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"Anticipation is not a bad thing. " His breath caressed her lips. "But a memory keeps you warmer longer. "
He sat back, just as slowly. From his satisfied gaze, she realized she'd parted her lips in anticipation. She pressed them together, closed her fingers into a fist by the placemat, trying to tamp down the annoyance that he could pull this from her so easily.
Anger that came from his manipulation, his ridicule of her resolve.
"Tell me why you didn't touch Brendan after you finished branding him. I could tell you wanted to. "
"I can't tell you that. "
"Yes, you can. Marguerite, the way you feel inside about things isn't a matter of national security. Just tell me. Why are you so afraid of emotional intimacy with your subs, angel? That's where you can find the real Nirvana. "
"Why don't you answer the fucking question about your hand first?" Tyler's gaze snapped to her face. Not by any vocal inflection did she indicate the heat behind the crudity she'd injected into the sentence, but her eyes were hard and bright, the set of her shoulders tense, danger signs he was beginning to recognize. He'd pressed on a nerve. Casually, he laid his hand down on her forearm, tightened his grip when she began to draw back, held her there, felt the heat spread under his palm.
"I was in a knife fight," he said mildly. "My opponent swung wild, I had my hand up, he clipped my knuckle, took a flap of skin off. Didn't have time to treat it for several days, so it didn't heal very pretty. Why do you avoid intimacy with your subs?"
"I'm not looking for that. I don't crave that. "
"Don't you? What's so bad about it?"
She stood up, her hand still in his grasp, so she pulled against him. "You promised I could have my two hours for tea. I want it now. "
"Sit down, Marguerite. " When she didn't move, he reached up, feathered a hand on her face. "Please sit down. "
"We covered this last night. Don't play me, Tyler. I'm not a submissive you have to crack open to teach her to find fulfillment under your Will. "
"Aren't you?" He saw the shock course over her features, a remarkable tremor. She firmed her jaw.
"You know why I prefer boys to men? Because boys haven't learned to be bastards who take and take, who think they have a right to your secrets. They're just grateful for what you can give them. Let go of me. " She snarled it this time and raised her other hand. He caught it, neatly twisted and tumbled her into his lap in the chair, her arms crossed over her chest, his arms bound around her.
"Let go of me. "
"Tell me why you wouldn't touch Brendan. "
"You son of a bitch, I want you to let me go. " She struggled, kicked out at air, loosening the robe so it fell off her shoulder.
"Answer the question. "
When she tried to bite his arm, he caught her hair in his hand, his grip unshakable, stilling her. "I won't hurt you, Marguerite. You can have as many tantrums as you want. In your own words - answer the fucking question. "
"Why can't you leave anything alone? What do you want?"
"I want an answer to the question, that's all, angel. A Master asks a sub a question, she's expected to answer. "
The training. This was supposed to be about the training. He was remembering it but she couldn't even figure out what her purpose for being here was anymore.
Marguerite closed her eyes, a shudder running through her. "Please let me go.
Please. "
"Just say the words. They're there, on the tip of your tongue. You know the answer. "
"I can't hold him. " She forced it out of a raw throat.
"Why?" He asked it after a quiet moment, his breath close to her ear. Somehow his grip had eased her back, so instead of being rigid against his embrace she was sinking into it, into the curve of his body, how they had spooned together through the night.
"What's wrong with holding a man in your arms, Marguerite?"
"Because once I start touching them, holding them, I won't stop, they'll end up holding me. They'll take. I can't let them take. . . "
