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"No. . . " It was a bare whisper.
"You've lost the right to no, Marguerite," he growled. His fingers curved into her scalp, holding her head still and making her stare up into the truth.
"One word from you, relaxing the rules of the weekend and I'd have taken you in a heartbeat. You couldn't do that, so you cheated. You know that political correctness means nothing to a Master like me. I take my cues from your actions, not your lips, listening for an entirely different set of signals, like this. " His hand dropped, probing the wetness between her legs. "It'll be the last time you force my hand so you don't have to go through the formality of submitting. No more cheating. "
"No. " She tried to fight him but he had her firmly pinned and the movements just dragged her hard nipples across his hair-roughened chest, arousing her and inflaming him further.
His hand moved around and cupped her ass under the skirt, her sweat-dampened buttocks. It felt so good she couldn't stop herself from arching her back, offering herself up in an invitation he wasn't requesting. He was taking, just as he had said. His mouth came down on her nipple, suckling urgently. She cried out, she who always chose to take her pleasure in silence. Her whole body was screaming, out of control, so why not her voice? His other fingers dipped back into her pussy, found it wet and moved to find the track down her thigh where her arousal had run again and again during their match. Then his lubricated finger entered her backside, making her twist and moan as he suckled, pressed himself firmly against her. It was rough, frightening. She didn't know if she was enjoying it or being shattered into fragments. She didn't allow herself this type of pleasure, but he hadn't asked for her permission. And her body trembled, her mind shying from the realization that she hadn't wanted him to.
"When was the last time a man fucked you?" He demanded the answer in a whisper against her ear. "Fucked your ass and that sweet pussy with his cock?" His fingers teased both openings so that she could barely get out a word of response.
"Not. . . in a. . . oh, God. In. . . a. . . long time. Please don't. I can't take this. " Her hands were up at her face, covering it, her fingers in claws. Tyler felt her quaking, fighting. Catching her wrists, he brought them down, loosened the Velcro straps from her hair and used them to strap one wrist to each of her thighs, holding her arms immobile at her sides. He'd intended to use them later in one of his shade gardens. Have her lie on a blanket bound this way while he sprinkled rose petals on her naked body, kissed her, read a book, just enjoying having her laid out before him, accessible to his hand and tongue. But his body had only one thing in mind now.
Possession.
"Tyler - "
"Master," he snapped. She shook her head, in denial or sensual thrashing he could not tell. Returning to the tight rim of her ass, he worked her there, sensing the release of inhibitions. Her hips were rocking up, her pussy so wet the bare smooth lips he had shaved were glistening. He took a condom out of his pocket, leaning on his hip, which put him close to her bound hand. Her fingers seized it, scraping him, crushing the package in the ball of her fist.
"No. " Tears were squeezing out her eyes. "Nothing between us. Please. " Her eyes closed and her body went still, waiting.
He'd been prepared for another refusal. Her words stunned him to the core.
When she'd run, the instinct of the wolf had kicked in and he'd chased, determined to run her to ground. But the tears and the sudden frozen rigidity of her body told him she was moving into the mode she'd been in at the beginning. Her body wanted this so much it was screaming for it but her mind was going to force her to endure it only, rather than embrace it. To make it easier to walk away.
Her eyes opened when he released the straps. He caught her wrists in gentle hands.
Sitting on his heels, he lifted her, brought her up so she was sitting astride him, his arms curled around her waist and hips. He stroked the long line of her spine, slick with the damp perspiration collected there. Her hands were still in nervous balls, resting uneasily on his shoulders. Pressing his face between her breasts, he kissed the valley there. Nuzzled her with his tongue, playfully brushed the pale curves with his jaw. The fists unfolded, rested on his shoulders. He unzipped the skirt, took it up her waist and over her rib cage, gathering up the hem of the tattered sports bra.
"Lift your arms, angel. "
He removed all her clothes. When he worked off her shoes and socks, he made her lean against his shoulder, held her around the waist with one arm while he took them off, then returned her to the same position. Now she was clasped in his arms in simple, pure nudity. He went back to nuzzling her breasts. "Touch me, Marguerite. Touch me the way you'd like to. "
It felt. . . different to be sitting on him this way, clasped in his arms, in his lap. He was cruising up over the curve of her breasts, his touch and his kisses so achingly tender that she was torn between a heavy wave of lust and helpless immobility that kept her almost limp in his embrace. A moment ago, she'd steeled herself for the moment she could no longer resist, but for some reason he'd withdrawn, taken her to this devastating point instead.
One of her hands moved to the side of his head, her thumb brushing his ear, the soft ends of his hair just over it. She registered bone structure, the roughness of his jaw.
Though clean-shaven, she felt the prick of the five o'clock shadow to come. Under her other hand she felt muscle, more sleek skin, damp like her own from the sweat of the match. Her head fell back as he began to work his way up her jugular. Her hips moved, a stroke of need against his hard cock. His fingers tangled in her hair, and though she felt his desire to sink his hands in, pull and hold her head back, her throat exposed to him, he didn't. His touch remained insistent but gentle as he turned every nerve ending from fear and resistance into arousal. The fear was slipping away from her, beyond where she could reach for it to shield herself.
"Are you protected from pregnancy, angel?" His voice was soft. "There are certain choices that I'll never take from you. "
She wouldn't survive this, she knew. The demons that were going to be unleashed from their lovemaking would surround her, take her over. Not today, not even tomorrow, but the moment she left they would be waiting at the end of Tyler's driveway. Could she survive hell again?
"Tyler. . . "
Perhaps it was the way she said it, in a voice that might have been the wind itself.
Regardless, he raised his mouth from her. "Yes, angel?"
"You're right, I teased you. " She swallowed, made herself meet his shrewd gaze.
"And maybe everything you just said is true. . . but I'm asking you. " Begging you. But she couldn't say that. "I'm not ready for this. I know. . . it would be easy to keep going. . . "
I can't say no to you. I need you to say it. But she definitely wasn't going to say that out loud.
He studied her for a long minute. "Do you like the way this feels?" He indicated their position, with her so securely cradled in his arms, straddling his lap.
"Yes. " She was lost in his golden brown irises.
