Mastered By The Mavericks(52)

"Damn." Imagine that. Quasmido could speak. It wasn't eloquent, but who needed to be when the artwork spoke for him? "Damn … yes."

The praise wasn't lost on Rhett-or so Reb guessed. He couldn't be  certain, when the man's return smile should've earned him a place on the  wall next to the Mona Lisa. What was with the cryptic intention-and did  it really matter? God only knew, if their positions were reversed and  Reb sat there with that stunning woman wriggling on his knees, primal  instincts would've crawled their way through his brain faster than a  caveman bearing the world's first fire. Clarity would definitely not be a  priority-especially if he had someone standing nearby to pick up the  rational thought slack.

Rebel was all too happy to be that someone for Rhett. They'd played  reverse roles this morning, with Rhett calling all the shots-and fuck,  it had been good. Nothing like an ideal opportunity for payback on the  best scale possible …

He let his body do the talking about that conclusion first.

On measured steps, he approached the bed. With calculated intent,  widened his stance. With even deeper resolve, let a weighted silence  pass. The room's stillness was unique, as if suddenly sealed off from  the party of the world outside the door. The only sound on the air was  the soft scraping of Rhett's fingertips along Brynna's spine.

Rebel turned. Leaned in. Ran his own fingers along skin, choosing the  stretch from Rhett's elbow to wrists, before meshing his fingers between  the long, firm digits that caressed over Brynn's back. Like his,  Rhett's fingers were seasoned by years of military duty. Their nicks,  callouses, and bruises said hello to each other, while the marked  difference in their heritage still separated who was who. Nordic snow  against Cajun pepper. Marble next to dark gold. The contrast captivated  him in entirely new ways.

Hot, blood-hammering ways.

Would their bodies look this good, twined with each other … buried in each other?

Brynn's moan yanked him back to the moment-though with no less  seduction. Holy fuck, she was entrancing, her body responding to every  touch they delivered, arching and dipping in response to the direction  of their hands, up and down her spine.

Her face gave him a different story.

He crouched down to look at her fully, though reluctantly ended his  handclasp with Rhett to do so. But he was damn glad he had. This was all  uncharted territory for her, and the torment on her face confirmed it  with solidarity. Her lips were twisted, and clearly, she'd not stopped  crying. The rest of her features were contorted as if they'd clamped her  nipples and clit at the same time. While the idea was beyond appealing,  it was also beyond impossible, at least for a submissive like her: a  submissive still violently opposed to even the word itself.                       
       
           



       

A submissive so conflicted about her journey, she didn't even know what to do with herself after laying across her Dom's knees.

"Oh, minette." He whispered it while brushing the hair from her eyes,  thumbing the wetness from her cheeks. "Our sweet, sassy little Brynna."

Her face screwed tighter. "Don't call me sweet," she sobbed. "I'm not sweet!"

He made sure she watched him smirk. "As a man who's tasted all the best parts of you, I strongly beg to differ."

Reb held her fast, despite her struggle to wrench back again. "I don't want you to ‘beg to differ', either. Just-"

More tears welled and spilled down her face. Rebel dropped to both knees, pushing closer to her.

"Just … what?"

"Just … be mad, okay?" Her gaze blazed, pure fire against pine, before she  closed it once more. "Be what I thought you were going to be. Stop  worrying about me."

He pushed his thumbs against her hairline. Was two seconds away from  delving them further then seizing her scalp as hard as he could,  demanding the full revelation behind those words. She would've been fine  with their rage, but not their apprehension? She was totally okay with  the consequences of pissing them off, but not the emotions from stirring  theirs?

This shit went beyond the dynamics of denying her submissiveness. It was  tied directly into her whole sense of self-and the worth of that self.

Or in her case, the total lack of that worth.

No fucking way was he letting her listen to that playlist anymore. He'd  grown up as the king of those self-hatred mix tapes. Hell, he still wore  the crown. The filthy hoard of them was right there, stacked at the  back of his mind, guarded by an historian who made Jabba the Hut seem  like Snow White. He knew the steep price of keeping up the self-hatred  collection-and he'd be damned to see her pay it, too. Not Brynna.

A sharp jab at his shoulder commanded his head up-

To where Rhett waited, steely gaze and set jaw-with a new tape to jam  into his deck. The one that had all his crap filtered out of the song,  letting him hear just Brynn's again. The one that told him she wasn't  listening to anything right now but her confusion and chaos-and that  they needed to slice through that crap before she could hear anything  else.

The one that dictated they were the perfect men for the job.

The revelations cascaded, one on top of another, as Rhett looked on,  smirk rising higher and higher. The beautiful bastard had known every  shred of this already. It was why he'd ordered Brynn across his lap in  the first place.

Rebel grinned. Then, with one definite glance downward, told his buddy it was time to hang on to her a little tighter.

Rhett grinned back-and complied at once.

As that happened, Reb bent his head again, realigning his gaze with Brynna's.

"I'm not going to lie to you, minette. We were worried. But mierde, we  were also mad." He cupped her chin in one hand, ordering her gaze to  remain locked in his. As he felt a storm brewing in his eyes, a growl  formed in his voice. "Damn near out of our minds, Brynna-from both. Do  you understand that? Do you truly get it?"

Her eyes were dry now, but her lips trembled. Perhaps she sensed they  were getting on to the part she dreaded but needed. Perhaps even craved.  "I get what it's like to be so concerned for someone, especially  because of shit they brought on themselves, that your stress becomes  fury." She swallowed hard and grimaced. "It … sucks," she stammered. "Real  bad."

Rebel released a long breath through his nostrils. Yearned desperately  to kiss her, but held back. She didn't need tenderness right now. Nor  did she even want it. Still, his voice was a grate as he affirmed,  "Yeah. It does suck." He dipped his head. Adjusted his weight against  his haunches. He was going to be here a while. "And yeah, you do know  all about it, don't you?"

He almost felt like shit for that one. Almost. She wasn't stupid,  meaning it was easy enough for her to fill in his inferences, to know  they'd done some research about the shit she'd blurted this morning.  God, was that only this morning? They'd come so far since those tangled,  crazy moments on the futon. Now … they were about to go farther. Goddamn,  at least he hoped.

She didn't respond to his probe. For long moments, he wasn't sure if she  would. Her shallow breaths told him nothing. Her continued tears told  him nothing.

But her new grimace, trapped by claws so vicious they almost made him wince, told him everything.

"I'm … sorry. I am." The sobbing echoes vibrated with grief, confirming  his original conviction. All of this-her breakdown back at the ranch,  her secret escape and solo crusade for Zoe, even the way she'd flipped  from ferocious in the parking lot to this teary mess now-was wrapped  into shit that twined deeper inside her.                       
       
           



       

Much deeper.

Shit they were never going to get to, unless her remorse was cleared out  of the way. Until she felt like the debt had been paid, the scales  righted.

"Ssshhh." Now, he did kiss her-a quick tap, on the tip of her nose, before assuring, "We know you are, cher. We know."

She didn't look reassured at all. "You know, but you don't forgive."

He palmed her cheek. "Our forgiveness was yours from the moment you  uttered your first apology." He filtered his fingertips into her hair.  "But that makes no difference in the end. Forgiving yourself is what  matters, and where the changes take place." He let a long moment-and  those words-settle over her. "You haven't forgiven yourself for anything  in a long time, have you, Brynna?"

The start of a sharp pssshhh burst from her-until he jerked her chin  once more. As the sound cut short, so did the protest in her eyes. Even  so, she gritted, "That's a little easier said than done, Sergeant."