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"Will you tell me something about you I don't know yet?" he asked. His questions and thoughts sometimes came out of an abrupt place, not really connected to the conversation, and her surprised expression reminded him of that social awkwardness. "What I mean is, I know about your job, that you're pretty hot shit at what you do. Else you wouldn't be so flush and have people wanting you to travel all over the place to teach them what you know. I guess I just wondered who you are when you're not doing that or Domme stuff."
What the hell was he doi
ng? "Forget it," he said before she could speak. "It was stupid of me to ask. I know this is...this is about The Zone, and club stuff, and you helping me out and challenging yourself as a Mistress. The personal stuff becomes part of that enough without even more of it getting tangled in and making this more than it's not."
Her expression was unreadable. He wished he could figure things out from it, but when she wanted to use it, she had a damn good poker face. "So you don't want to know more about me, personally?" she asked.
"No. No, I don't. It's okay." He rose to his feet and started to backpedal. "I'm going to go hit the restroom."
She ignored that. "My mother lives in Cedar Key, Florida," she said. "My dad wasn't part of the picture, so she was a single mom. I have a couple siblings. One's in New Hampshire working for a senator; the other's down in Texas on an oil rig. They're both married, with kids, and I love them all. I see my mom about once a month, and get together with my sister and brother whenever I can."
She took a breath. "I was married. Once. In my twenties."
He'd stopped as she started to speak, but that brought him a few steps closer again, his gaze fixed on her face.
"He left me because he said he wanted to be with a woman who knew how to be a woman. He was a vanilla guy who didn't get the Domme part of me. It was stupid for me to even try, but I apparently had to do it once to figure out that it was essential for me in a relationship. I loved him, but it just didn't work."
He couldn't imagine her hooked up with a guy who didn't crave the Mistress side of her. It would be a fucking waste. Moving back to her, he sank to his knees and reached up to cup her face in one hand, his thumb sliding along her jaw. "He didn't have to be a dick about it. Anyone who doesn't think you're a woman isn't paying fucking attention."
Her lips curved, the sadness in her eyes from the memory dissipating. "He was hurt, angry. We say the wrong things when we feel like that. Right?"
Yeah. He couldn't cast a lot of stones on that one, could he? But her tone wasn't reproving, a reminder of his faults. Just matter-of-fact.
"He didn't understand how much it hurt. He couldn't see inside me. That was when I realized I needed a submissive lover to unlock that part of me that allows a man to look inside. He was so macho and alpha, and he thought I was asking him to be less of a man. It was a weird, dysfunctional competition of sorts, where I had to stay shoulder to shoulder with him all the time, because if I gave way to him, he'd just take over and I'd be lost."
She curled her hand around his wrist, his palm still against her jaw. "For all the things I kick your ass about, Marius, that's not one of them. You get it, how being a man and a submissive aren't in conflict. That's part of why you're such a lovely sub...and such a dangerous man." She blinked, glanced toward the bathroom. "If you really do need to go, you might want to head off and take care of that. The plane's landed and they'll join us shortly."
Instead, he stood up fully on his knees to put his mouth on hers. Still on his knees, he held her with a strength and sureness her body registered with a gratifying tremble. When he pulled back, he held her gaze.
"I'd never want you to be less than you are, Mistress. You're a Domme, through and through, and I love that about you. I also love that you're strong enough to let me take care of you sometimes."
"I like that you're man enough to do it and kneel to me." Her eyes swept him. "You're doing both things at once, right now."
He smiled against her mouth and kissed her again, long and lingering. I want to take care of you. I'd like the way that would feel, you trusting me to do that. No way he could say that, because it was only a breath away from wishful thinking, but he put it in the kiss, hoping she heard him.
Her fingers slid around his waist and back and held him close. They were probably giving the rest of the lounge a show, but if she was cool with it, he didn't give a fuck about anything but her. At length and with reluctance, he eased back. "I won't be long," he said.
"Better not. I'll leave without you." She winked, plucking one of her trade magazines out of her computer bag. He felt her regard, though, as he moved toward the restrooms. When he reached the door, he paused and looked back. She made no attempt to conceal that she was ogling his ass. It surprised a smile out of him and she grinned back.
She'd kept him from being completely freaked out by that whatever-the-hell it was that had taken him by the throat. And then helped him realize they all had their demons, by sharing some of her own. She didn't have any problem showing her own vulnerabilities, because she saw them as adding to her strength, not detracting from it.
Something to think about.
When he returned, she wasn't alone. He regretted that, but put a good face on it, pushing down his uneasiness about his state of mind in mixed company. He wouldn't fail her. He wouldn't shame his Mistress.
He vaguely remembered Peter Winston and his wife, Dana, enough to recognize them as he joined them. Peter was a big son of a bitch with military-short dark blond hair and steely eyes. From club gossip, Marius knew he'd done two tours in the Middle East with the National Guard, before he'd returned permanently to fulltime work as a plant operations manager with Kensington & Associates in New Orleans. Yet the main reason he'd withdrawn from the military was Dana herself.
Dana had been in the Army, but had been disabled by an IED. She was blind, her hearing managed capably by a cochlear implant. When she and Peter played at The Zone, Marius's sharp eyes detected the faint scars revealed by her scant outfits. Scars that might have been far worse, but Marius suspected Peter's lucrative resources had paid for the plastic surgery that restored her striking features. Dana's sharp sensuality was deeper than the physical, though. As the petite black woman with close-cropped hair turned in his direction, he saw it in her body language. Like his Mistress, she had more than a skin-deep beauty.
She wore a purple flowing blouse and black slacks over trendy-looking ankle boots. A necklace with black beads and small silver charms led down to a pair of dog tags. The quick glint of light off the lettering showed they were Peter's. Since Marius knew Dana was a dedicated submissive, he suspected it was a day collar, a way she could wear a symbol of her Master's ownership without comment in the vanilla world. His fingertips slid along the ID bracelet on his arm. Much like what his Mistress had given him.
"I believe you've met Marius before," Regina said to Peter and Dana.
"Yeah. Marius." As Peter shook his hand, Marius detected reserve in the greeting, and speculative scrutiny. Not unfriendly but not a blank pass, either. Peter knew some of what had been happening with him, probably from The Zone scuttlebutt. Getting information about members of The Zone in the outside world would have been a challenge for the most secretive branches of government, because privacy was taken seriously at the club. But inside the club, gossip could be as rampant as in any other fishbowl. Marius tried not to let it bug him.
Dana extended her hand. "Glad you could join us today," she said. She wore dark glasses to cover her blind eyes, but looked toward him, following the sound of his movements. When he took her hand, instead of shaking his, she clasped and held it, pressing a warm grip upon him. Her quiet calm had an intensity to it that wasn't unpleasant, but it was unsettling, as if she was seeing things with her touch deeper than sight could provide.
"The pilot's ready to go, so let's catch up on the plane," Peter advised, gesturing them toward the exit door.
