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She wasn't a negotiator. She didn't caress his fingers as she wished to do. She merely held him, reading the energy pulsing through the scarred knuckles. No new scrapes on them, so at least he hadn't been back in the fighting ring since last she'd seen him. Though maybe he would have come here more settled if he had, that was a defusing tactic she didn't want him utilizing.
She slid her hand to his wrist and held it as she took the towel from his loosened grip and handed it to the tense Rob. "On your knees," she said softly to Marius. "Or get out of my sight."
When she'd touched his hand, he'd adjusted his attention. He was staring down, at her breasts, at the taut nipples and rounded curves etched out by his wet T-shirt, her dark skin turning the white fabric a gray color, like a dove. Or like his eyes, which were fixated on them. Not in a lecherous way, but as if he was trying to understand something by holding his mind there, maybe following the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath.
He lifted a hand, his fingers half curled. For a moment, she thought he was going to brush his knuckles against one of her curves, or even her face, but he didn't.
The switch flipped and the lights went off behind his eyes. Her heart sank three or four floors.
He stepped back from her. Took a couple steps, his eyes remaining on her face until he pivoted and left the sitting area. He headed toward the exit, not looking left or right. The abrupt decision and departure sent a hard jolt into her chest, which suddenly felt so empty her legs almost buckled from weakness.
Fuck. The ultimatum had been necessary, n
o question, but where did that leave them now?
Finished. It was done.
Chapter Six
For better or worse, that was the end of it. So there was no reason for her to contact Marguerite and request a meet with her. But Regina had and here she was, at Tea Leaves on an early afternoon. The sun was sending shards of mellow light through the branches of the oak trees canopying the porch at the cafe's entrance.
She'd been here plenty of times before, and not just because the tea selection and the baked treats were incomparable. Once a year, Marguerite threw a card party for her Domme friends. Dress code was "dressed-up," but the chosen outfit had to come from a time other than the present decade. Regina had worn a 1940s peach-colored dress with lots of gauzy fabric over figure molding satin, coupled with a white hat festooned by flowers and feathers. Donning elbow-length white gloves had made her realize just how erotic they felt, clinging to wrists and finger tips, a feeling increased by the plethora of rhinestone bracelets she'd worn.
Tea service had been handled by a small team of female submissives hired from The Zone staff. Gen had pitched in to coordinate their efforts. Gen had worked for Marguerite for some time, but when she became Lyda's, she'd left full time employment with the cafe, with Marguerite's blessings. She handled the books and other administrative duties at Lyda's landscaping business.
Until she'd found her current subs, Noah and Gen, Lyda had been much like Regina, enjoying her submissives but not pursuing much with them outside the club-type environments. Perhaps one of the main reasons she and Lyda were friends was that they held the same viewpoint on relationships. When Lyda found the right one, she'd act on it, but until then she'd made it clear there was too damn much to do and enjoy to spend a lot of time on romantic pining. If she'd had any patience for such nonsense.
Lyda was even farther on the pragmatic end of the scale than Regina was. But Lyda had revealed a woman's desire to love and commit when she'd found the two submissives she wanted above all others. She was still a hardass and a tough Mistress, but now the extreme end of that manifested itself only toward anyone who didn't understand Noah and Gen belonged to her.
At the tea party, Regina had teased Lyda about leaving Noah at home. Lyda had promptly responded that Marguerite had said no pets. That bitch. Which was a shame, because looking at a collared Noah, kneeling at Lyda's feet, was never a hardship on the eyes.
Regina imagined Marius doing that. When she'd ordered him to kneel, he'd wanted to obey her. She'd felt it.
After their two encounters, she had an even better understanding of why a lot of Mistresses didn't go any further with him. Who would bother, even if they had caught that glimmer inside him she had? Most Mistresses would rightly decide he could take his precious dysfunctionality and go jump in a lake with it. Get over yourself already, dude.
But she was dealing with more than some narcissistic, self-pitying, the world-doesn't-understand me crap. She went back to that moment when he'd stared at her breasts in a way that wasn't entirely sexual.
As a woman, she'd responded to the desire of the fully grown, powerful man. But her inner spirit, that deep Goddess Mother that every woman carried, had felt the yearning of the child, his need. She thought he was trying to find his way to her through alligators and monsters, things so twisted in his own head they were blinding him. His only hope was that she would hear his silent scream with something that went far beyond hearing or sight.
What had happened to this man? The abyss within him was deep and dangerous, and she knew she was too close to the edge. But she wasn't stepping away. Which was the crux of why she was here, trying to find out more. Even though she'd told him they were over and had meant it.
Yeah, it didn't have to make sense.
There were Mistresses who had the damsel-in-distress problem, only the damsel was male. However, no different from their male counterparts who embraced the surface role of hero, they lost interest once the "damsel" was seemingly "saved."
It was a dysfunctionality she recognized and disliked. It had no more substance than falling in and out of love every six months to enjoy that euphoric high of the connection.
Up until now, she'd set clear lines with the troubled subs she'd taken on. She was up front about what the relationship would and wouldn't be. But she wasn't clear about what this relationship would and wouldn't be. Which meant she wasn't done with it yet.
As she entered Tea Leaves, Regina felt the spurt of warmth she always did at seeing Chloe, Marguerite's full time employee. The young woman was working the mostly occupied tables with the help of another girl, perhaps a part-time hire from the local college. Marguerite would take her time choosing a second fulltime person to replace Gen. She didn't enter into any relationship lightly.
Chloe was unique in the BDSM world. She was self-admittedly vanilla yet sexually adventurous, enough to have won the interest of Brendan, a delicious and fully committed submissive male who thought the sun rose and set behind Chloe. When she looked up and saw Regina, she beamed and waved with such infectious pleasure in her brown eyes, Regina couldn't argue with Brendan's assessment.
Chloe could top Brendan when needed. Dominance and submission were traits as well as an orientation, and everyone had a reservoir of either one. Fortunately, it seemed Chloe could call on her Dominant qualities in ways Brendan needed. He served her with all the devotion and care that any worthy man in love did, regardless of his sexual interests.
It was yet another example of why Regina loved the BDSM world. No relationship was predictable, though the undercurrent was something as familiar and stable to those in it as the foundation of a home.
Chloe straightened and pushed back a lock of her curly hair. She had it bobbed right now and it was tousled in a series of chaotic ringlets, some of them dyed blue. Her purple T-shirt had a Tree of Life on it with the gentle declaration "And it harm none, do as you will."
