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p; Tyler smiled to himself. "Do you also realize that many of the most popular sexual role-playing games we've adopted are associated with that time period? For instance, I can imagine you as a prim schoolmistress, saying what you just said to me, the naughty student. I come back after class is over, having loosened my cravat, tossed away my neat stockings. I take away your ruler and turn you over my knee for once, throwing that skirt over your back, feeling the press of your waist against my thigh, seeing your trim pantaloons beneath. Wondering what it would be like to take those down your stockinged legs while you're struggling, kicking in those dainty little boots. . . "
"While I maneuver for a clutch grip on your crotch to get you to let me go. " He winced. "You and Mistress Violet have similar mean streaks. " But he noticed her eyes had moved back to the photo Cry Mercy and her pale face had more color than before.
"Now if I were in that chair, I might try to steal a kiss. Or maybe go lower, kiss every inch of your lovely throat, down to the first button of that stiff shirt. I'd bite it off with my teeth, then the next one. Run my tongue in the valley between your breasts, nuzzle your soft skin, nip at the lace holding it. But what would your more romantic version be?"
She couldn't grasp any image now except the one he'd just painted. Imagining.
"I see you're fascinated with Cry Mercy. " Her gaze jerked up and he saw her realize at last that he could see every expression of her face.
"It's interesting, isn't it?" he continued in a mild tone. "How the photographer chose to keep everything in black and white except for that one ruffle of pink lace across the widest curve of her ass? And you can't help but think of another area so delicately pink and female, waiting for a tongue, a hand or cock to slide into its welcoming warmth. Now, answer me. What was your romantic version for the chair?" The creases of her palm were damp enough to please him. He was equally pleased by the tension he felt in her body now that she knew there was nothing she'd been able to hide from him.
She drew in a breath, then another. He admired her ability to continue to regroup, rebalance, no matter how often he was seducing her off the pedestal.
"Just sitting like that, the closeness, the arrangement of the chair speaking for itself, saying that the two people in it have a connection, or want more of a connection than they ever had up to that point. The suggestion of things to come. That's romantic. And I guess you've proven it can be sexual, too. That's a dirty trick," she added. "The mirrors. "
He lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. "The point is the sub learns there's nothing she can hide from her Master, that she's to be open to him in all things. "
"She doesn't deserve any privacy?"
"No," he said simply. "Not if the Master is going to give her the pleasure she deserves. " And needs.
He removed the slat of the chair to free the cuffs from it. When he moved to the floor, he felt her watching him as he brought the cuffs under his hips and pulled his long legs through the loop of his arms in a lithe, practiced move. Bending, he fished the key to his cuffs out of the melted ice, unlocked them. Then he came around the chair to squat between her spread legs, laying one palm on each kneecap.
"You look like you've done that a few times in your life. " Her breathing was beginning to elevate, he suspected because he was so close and she was completely helpless before him.
"More than a few. "
Sliding his hands up her thighs, he studied her face as he moved inch by inch up the inside until his thumbs were resting just shy of the spread crotch, framing it. With her arms behind her, her breasts were well displayed before him, the white shirt pulled taut across them. He suppressed the urge to unbutton her shirt, fondle them in whatever underwear she'd chosen to wear beneath it. If she'd dressed to the skin in the same theme, it would likely be something as practical and nonsexual as the rest.
Clothed even in armor, her breasts would attract him. "The strongest drive inside of a submissive, underneath all their emotional wounds, is for the Master to push aside any curtains or walls they may have erected to separate them from their true self, the naked, vulnerable soul. Because that soul wants only one thing. Do you want to know what that is?"
She tightened her jaw, looked through him until he touched her face. Not with forceful compulsion but a whispering caress that drew her gaze back to him.
"You'll answer me, Marguerite. "
"I don't want to know. That's not what the training's about. "
"Wrong. That's what submissive training is all about. Getting past those shields so she feels truly bound to her Master, a part of him as he's a part of her. The ultimate connection, where thought isn't necessary. They're together in the most elemental and perfect way there is. "
She stared at him. "Let me go, Tyler. I can't do this. "
"You can. You will. " He framed her face, leaned forward, pressed his lips to her cheek, her forehead, the curve of her ear. Her body shook under his touch and he kept his touch soothing, gentle, stroking the wisps of hair around her face. He'd gone to one knee to accomplish the nuzzling caresses. His leg pressed against the inside of hers, the front of his shirt brushing hers, his breath warm on the side of her neck. "It will be all right, Marguerite. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. " He drew back, just a space. Marguerite saw that his eyes were almost gold in the room's light. To his right she saw the brown statue she liked so much. The woman who could just be in the moment, a part of her lover, worrying about nothing further.
She closed her eyes, looking for something solid but the only thing she could feel was his touch on her body. "Why is my key still in ice?" She opened her eyes.
His lips curved. "I put it in a bigger ice cube. "
Chapter Six
He'd had Sarah lay them out a light meal in the breakfast nook off the kitchen.
Moonlight glittered on the Gulf as the backdrop for a bistro table draped with a lace tablecloth, set with an elegant set of dishes, a silver soup tureen and a trio of candles of different sizes.
When she saw it, she stopped them with a hand on his arm, a bare brush of contact she instantly removed. "I appreciate. . . " She shook her head. "May I say something?"
"You may. And I'm impressed by your memory for instruction. "
"I understand how this could be seen as necessary, this warm-up. " She waved her hand at the table. "I appreciate all the effort you've put into it. But why don't we skip it and get to the rest?"
