyone, but now I don't know what I was so afraid of. There was a wall. I'm not sure I even knew it was there, though you tried to tell me it was there from the first. Every time a Mistress pushed on it, I felt like I had to keep her away from it, but at the same time I wanted her to try and shove past it, fight me for it. I didn't understand it, still don't maybe. I just know you did it, and I feel like you're inside me now, in a place where I've always wanted... a woman to be. Fuck me, I can't explain it right."
"You don't have to. I don't think there are any words for the 'why' of it, any more than there are for why I knew that's where I needed to go."
He nodded and opened a small covered dish, laid it out on the counter. "Appetizers. Marinated mushrooms." He picked one up, took it to her lips, offering it to her.
She could tell the raw sincerity of his admission had unsettled him. It was time to move it back into more comfortable territory. Violet opened her mouth, closed her lips on the mushroom, watched his face as he brushed his fingers over her lips, carefully taking the oil away and then putting them in his own mouth, a quick lick to clean the oil off his fingertips and take her into him. The warmth of the gesture mingled with the effect of the wine, and spread through her.
"What I can't figure out is how a four-year rookie made me for a cop and I never once suspected her of being on the job," he said, shaking his head in disgust.
She tilted her head, managed a smile. "What did you think I was?"
"I thought maybe some type of company executive, but that seemed cliched. I'd about decided you were a construction equipment operator. You know, bulldozers and such. Since you're so good at pushing around people bigger than you are."
"You're picking on me now."
"Yes." He gave her a wicked grin. "I am."
"There's only one reason I made you for a cop and you didn't make me," she observed, watching his delightful ass as he moved around the kitchen. How pants could be that tight and still be legal, she didn't know, but she thanked the fashion experts for all their blessings. So tight they creased the tops of his thighs and his ass as he moved, shifted, the cleft well defined for her gaze.
"And what was that?"
"I'll tell you later. Come here."
Mac put down his knife, brushed his hands on the dishtowel and came to her, until he stood between her knees again. He braced a hand on either side of her hips, bringing all his overwhelming presence within her grasp. She moved a hand around his hip, over the curve of one cheek, squeezed, closed her eyes, enjoyed how the muscles tightened under her touch. She felt him begin to lean in, but shook her head, a bare movement. He stopped in mid-motion.
Her thighs dampened anew. She had spoken the truth. She didn't know what made her the way she was, why she so enjoyed a man willing to submit to her, why his obedience to the most subtle command, so subtle it was like he'd read her mind, could overwhelm her.
The man between her legs was high-powered, well-trained, but had never been broken. Until her. Until he became hers.
"Take the wine." She lifted it. "And drink. Drink it all, until the last swallow, and then give me that last swallow from your mouth."
He lifted the glass, his silver gaze now liquid heat, and put it to his lips. She slid both hands along his waistband and to the back of his jeans, firmly grasping his ass in both hands, kneading, stroking, easily imagining what it would be like to feel them flexing, tightening as
he drove into her in a slow, pumping rhythm. She watched the glass tilt up, his head back as he downed the wine in slow, measured swallows, his throat working. She brought her hands back around front, palmed the tightly bound package of his erection and testicles, tightened her grasp.
He lowered the glass, holding his mouth closed to contain the wine she'd requested of him.
Violet released him, hooked one hand in the waistband of his jeans, and used her other to bring his head down to her. The wine flooded her mouth with his tongue, and she savored both, swirling them around, tasting their potency, consuming them.
"Perhaps next time I have wine in my mouth," he murmured against her lips, "you'll let me put your legs on my shoulders, and I'll put my mouth on your pussy, slip my tongue in your cunt and let all that warm, red wine run down inside. Mix with your sweet taste and drink from that."
"I like that image," she breathed against him. She felt his other arm slide around her, pull her closer to his hips, and she let him, rubbing herself against him before she eased off the counter at last, down his hard length. Her bare feet came to rest on top of his and she smiled up at him. "But I want dinner first."
