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He didn’t want to go back. He wanted her. Every tragic, beautiful, amazing, dysfunctional, exceptional, infuriating inch of her.
“Open my jeans,” he ordered, closing his hands into fists to keep him from cradling her face in his palms, kissing away each tear. She needed to know he did care enough to be angry. He needed to impress upon her in an irrevocable fashion that she answered to someone in her life. He told himself she needed that more than he needed to relieve the aching pain in his heart that felt as if it were infectin
g his soul.
Her fingers moved over him, took the zipper down. Stepping back from her, he shoved them down his thighs. “Take off the rest of your clothes,” he said gruffly. “Turn around on the bed and get on all fours, on your knees and elbows. I want your ass in the air so I can more easily fuck it, see how I’ve strapped it. ” She obeyed, tossing her white hair forward in a way that had his mouth watering, the well-toned, lithe body stretching out in the position he proscribed like a fabled white she-tiger, her back arched, head down on her elbows. She was shaking. So was he. He’d believed she was his submissive, his slave, from the beginning, this great Mistress and strong woman who had been through so much, but until the moment of this reality there’d always been the possibility he’d been wrong. This was the turning point, even more than the night at his Gulf home had been.
“Lubricant. ”
“In the armoire in the corner. Where I keep all my Zone things. It’s unlocked. ” He discarded the rest of his clothes and strode across the room. Marguerite watched him, a pure, virile male animal completely in control of the situation and of her. A deep quaking was going on in the pit of her belly. She needed him to ease it. To assuage the hunger and the pain. She needed to bite and claw and fight him and have him win.
Needed to know he would claim her, make her submit to him, not because it was a game or Zone requirement, but because they were mated together. Belonged to each other as he said.
So when he came back she tried to roll to her back. He caught her elbows, flipped her, held her down with a hand on her neck and a growl, bringing her back onto her knees with her hips in the air. She was so slick that he rubbed his fingers in her cunt and used that to initially oil her rim.
He also used the lubricant, slid his slicked-down fingers into her ass with deliberate efficiency. No hesitation, firm, not brutal but not gentle, underscoring his right to use her body, take and give pleasure to it as he chose. She moaned softly, rocking against his touch. At his growl to be still, she hissed a challenge, struggled for her way, but at his hard slap on her abused buttocks, she went still again.
From his vantage point Tyler could see her night drawer. A portion of the black scarf she normally would have used under the belt was not tucked all the way in, goading him further. Though he recognized it as the same type of anger a wolf would show toward his mate for endangering herself, he did not deny the animal drive to it.
When he’d seen the mark on her neck, he’d known she’d deliberately defied him. She’d thrown down the gauntlet, perhaps not knowing why herself. Within Marguerite the woman, the abused child still sought answers and peace. He wanted to give her both.
Give her everything. And paddle her until she cried for scaring him so badly. And fuck her until she couldn’t imagine any day without him.
As he slid his fingers in her tight rear passage he spoke, commanding the answer he’d not gotten from her earlier. “Did you climax when you did it?”
“I… Yes. ”
“What were you thinking about?”
“You. ” Her head was pressed to her forearms now. Reaching forward, he caught her hair in his hand, tugged it back so he could see her face. The desperate arousal, the need. And it was that which gentled his touch at last, made him ease his hold into a stroke.
“I won’t do this rough. ” Pressing her head back down to her arms, he let his fingertips drift along the nape of her neck, back over the scars and her reddened cheeks.
Welts were already rising on the pale, delicate skin. She wouldn’t sit easily for a week.
While that gave him lustful satisfaction, the idea of rubbing healing salve into them stirred him as well.
He straightened, guided himself into the lubricated passage and went deep as the muscle released, letting him in. She moaned as he dropped to all fours over her, covering her. Her cheek pressed against his forearm, her lips to his hand. “Everywhere he’s been, I’m there now, driving him out. I won’t let him come back. I’m inside you, in every part of you. ” He started to move his hips, slow, incremental friction that made his cock even harder and thicker, made his desire to thrust more violently grow.
“This is still a punishment, so I’m not going to let you come. You’re just going to have to walk around all day today with your ass too sore to sit, your cunt swollen and wet, your nipples hard and pressed against your dress, knowing that tonight, I’ll come back to your bed. I’ll make you come then, hard and often, until you’re so exhausted you’ll beg me to stop, but I won’t. Not until you call me Master over and over and I know you’ll never forget it. ”
When she shuddered, he kissed her between her shoulder blades. Pressed his hard thighs against the back of her lovely ones and the rise of her pale buttocks to drive into her more deeply. Balancing his weight with one arm, he collared her throat, lifted her so her back was against his chest, her head against his shoulder. “By my hand only. By my cock and mouth only, unless I command otherwise. Say it and mean it. ”
“By your hand only,” she whispered hoarsely around the pressure of that grip. “By your cock and mouth only, unless you command it. Master. I’m sorry. ” He closed his eyes, pressed his temple to hers and began to thrust home. Harder, as she needed, as he needed. Holding her throat, her life pulsing strong under his touch, he accepted responsibility for it. She was so strong the only thing that could shatter her was the thing she’d never been offered, that had never nourished her long enough to count.
Love.
He felt his testicles draw up, snarled low in her ear and let himself go, flooding her, feeling the slap of their bodies together, his thighs against her striped buttocks, his cock stroking that tight passage over and over. He didn’t want to stop, groaning his release hard and fierce as she whispered his name in frantic arousal.
Oh, hell. He couldn’t bear to make her wait. His hand moved down between that perfect meshing of their hips and found her clit. It was as much for him as for her. He wanted to hear her full-throated cries as she came at his touch. Two, maybe three adamant manipulations and she went over, rolling hard against him, her head turning into his shoulder, even with the collaring of his hand. He used the movement to dip his head and fasten his teeth in her flesh, holding her as he continued to smack against her ass with his body, play with her swollen folds, feeling her juices in his palm, her cunt against his fingers.
His.
They shuddered into quiet, becoming aware of the turn of her ceiling fan, the dim light of her room with the sheer panels at the windows. The world outside continued going by, oblivious to their struggle, their passion, the moment of fulfillment and change.
He eased out of her as she remained still, obeying his Will by staying in the same position, her ass raised high in the air. It made his drained cock stir, telling him she could well nigh kill him with lust. He eased her to her side so he could lean over her, stroke the hair from her face.
“Where is it, Marguerite?”
