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"Tell me more about this mystery Domme, then."
"She won't be driven by a sentimental desire to save him, though she may very well do that. She'll first be interested in the challenge he offers to her skills." Marguerite laid her head back down on his arm, her body shivering as he idly cupped her breast, stroked over her navel and down to her smooth sex. He noted with satisfied male interest her next words were more breathless. "That's what will draw her to him and will be the only thing that works, because she has to stay detached enough to stay ahead of him on every level."
"She'll have to be stronger than I was. I couldn't stay detached from you. You had my heart from the first time you tried to stab me with a cake knife."
"You wouldn't have said that if you were a hair less quick," she said dryly.
"Yes, I would have." He pressed his lips to her throat, used teeth, and felt her pulse elevate. "As I told you then, I'm not afraid to bleed for you."
Her hand gripped his forearm in aroused reaction and he saw her lashes lower as her eyes closed. "Keep explaining," he said. "You're not done."
Her lips curved, even as her fingers quivered on his at the command. "Sadist. For her to reach him completely, at some point she'll have to love him. Because love is the only thing that saves a lost soul. But I don't think it can start that way. I was wounded, but I'd reached a balancing point in other aspects of my life, like running Tea Leaves, and my tentative friendships with Chloe and Gen. When I struck out at you, it was more from fear than hate and the need to do violence. Marius...I'm not sure he's there yet."
Her expression became more serious as she turned her face to him. Her hand stilled his on her stomach. "If there is a woman who decides to walk the path with him that you walked with me, she'll be risking herself in ways I'm not sure are wise. But that's the risk of loving a lost soul. They can drag whoever's trying to love them into hell and destroy them there."
"Or pull them out and save them," he reminded her, wrapping his arms around her. "We're going back to bed soon. I need to be inside you again."
She made a soft noise of pleasure as he sipped from her lips, teasing her tongue with his own. "I'm yours to command. And no one else's."
"I'll make sure you remember it all day long," he promised.
At the taste of her mouth, the press of her body, and with all his senses immersed in her, he decided he wasn't waiting to have her. He reached down between them to open his slacks, and felt the tremor go through her body. Her head tipped back against his shoulder, eyes half closed. She moistened her lips.
"Master," she whispered.
"Always," he responded, with authority and need at once. He gripped her throat as he guided himself into her. He took her from behind right there in the kitchen, his other hand shifting to her waist and hip to grip. Her body arched up, moans caught in her throat as he seated himself deep and then began to thrust, slow, torturing them both.
He made her silken skin damp with perspiration, and those tremors took over, quivering all along her lovely limbs. He buried his face in her hair, found her throat and set his teeth to it, causing her to cry out at the sharp clamp, the demand that he knew she needed as much as he did.
It didn't take long to bring her to climax, his fingers stroking her clit, his cock thrusting inside her. She spoke when she was still breathless.
"Please come with me."
He could refuse her nothing. When he spilled himself in her cunt, those muscles clutching him like a vise, he couldn't think of a better way to end the discussion. Or start his day. Being inside her was the best way to start or end anything.
It seemed slow, ticking moments later that they were curled up in one another's arms, her still naked as he preferred, him with his shirt open and trousers unhooked so she could stroke his damp shaft, curl her fingers in the coarse hair around it.
Half asleep, her mouth moving against his chest, breath heating his nipple, Marguerite softly sung a few bars of the Sound of Music tune, changing the words to, "How do you solve a problem like Marius." It planted a vision in his mind of all the nuns singing the chorus, only they had the faces of the club Dommes, like her and Violet, Lyda, Regina...
She smiled when he told her that. He liked making her smile.
Marguerite's assessment had startled him, her belief that beneath Marius's ten-foot deep layers of charm and humor bullshit lay something as dark as what Tyler had found devouring her soul. At the time of that conversation, nothing as blatant as this had happened. Now, even with the grainy feed, he could see the truth of it in the session with Siren.
Marius had likely noted Siren's relative inexperience and mild character flaws while he was working as DM and security, because he was second-to-none for noticing the details when serving in those roles. Which only increased the depth of the cold anger Tyler felt as he'd watched the feed and saw how Marius used that intel against her, the same intel he would have normally used to protect her and her subs when he was working.
Those weaknesses that could be groomed into strengths, he'd instead exploited to make her doubt herself, make her insecure, put her on the defensive, and ultimately lose control.
Tyler's anger about that made him stop and give serious second thought to the plan that had started to form, the idea that had taken hold, as he studied the two key moments between Regina and Marius. He could cut Marius loose. Keep Regina out of it. Her play was mainly within the scene, with resources provided by club members at several reputable private establishments in the area, like The Zone. If Marius was kicked out of The Zone, the decision would travel fast within the closely networked BDSM community, such that he likely wouldn't be welcome anywhere else locally.
Yet Tyler knew Regina and had a tremendous respect for her skills as a Domme. While Siren was competent, he believed Marius wouldn't have gotten so far along such a destructive track with Regina. There were tough Mistresses, hard Mistresses. She was tough but not hard. Just impossible to bullshit. She gave a great deal to her subs, satisfying experiences, with the parts of herself she was willing to give, and yet never left them feeling denied. She guarded herself closely, but not because of skeletons in her closet, Tyler was almost sure. It was because she had self-
confidence and high expectations.
If he had to make an educated guess on her views about a long-term relationship, he expected when she gave her heart, she'd give herself above and beyond to the effort. But it wasn't something she'd do lightly. In the meantime, she took genuine pleasure in exercising control over her subs, her discipline and practicality keeping close rein over both their emotional responses.
Which came a little too damn close to exactly how Marguerite had described the right kind of Domme for Marius. It would be easier if the man was gay and Regina was male, because Tyler's first reaction in any situation where a woman might be at risk was to protect her. His lips twisted ruefully as he imagined Marguerite or Regina's expression if he said that aloud. He'd lost count of the times his indomitable wife had chided him about the line between chivalry and sexism.
If Regina was interested, and if he could satisfy himself that she knew what she was walking into--as much as anyone could predict an unstable submissive personality--she would deserve the opportunity.
