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"A hug, to make us feel on equal footing?"
His free hand clasped her throat, tilting her chin up with the pressure of his knuckle so her head was at somewhat of an uncomfortable angle. His lips were just over hers, his fingers tracing that hook in the back. "We're not equals, Marguerite. For this weekend, I'm your Master. "
The catch released and the bra loosened. He shifted his grip, took the straps just off her shoulders and then tugged downward, bringing the bra into a roll of cloth just under her now bare breasts. It was a dishabille pose, her hair on her shoulders, clothes not nearly removed and her upper body tangled in them, giving him easy access and her little freedom of movement. "You'll look at me now, Marguerite. " When she raised her head, her features rigid in protest, he drew back, studied her, his gaze slowly traveling down her throat to the breasts now bare to his gaze. Then he picked up his fork, speared some of the spinach and red lettuce salad. It was cool to her overheated senses when he put it between her trembling lips.
"This is a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. The salad has dried cherries, parmesan, slivered almonds and some other things I think you'll like. " He didn't make her say anything further, simply took his time, examining her body at his leisure as he fed her one bite at a time, moving from the salad to a sweet cornbread, crumbs tumbling down her front. Then back to some more of the soup.
Simple, nourishing food of excellent quality that told her Sarah took very good care of him. As her anger ebbed in the quiet, it made her wonder what it would be like, to care for a man like Tyler.
He'd been helping himself to an occasional bite and abruptly she lifted a hand, rubbing a thumb at a corner of his mouth where some of the dressing glistened, a small piece of basil he'd missed. Even as she did it, she felt the constriction of the sleeves of her shirt, the straps of the bra pressing into her upper arms and remembered she wasn't supposed to lift her hands.
But he let her do it, his eyes intent on her. He waited until she was finished, then he took her hand in his. "You need to remember my commands, or I'll have to think up new ones that you can remember better. "
Instead of placing her hand back under her thigh, he guided it over the leg, turned it inward, his cupping hers. Sliding her fingers under her body at the juncture of her legs, he made the heel of her hand press her clit. The pressure tightened her thighs causing her to exhale sharply, an unfamiliar sensation springing just above and beneath her touch. She forced herself to keep her hips still.
"Full enough?"
She nodded.
"Good. I'm in the mood for dessert. Keep your hand where it is. " He put down the spoon and cupped her bare breasts, inserting the one hand in between her side and the arm she had holding herself. He weighed the curves in his palms, kneaded. She shuddered as his thumbs brushed over her nipples and they drew tighter under his touch. His eyes flared with desire but his tone stayed mild, as if they were in an elegant restaurant.
"Be still, let me touch you. You should be open to my desire to caress you at any time. At this dinner table, in the garden, in the bedroom, everywhere I command. " She worked so hard to keep everything under control inside her but here was need rolling up and over her, tumbling her like an ocean wave, pounding upon her. Anxiety rushed in, the inability to breathe. Only moments ago, he'd been prying into her life as if he had every right to her secrets. Now she was sitting here yearning for more of him.
She lunged back, as far away from his touch as her limited position allowed, her hand closing into a fist on the handle of the fork. Gasped as his much larger hand clamped down over it, held her there. She could not move her hand, his strength literally pinning it to the table, holding her arm so it immobilized the rest of her. The tension of muscle in his thigh against her hip told her he was more than ready to combat any other movements.
"Breathe, angel," he said. "Breathe. Look at me. Look at me. " He snapped the command apparently to jerk her attention to him. Once he had it, his voice immediately softened. "Let go of the fork. Focus on my voice, my commands.
That's the only responsibility you have, remember? To obey my commands. " Her breath rasped out of her. When her hand tightened on the fork, the strength of his grip increased, not hurting her but making it clear she would not move that hand if he didn't want her to do so. "You let go of that fork, turn your hand over and lace your fingers with mine. Or else we'll go directly to the spanking lesson. " Didn't he understand? He was acting like this was normal, when she was so close to everything being white noise, inside and out, a void of nothing, a buzzing that would drive her insane.
"Breathe. " His other hand held her opposite arm to her side but now his hold eased, his amber eyes intent on her face as he watched her reactions closely. "I know violence rides very close beneath your civilized veneer. Too close. I know that the tea ceremony and the careful rituals at The Zone all help to keep it leashed, but it doesn't take that much to snap that leash, does it? You can run wild with me, let it all out. I can handle you. But you won't use it to drive me away. Let go of the fork and hold my hand.
Breathe. Deep breath. "
It was coming easier now, the oxygen in and out of her lungs, the prickling heat of the rage no longer irritating her to the point of insanity. It was because of his voice. She was holding on to it, using its rich tone to steady herself, its mixture of implacable demand and soothing calm.
"Tyler. " She closed her eyes. "Talk some more. Please. " He gave himself a moment just to look at her, his ice queen. So somber and tense, believing this was something she had to survive and tolerate instead of experiencing.
Savoring.
He wanted to do several things. He wanted her to trust him enough that he could curl her up in his arms, take her to a quiet, dark room and simply hold her until the nervous vibration of her limbs and the sick panic in her eyes were gone and no longer tearing at his heart. But to do that, he had to get her to believe he could protect her from her fears.
"I've got a better idea. "
He released her hand and her arm and put his hands back inside the shirt, around her rib cage. Placing his mouth over her left nipple, he drew her in, suckling, moving his arms all the way around her to bring her to the end of the chair such that his knee came to rest against her mons.
Her fingers on the outside hand clutched at air then latched on to his thigh, her back arching as his grip increased, holding her to him, allowing him to nurse her sweet taste. He'd never felt skin so smooth. The nipple in his mouth had an exotic flavor, the tight point as aroused as he could wish.
She was making silent little puffs of air through her nose as if fighting her vocal cords, forbidding them response. Her body was a rubber band drawn to maximum stress beneath his touch. Rocking his foot, he rubbed the bones of his kneecap up and down her clit. Slow strokes, and imagined his tongue doing the same. He promised himself he'd taste her there before the weekend was done, see if this same flavor was between her legs or if it was something even sweeter. He nipped her with his teeth and she gasped, her hand rising to grip his hair. Lowering his hand, he unhooked the opening of her slacks and pushed down the zipper, moving inside and searching past the wrinkled fabric of her tucked shirt to find the lace and silk of her panties.
Neither boxers nor briefs then. Despite her frantic tugging on his hair, part uncontrolled passion and part denial of what he was doing, he slid two fingers into her heat. His thumb worked her clit in circles as he continued to keep her trapped with one arm around her back, his mouth on her breast. When he ran his tongue in between them and moved to the other one, he saw in the corner of his eye that she was staring with glazed eyes at the distended nipple wet from his mouth. Her hips were making tiny jerks against his hand, and he heard her voice, tiny, breathless noises, a word.
"No. . . no.
. . no. . . "
"Yes. " He growled it against her flesh, maddened by her resistance, knowing she was responding to him as he'd never seen her respond to anyone. He would have all of it, all of her. He began to move his fingers inside her, teasing the silken walls, keeping up his massage on her clit. Her body gathered. Something in her eyes said she couldn't go over, was too terrified of where he was pushing her. Then she released the fork with a clang of metal against the table and grabbed his upper arm, her fingers digging into him.
He made his decision and broke her rule. Letting go of her breast, he covered her mouth with his, making that ultimate connection to drive her to climax. Rising up so he was half over her, he pushed her back in the chair so it was on two legs. Her hands clung to his shirt at his waist just above his jeans as he felt the soft slippery bud of flesh quiver, harden, heat beneath his touch.
