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"Sometimes I wonder if it's not as bad as people think," he said. "Maybe Hell's for those who feel good stuff is too bright. They couldn't figure out how to let that kind of light in during their lives, so Lucifer's job is to help them out. In Hell, they can let in light a little at a time, until it doesn't hurt so much or make them angry. Then it can burn all the bad stuff away."
His brow still had that thoughtful crease she wanted to tease with her lips. She let her fingertips slide across it, under the strands of his dark hair. "Why would good things make people angry?"
His opposite knee, the one she wasn't touching, twitched as if tapped by a doctor's mallet. "I don't know. But it does. Maybe because they can see it but not feel it. The sun is like fluorescent light, no heat or substance to it. They don't feel the qualities everyone else says are there. So those people need hellfire for light to seem real, and to finally feel warm." His lips tugged. "Even if it hurts like hell."
"You don't feel any heat from the sun, hmm?" Despite the emotions his words raised inside her, she said it teasingly, reminding him with the pointed comment what she'd said about being the sun.
"You're different. I did compare you to Lucifer, after all," he said. Removing his arm from behind her, he grasped her hand on his thigh. A well-trained sub like Rob would have waited for her to approve contact each time, unless she gave him a specific, open-ended directive. Whereas once encouraged to do so, Marius hadn't hesitated to continue to make that kind of contact.
She'd given him tacit permission to treat this like a date. Yet she didn't think it would have mattered. It was a core difference in the type of subs they each were, and it didn't displease her. She appreciated Rob, but was admittedly quite drawn to some of Marius's less disciplined qualities. Except when they led to him being more self-destructive.
She also noticed Marius either hadn't caught or had let pass her decision to make his analogy more personal, referencing him as one of those who had trouble feeling the light...and dealing with anger.
As their fingers interlaced, she felt the coarseness of his knuckles and palm, the heat and strength of his grip. He nodded to the ice cream stand. "Ready to tell me I'm dreamy?"
"With fluttering lashes, clasped hands and everything." Managing the wiseass remark was an effort, given how much was going through her head. He hadn't been bullshitting her with his unexpected evaluation of Hell. Yes, he was clever and manipulative, but when he was giving her total honesty, he spoke slower, in a more measured way.
Truth wasn't easy or quick for him.
She chose a scoop of chocolate. He went with root beer, a hideous combination in her opinion. Until he put the two flavors together on a spoon and convinced her to taste. Then she was sure of it.
She ate every bit of hers, avoiding the connecting point between the two scoops so he could have that distasteful part. She noticed his amusement when she licked the spoon clean.
"I have to pay for every calorie with blood and sweat in Lyda's insane fitness class. Which should be called the You-Are-Paying-Me-To-Kill-You work out. I torture myself there
three times a week."
"Yeah, I've heard about it." He took cup and spoons from her and threw it all away before they wandered back toward the rail. "She doesn't like me much."
"Can you blame her?"
"No. Not really. What I said that day, in Tyler's office, about it not being my fault that Mistresses get in over their heads. She's not one of those. But I shouldn't have said that anyway."
It was an unexpected admission, but she accepted it with a neutral expression. "No, you shouldn't have. But you were still pretty wound up from the scene. Makes a person stupid. You needed more aftercare to calm you down."
He picked up on the direction of her thoughts with unsettling accuracy. "It wasn't your fault."
"No. But if I could do it again, I would have stepped in and told Alex that you needed more defusing time before seeing Tyler."
"You would have had to be my Mistress to have that authority."
"Yes, I would have," she agreed, meeting and holding his gaze.
"I don't know if that would have made any difference," he said, looking back out at the water. A shrimp trawler was trundling past, coming in from a late night out on the ocean. "I don't really need a lot of aftercare. Just toss me a towel and a bottle of water. Not really into the cuddling, nurturing shit."
"That night, hair of the dog would have been my choice," she said. "Tie you down to a spanking bench, take you with a strap-on. Give you a brisk rub down after you'd come a couple times. Your testosterone was running way too high and you still had too many knots inside you. Just because you put off the tough guy vibes doesn't mean you don't need extensive aftercare. It probably means you need more, when the session's done right."
She made the words casual, matter-of-fact, but felt his intent stare come back to her as they leaned against the rail together, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. When he didn't say anything, she turned to look at him. He didn't smile, studying her hard enough to pierce blood and bone. His eyes reflected a need so strong she wanted to reach out and touch him, but she quelled it, especially when he straightened, his expression shuttering.
"I don't want to be put under a microscope, by you or anyone else."
He pivoted and walked away from her. He didn't seem in a hurry; he just needed to be away. Even though it was an effort, she let him go. She went back to studying the movement of light on the water, crossing her arms on the rail and propping her upper body against them to make her viewing more comfortable.
He might leave her there. She had a phone and knew how to call a cab, so that didn't concern her. She wouldn't get in a car with him if he was making a shift to a more volatile mood anyhow. Disappointment lurked in her lower belly, but she pushed it away. Whatever happened, happened.
It took him about five minutes. As he'd progressed down the Riverwalk, his movements became more jerky and angry, as if he was having a fight with himself. She didn't watch him for long, preferring instead to enjoy the night scenery and listen to the brief snatches of conversation from people strolling along behind her.
She'd closed her eyes and lifted her face to the touch of the breeze, when she felt the rail vibrate from his weight settling against it.
