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He raised his head and saw, though she was teasing him, there was a serious undercurrent to her words.
“I would never be good enough for you, Mistress.”
“I think you should let me decide that. So, what are you making there?” she straightened up, reclaimed her wine and distracted him with the sight of her moist lips pressed against the clear glass. “It looks fairly simple, compared to this.”
“Making perfectly cooked pasta is an art,” he informed her. “And since the dessert is rich, I wanted to provide something simple for the entrée. An angel hair pasta tossed in a blend of garlic and oil, with a bit of herbal seasoning, and organic scrambled egg mixed in for protein. A side dish of steamed vegetables. I make the pasta myself.” He had the pleasure of seeing Violet’s mouth very nearly drop open. She caught it with a snap. “This isn’t a casual thing for you.”
“Yes, and no. The job.” He gestured vaguely with the knife. “I needed a variety of things to keep me human.”
“No meat? Is that typical for you?”
He nodded. “I’ve been a vegetarian for about ten years. When I worked deep cover in the dog fighting rings, early in my career, they liked to warm the dogs up for the crowd with farm animals.” He sampled the herb blend, nodded to himself before he continued. “I saw them tear apart a pig, chickens, a cow, then other, weaker dogs. Later, when I was in situations where I saw men fighting for their lives, knowing they weren’t going to win, I saw them lose all their identity. They were nothing but their fear in those last moments. The faces of those animals were the same, and I can’t eat a hamburger or anything like it anymore without seeing that in my head.” He shrugged. “I don’t have to cause them to die to live. And so I made my choice. I hope that’s okay.” She nodded, let him work in silence for awhile. Mac found it a comfortable one, enjoyed the smell of her perfume, the tilt of her head, the sparkle of interest in her eyes at every step that went into the process of preparing food well. He also liked the way her eyes often wandered over his body, enjoying it as she said she would.
“How did you get into D/s?” she said at length, her tone a little distracted.
Mac gave a self-conscious chuckle before he could stop himself. What the hell, he might as well tell her. The worst she could do was laugh.
“I had this dream growing up, about this woman. She’s no one I know, just a figment of my imagination. She’d come to me, and I couldn’t lift my hands, couldn’t touch her unless she said so, and she’d do incredible things to me. When I was about twenty-five, someone took me to a place like The Zone, only a lot more vanilla, as a joke. Sort of a cross S/M strip club where the girls wrapped around the poles wore leather and cracked whips. It did things to me, watching them, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. “
“So you investigated it some more.”
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He shook his head. “Not at first, but I wanted to. Told myself I was crazy, that it was crazy for a cop to be looking into something like that. We both know what a dangerous line D/s is to walk, what places it can take you, but it lingered in my mind. It was always there whenever sex was an issue.
“Then I got an undercover assignment where the suspect liked to frequent places like The Zone. I saw the less seedy side of it, started realizing it might not be up there with kiddie porn. On a lark, the suspect talked me into playing Dom one night to one of the willing staff. I sucked at it, but fortunately that helped my cover. When it was over, a Mistress came over to me, whispered into my ear. ‘You’re not a Dom, love. You’re a sub. You ever want to find out what that means, give me a call.’
“I thought she was putting me down because I’d been so bad at it, yanking my chain, but something about the way she looked at me, trailed her hand down my arm like she had the right to touch me, and the way I felt, like I should stand still and let her do anything to me she wanted to do, really got everything churned up inside. I couldn’t get her out of my head. When the case was over, I called her. Lisbeth. And here I am.”
“I liked her,” Violet admitted. “And yet I’m jealous, regardless.”
“No need. She liked breaking me into it, but once that novelty was over, she moved on. She didn’t…there wasn’t a true emotional attachment. Not…” Like with us. The words hung between them, too potent and soon to be voiced.
“You’re a complete enigma, Mac.” She shook her head. “Most cops couldn’t do it, even if they had the urge. It’s like you’ve got this split personality thing going, where you crave a Mistress but you’re terrified to let go of the control, because you of all people know how much is outside of your control.”
“I had bad panic attacks the first few times I was tied up. It still…I still have to fight them off. But I’ve learned to control my reaction. The…desire is stronger.”
“Mac, look at me.” When he did, he saw the stunned amazement in her gaze at his admission. “But you do it anyway.”
He lifted a shoulder. “As I said, it doesn’t really make sense. Guess it’s not supposed to. With you…it’s different.”
Standing in her kitchen, cooking, the air full of scents and of her, he felt like he could tell her things he had not told anyone, had not had within him to tell anyone until he met her. But he lowered his attention back to preparing their salad, before he said what else he felt he needed to say.
“You scared me more than anyone, but now I don’t know what I was so afraid of.
There was a wall. I’m not sure I even knew it was there, though you tried to tell me it was there from the first. Every time a Mistress pushed on it, I felt like I had to keep her away from it, but at the same time I wanted her to try and shove past it, fight me for it. I didn’t understand it, still don’t maybe. I just know you did it, and I feel like you’re inside me now, in a place where I’ve always wanted… a woman to be. Fuck me, I can’t explain it right.”
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“You don’t have to. I don’t think there are any words for the ‘why’ of it, any more than there are for why I knew that’s where I needed to go.” He nodded and opened a small covered dish, laid it out on the counter.
“Appetizers. Marinated mushrooms.” He picked one up, took it to her lips, offering it to her.
She could tell the raw sincerity of his admission had unsettled him. It was time to move it back into more comfortable territory. Violet opened her mouth, closed her lips on the mushroom, watched his face as he brushed his fingers over her lips, carefully taking the oill away and then putting them in his own mouth, a quick lick to clean the oill off his fingertips and take her into him. The warmth of the gesture mingled with the effect of the wine, and spread through her.
“What I can’t figure out is how a four-year rookie made me for a cop and I never once suspected her of being on the job,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
She tilted her head, managed a smile. “What did you think I was?”
“I thought maybe some type of company executive, but that seemed clichéd. I’d about decided you were a construction equipment operator. You know, bulldozers and such. Since you’re so good at pushing around people bigger than you are.”
“You’re picking on me now.”
“Yes.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I am.”
“There’s only one reason I made you for a cop and you didn’t make me,” she observed, watching his delightful ass as he moved around the kitchen. How pants could be that tight and still be legal, she didn’t know, but she thanked the fashion experts for all their blessings. So tight they creased the tops of his thighs and his ass as he moved, shifted, the cleft well defined for her gaze.
“And what was that?”
“I’ll tell you later. Come here.”
Mac put down his knife, brushed his hands on the dishtowel and came to her, until he stood between her knees again. He braced a hand on either side of her hips, bringing all his overwhelming presence within her grasp. She moved a hand around his hip, over the curve of one cheek, squeezed, closed her eyes, enjoyed how the muscles tightened under her touch. She felt him begin to lean in, but shook her head, a bare movement. He stopped in mid-motion.
Her thighs dampened anew. She had spoken the truth. She didn’t know what made her the way she was, why she so enjoyed a man willing to submit to her, why his obedience to the most subtle command, so subtle it was like he’d read her mind, could overwhelm her.
The man between her legs was high-powered, well-trained, but had never been broken. Until her. Until he became hers.
“Take the wine.” She lifted it. “And drink. Drink it all, until the last swallow, and then give me that last swallow from your mouth.” 129
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He lifted the glass, his silver gaze now liquid heat, and put it to his lips. She slid both hands along his waistband and to the back of his jeans, firmly grasping his ass in both hands, kneading, stroking, easily imagining what it would be like to feel them flexing, tightening as he drove into her in a slow, pumping rhythm. She watched the glass tilt up, his head back as he downed the wine in slow, measured swallows, his throat working. She brought her hands back around front, palmed the tightly bound package of his erection and testicles, tightened her grasp.