“I hope you brought six more of those.”
Bypassing the picnic table, she went further down the slope to the water. He helped her spread out the blanket she’d brought and then took an edge while she laid out their lunch, handing him the cheese, baguette and knife. “Can you cut off a few pieces for a sandwich? How many do you want?”
As they ate in easy silence, she took the time to study him. The way he ate, like a man, with whole hearty bites she knew would have him finished and eyeing her sandwich in no time. He had manners, though, using a napkin liberally and chewing with his mouth closed. Things like that were important, as was the way he wore his clothes. He wasn’t a fashion plate, but his shirt was ironed and the jeans were not faded or ripped. It mattered to him how he presented himself, and she liked that. She reached out, stroked a hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the curls, the way they ringed her knuckles like a baby’s. Touching his cheekbone, she traced it as he chewed, feeling the movement of the muscle in his jaw, the wonder of him. Smoothed a finger over the trim moustache, stroked the beard line. As he had when she looked at him in the car, he sat quietly beneath her touch, not interrupting her pleasure with an interactive 64
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response. It stirred the deep primal part of her, the way he understood so instinctively how to be a submissive and please his Mistress. She knew he sensed the rousing of the Dominant in her, for his chewing slowed, his fingers curling on the napkin on his knee, adding to the heat of the stillness increasing between them. She liked that part, feeling the weight of anticipation unfurl in her lower belly and seeing he was aware of it, wary.
“What do you like, Mackenzie?” she asked softly.
Those silver eyes rose. “I like you.”
His eyes were serious, his lips firm so that she wanted to take a bite out of them. “I meant, what do you like to do? Hobbies, passions? Other than the things you do at The Zone.”
And how long had he done that? How many women had he called Mistress before her? It mattered, but it wasn’t right to ask it, not yet.
“You mean, other than you?” He caressed her knee, laid a kiss on it, nuzzled, worked his way up her denim-clad thigh, nibbling so she felt the press of his teeth. She accommodated him, shifting to part her legs slightly for a moment, then tugged on his hair.
“Enough,” she reproved, though she knew her voice was a bit breathy. “Hobbies, Mac.”
“Tall ships,” he said. “I like putting together models. I read a lot of those old sea stories, the really old ones you only find in junk shops or at library sales, things written by the sailors themselves in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. And cooking. I like cooking.”
“Did you ever go on one? A tall ship?”
“Sure. There are trips you can take in the reproductions, where you sign on as crew and work a couple weeks. It isn’t exactly like the good old days. They make you wear harnesses when you’re worked out on a yard a hundred feet above deck.”
“Well, it would be such a mess to clean up otherwise. Do you have your own boat?”
“A little McKee craft I take out sometimes on the weekends. I’ll take you out sometime. In fact, I’d really like to take you.” A shadow crossed his expression and she frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m getting lost in you too fast, I think.” He looked startled that he’d spoken so bluntly to her. “I mean…I didn’t mean…”
“No, that’s fine.” She shook her head. “I like when you tell me straight out what’s in your heart.” And I like the fact that you’re feeling out of control. “Motorcycles, tall ships…you are an adrenaline junkie, Mackenzie.” Knowing what she knew about him, she expected nothing less. But there was at least one question to which she didn’t know the answer, and she’d ask it before she lost her nerve.
“Are you involved with someone? I know you said you hadn’t been married, but—
”
He flicked a glance at her. “What kind of guy do you think I am?” 65
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She lifted a shoulder. “It’s not unusual for a man to visit the club scene alone, especially if his girlfriend isn’t into it. Double life sort of thing. I know some married guys at The Zone whose spouses know about it, even give them their blessing, because they feel like it keeps the craving under control. Like a limited indulgence in drugs to keep it from becoming a destructive addiction. Or obsession.” He didn’t smile. “Hey.” His hand covered hers on the blanket and she raised wary eyes to his steady ones. “I’m all yours, sugar. Okay?”
“Okay.” Relief spread through her and became warmth when he kept hold of her hand and lay back on his elbows. She twisted her fingers over his, spread them both out, played idle finger games with him for a few minutes in silence as he studied her.
The air grew charged between them, and she pressed her lips together. “Me, either,” she relented. “I’m not involved, or married.”
“Good. I don’t share.”
It was a provocative statement, delivered with a tone and a direct stare that was far from submissive. She was bemused at the reaction of her own body, a jump in response at the possessive statement that tightened her nipples against the soft lining of her bra.
“Me either.” She gave it back to him with a hard, penetrating look to let him know he was dancing on the line. “Not unless I order it, and I’m there to watch.” He inclined his head. His move. “I…There’s no command of yours I’ll refuse, but…
I’m not much into men. The whole ass-fucking thing…”
“Has a woman ever done it to you?”
He sat up, linked his hands over his knees, and her sharp eyes noted the defensive posture. “Just some finger stuff or plugs, like you did.”
“No Mistress ever—”
“Most found that they were wasting a perfectly good cock they could use for their own pleasure.”
Defensive, definitely. Almost surly. She saw him bite it back, try for a smile to smooth it over.
“You’re a submissive afraid to let go of control, afraid to have your most vulnerable areas investigated.” She studied him, let him squirm a bit under her intent regard. “You tell a Mistress she can do anything to you, no safe words, no boundaries, but then you con her into doing only what keeps to the edges of your comfort zone.”
“I prefer the word ‘charm’.”
“I call it like I see it.” She took a bite of bread. “And you should know better than to argue with me about it at this point. Tell me why you’re a sub, Mac. Why not be a Dominant? You obviously bleed alpha. What’s driving you to submit to a woman sexually? Open up.”
He opened his mouth, took the offering from her fingers, lightly nibbling one fingertip, then caught it in his mouth between his teeth. He did not let go when she exerted gentle pressure, and she narrowed her eyes as his hand lifted, circled her wrist, 66
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held her captive to run his tongue along her sensitive knuckles, nibble on the pads of her fingers. Instead of resisting, she relaxed, waited until she had his attention to lift a disinterested brow.
“You know, horses sometimes do this,” she said. “Catch your hand in their mouth when they’re playing, not realizing they can hurt you. Or at least people say that. But I think horses know exactly how strong and tough they are.” She took her free hand, ran it along his jaw line. “I think they know they can take your fingers off, and they’re reminding you that, no matter how often you ride them, what saddle or bridle you put on them, they’re stronger, and can take you down in a moment.” She slid her touch under his chin, squeezed his jaw with her fingers, exerting the bite of her nails until he got the message and eased up. “But those beautiful, magnificent creatures bow to our will. They serve us only if they trust that they’re better off with the reins in our hands.” She cocked her head. “Only if they believe without a doubt we’re worthy of being in control.”
He let go with his mouth and she removed her fingers, but he did not relinquish her wrist.
“I’d like to make love to you. Here. Now.”
She swallowed, closed her fingers into a fist. “I don’t think I’m ready to let you do that, Mackenzie. You don’t trust me enough.”
He shook his head. “It’s to show you can trust me.” For it to be as good as it should be, it had to be a two way street. He didn’t understand that. Still, the idea of lying in the late afternoon sun, a touch of fall nipping in the air, with him inside of her… it was a difficult image to resist, particularly with his fingers playing over hers, his silver eyes marking every response of her body.
She could imagine how it would look to a hawk flying overhead, the two of them entwined, Mac’s thighs and buttocks tightening and releasing as he slid in, drew out, the slow strokes she would demand, that would drive her to the edge, fulfilled. His smell, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against her neck.
He was closer now, his mouth only a breath from hers, his hand sliding to her waist, drawing her closer, drawing her down against him. She cupped a hand to the side of his head, met his tongue just inside his lips, then he drew her in, opening his mouth to devour hers, his arms closing around her, holding her secure, letting out a groan of pure pleasure she felt rumble in his chest, pressed against her aching breasts.