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"I'd give you everything, Marguerite, if you'd just let me. "
"Don't try that. Don't you dare. " His voice, his truth, hit her like a return blow and she lashed back out.
This time she didn't hold back, didn't think of rules, only the fact that she was breaking open, her darkness spilling into every corner of the room. It was going to swallow them both up, so what did it matter?
Two steps forward and she at last brought the tawser into play, the handle wet from the sweat in her palm. A strike on his abdomen earned her a grunt of pain as the strap proved its reputation as a weapon of extreme BDSM play.
But his eyes were calculating. Waiting. Still waiting.
For something she couldn't give him. Why didn't he understand that? Or maybe he did and this was just his special torment for her, to try and pry it from her.
Lashing out wild, control slipping away from her, this time she struck the left nipple dead-on. His jaw clenched, breath whistling out between his teeth. And still that same steady, waiting look. She needed to obliterate it. Her fingers clenched on the handle and she snarled, took him across the jaw with the tawser.
Striking in the face for any reason except with the flat of a hand was a cardinal sin at The Zone. She didn't care. They'd come, they'd stop her, she'd never see The Zone again, she would never see him again.
"Marguerite - "
"Shut up. Just. . . don't. . . speak. " She spoke through the roar, the white noise in her head so loud that his voice grated across it like a jagged dull knife over a wound already infected. She struck out again, not caring where, just wanting to hurt. She heard a stifled curse and redoubled her efforts. Safe words. There were no safe words. He hadn't asked and she wouldn't give him any. No mercy. Nothing safe. Nothing but pain.
She struck again and again. The face, the torso, his legs. She cried out with each blow, each one feeling as if it were ripping the flesh from her soul.
When she couldn't take any more, she dropped both weapons, threw them from her and spun away, covering her face with her hands, squatting down on her heels in an effort to protect her vital organs, vibrating from the pain she was sure was going to shatter her into a million pieces.
She'd hit him, she'd hurt him. Deliberately, not for pleasure but to inflict pain, to impose the agony that was burning through her. She was dying inside. There was so much darkness, she couldn't see. She was afraid to take away her hands to see what might lie in wait for her in that darkness. And the roaring would not stop, the rush of water behind a dam of memories she thought she'd secured away from herself. They were going to come crashing down, pummel her with an eternity of this mindless, screaming pain.
"Marguerite. "
She had no idea how long he'd been saying her name, that gentle repetition. Not angry, not panicked, simply calling to her. A little bit of a hoarse strain to his tone. She had no idea where in the room she was. In the shadows, in the light, it didn't matter. It was all the same.
"Come here, angel. It's okay. "
It couldn't possibly be okay. She couldn't see anything. Didn't want to. Didn't want to see the crime she had committed, the pain she'd inflicted on his body merely because she wanted it so much.
"Come here, Marguerite. Now. "
She turned toward his voice, that fierce tiger's power, the mouko, compelling her at last. She stumbled, stepped out of her shoes, took one barefoot step, another. He'd stopped talking, so she stopped. There was only darkness.
"Right in front of you, angel. Just a few more steps. " He knew. He could tell she was lost, lost in broad daylight. If she could just huddle in that darkness, stay in the shadows, it would pass. She would find herself again as she always did, find the balance she was able to maintain as long as she stayed in solitude.
But now she didn't need silence. She needed that voice. Needed it more than she'd ever needed anything, more than she'd allowed herself to need in a very long time.
Reaching out, she found him. It was his rib cage, the skin hot to the touch, wet with sweat. When she blinked, a haze moved through the blackness. Moving closer, she felt his heart beat against hers. Slow. Even. Hers reverberated back. Fast. Erratic. But the pulse of the world was in him, going on steadily even under chaos.
Leaning in, she pressed the side of her face against his neck, smelled blood where she'd bitten him. As she nuzzled the wound and licked it gently, he made a soft sound of reassurance. She had just beaten the hell out of him, broken every rule a Dominant could break but she sensed nothing from him but. . . sanctuary.
Turning her cheek, she rubbed against his unmarked shoulder area, moving her lips over the rounded end. Bending down, she tasted the slope of his side just beneath his arm. Her hands descended, taking her down inch by inch. She touched each shallow valley between the ribs, reaching the crisp hair that narrowed to a point over his flat abdomen. Down to the hipbone, her palm finding the buttock. Another blink of her eyes and the darkness was slinking sullenly away, clouds defeated by his blazing heat. She felt the golden fire of his eyes like the warm touch of sun on her hair and skin. And like the sun they were something she could not look at directly. Her bare foot pressed on his, her toes digging in to feel it flex under hers. When she sank down, her cheek grazed his cock, still remarkably semi-erect above his scrotum. She tasted him there, a shy kiss.
Sliding her arms from his hips, she found a lower circle around his thighs and rested her head just below his genitals. Her mouth, the wetness of her breath against that first mark she'd put on his thigh. Her fingers told her he had welts everywhere. Bleeding in several places, for her dress was stained with it.
She couldn't top him. She didn't want to. She didn't want to be a Mistress to Tyler.
The knowledge of it was quietly there, the real battle she'd come in here to fight. What the waiting look in his eyes told her he'd known all along. He'd proven himself her Master even when bound, taking over her senses even without the privilege of touching her.
She was lost in him to the point of immobility, so integral that it went past having to define it as Master and sub.
She had denied what they both knew was true from the beginning, not because she didn't believe it deep in her soul but because she couldn't accept it. But he hadn't let her have any other choice. He
r own needs had forced her to face the truth.
