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She glanced toward the house and saw that the gardenias to her right shielded her from the house's first-level windows. So Tyler was on the second level. From the sun's angle, she couldn't see him. The light reflected against the glass, making them into mirrors.
One game? She was going to trounce him in straight sets, let punishing him on the courts be her outlet for the tension of the whole past week. A tension that strangely felt not so near at hand as she sat within his carefully cultivated gardens. His native orchids were graceful ladies within ten feet of her. With petals of so many shapes and colors, yellow, pink, purple, white, as delicate as thin paper, they fluttered from the wind stirred by the fountain of water that emerged from the platform under Aphrodite's bare feet.
/> Putting her tennis racquet to the side, she tentatively opened her legs. She'd run her hands over her body before to titillate a sub and done some things for herself at home.
Just not. . . this.
Concentrating, she summoned an image. Tyler, standing in the kitchen in the loose cotton pants, low on his hips. The firm mouth, which she'd felt taking control of her clit before she'd been lost to dreams. His long-fingered hand lying next to his plate, his gold watch against his tanned skin.
Her fingers crept between her legs, stroked. Her clit responded eagerly, startling her. She widened her legs farther, just a bit. Even so, the short pleated skirt would now give a clear view to anyone approaching her.
Tyler at The Zone, his lips beneath her ear. His hands on her breasts, tugging the nipple chain ruthlessly. Her fingers played among petals of flesh that were getting slick with dew. She unfolded, straightening out on the bench, her head resting on the back as she imagined welcoming Tyler in between her thighs. Wrapping her legs around his muscular hips, clutching his neck, biting into his shoulder as he thrust into her. Just imagining it made her pussy ripple, weep and spasm for what she could not have. What she was denying herself. Her other hand moved up her stomach, over the tight fit of the sports bra to her right nipple. Found it aching for the pinch of her fingertips. She remembered his words about a woman's breasts and thought he might be right. She was wanton, drunk on sun and the smell of flowers, her body dancing like the bronze statues, celebrating the feeling of life and desire surging through her.
Her position had moved her forward so the skirt was rucked up, her bare ass on the bench's smooth surface. Feeling the hardness, she thought it was like the unyielding line of his jaw, his tough body as he demanded things from her she was terrified to give.
When she opened her eyes he was standing there, wearing just the shorts. A muscular god, as bronze and perfect as any of the artwork. But alive, so charged with energy that the electric static of it buzzed off her skin.
He'll take me down to the ground now, she thought, looking at his aroused features.
Fuck me whether I want him to or not. He won't give a damn about the rules. And she would let him, because her body would go where her heart could not. And it would shatter her.
She scrambled up, pulling the skirt down, her cheeks flushed. All of her flushed.
"Did I say stop?" He lifted a brow. She shook her head but didn't move. "You asked to see my room," he commented after a moment of silence.
"I did. I wanted. . . " She didn't want Sarah in trouble, so she made herself say it. "I wanted to know more about who you are, Tyler. " He seemed to consider that, inclined his head. "Then I'm flattered. "
"Your room. You don't usually sleep with your subs. "
"No. "
"Why?" And why me?
His attention moved briefly to the fountain, again that odd evasion. "Last night was different. I usually don't sleep easy, angel. It's more courteous to let the lady in question have a good night's sleep. How about you?"
She shook her head. "I don't sleep with anyone. " Until you. For she'd wanted him there last night, clutched to her in her dreams as she'd been unable to do with her restrained arms.
His gaze lowered. "Lift the front of your skirt. " As she obeyed, he walked toward her, taking his time, appraising her. When he reached her, he put one hand at her bare waist, his other moving between her legs. Her free hand caught onto his shoulder as a ripple of reaction unbalanced her, her lips parting in surprise at how strong the instant surge of arousal was. Already somewhat slippery just from the act of having his hand on her hip, knowing she was bare beneath the clothes, his touch brought forth enough liquid heat that he made a guttural noise of approval. No matter what the terms of this weekend, at the moment, she felt like she belonged to Tyler Winterman. Underneath his much too knowledgeable attention, his sure fingers, the sense of powerful sexual male was too all-encompassing to deny. Her instincts overwhelmed rationality. And with the sun warming her back, his hands caressing between her legs, she couldn't find it in her to panic or rebel.
"I don't mind you looking in my room. But I didn't tell you to stop touching yourself. You should have waited for my permission. "
"I'm sorry. " But she wasn't.
Taking his hand away, he guided her to the edge of the garden, ducking under the waterfall of blossoms of a weeping cherry, a curtain of white touched with pink. "Put your hands on the trunk, your back facing me. " At her hesitation, he reached out, touched her cheek. "I'm going to spank you. Just as a reminder of whose Will you obey.
With my hand. I will never use anything else to strike you, and your beautiful ass will be the only place I do so. "
"I didn't ask for that restriction. "
"No, you didn't. But pain isn't my way of Mastery over women. " His gaze coursed over her, the sternness in his voice modulated by a devastating tenderness. "And just the suggestion of it has you trembling. "
"I am not. " Her voice broke.
He took her arm, turned her toward the tree. "Palms on the trunk, angel. Let's check off another box on that sheet of yours. " She obeyed at that, reluctantly, her breath catching in her throat, caught on something there she couldn't swallow past. Her fingers dug into the rough bark. He was subjecting her to the easiest type of punishment to take. He could have taunted her for being apprehensive about something that was nowhere near as severe as what she'd doled out to her own subs, but he didn't. Partly because they both knew it wasn't about pain. He knew the very act was pushing enough of her panic buttons.
His hands slid down her back, pushing her forward. His other palm on her stomach beneath the skirt brought her out so her arms had to stretch to keep her palms flat on the tree as he directed.
"Lift on your toes, Marguerite. High as you can get. " She did and felt air as he lifted the back panel of the skirt. He tucked the edge in her waistband, getting it out of the way. Moving his palm on her belly so his two fingers were low enough that they rested on her clit, he massaged her there as she quivered on her toes, her legs spread open. Her body was beginning to ripple with overwhelming desire even as the coldness in the pit of her belly dug its claws into her vital organs.
