by Angel Payne
She felt like heaven. Her skin, soft and moist beneath his thumbs, vibrated. With every twitch, his cock kicked harder at his sweats. But as much as he craved release, this wasn’t about his body. It was about the beast in his brain, the creature who’d lain dormant for far too long, rejoicing in its fiery rebirth.
“My…surrender…is beautiful.”
“Yessss.”
He blended his hiss to her rasp as he plunged one of his thumbs into her tight tunnel. He needed to feel her from the inside out as he set about proving her words perfectly true. “You remember what I want you to do now, Rose?” He watched her try to nod as the rest of her body took over, hips gyrating, her ass a mesmerizing landscape. He curled his other hand against her sex. The hard, hot ridge of her clit was his greeting committee. As he teased that quivering bundle of nerves, she keened and shivered.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “You’re so ready, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes. Please!”
“Then come for me. Don’t hold back. Come, Rose. Now!”
Her scream, full and strident, filled the air. Her scent, tangy and heady, flooded his senses.
Her tears tore at his heart.
He gritted against saying or doing anything, continuing to stroke her, letting her ride the release along with the emotions it freed. Finally he couldn’t stand sitting there while she sobbed. He leaned and released her from the rope, then tugged her shorts up before pulling her into his lap. She fumbled as if not knowing what to do, so he guided her arms around his neck, forcing her to lean on him as her heartbeat calmed. In return, he held her close, rocking her. She was so beautifully made, with generous curves to her hips and ass. Her breasts, even tucked beneath a sports bra, pillowed against his chest with delectable softness.
“What a woman you are.” He said it against her neck. “Thank you, Rose, Thank you.”
She pulled back a little, huffing uncomfortably. “Uhhh, isn’t that my line?” She scooted back even farther, glancing down. The evidence of her effect on him still stood stiff in his crotch. Her direct gaze didn’t help matters. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to adjust his balls to a more comfortable tension. She cleared her own, then said, “And shouldn’t I be showing you my thanks, instead of telling you?”
Before he could stop her, she dropped to the floor between his knees and reached for his waistband. But Mark seized her hands. “Is that what you think I want?” At her startled blink, he tamped down a surge of fury. Of course that’s what she thought. A wedding day that never was, coupled with the genetic chip for taking responsibility for the world, equaled a woman who now felt her only worth to a man involved her mouth between his thighs.
He pulled her back up, making her sit beside him. “No. Not right now. Come here. Sit.”
She complied, though confusion bunched her brows. “You…don’t want me to…”
“Oh, pet. Clearly, there’s nothing I’d want more. But this isn’t about me at the moment. This is about you, talking about what’s happening in those rooms in your head. I’m most interested in the one where all the waterworks came from.”
She frowned deeper, pursing those full berry lips. It definitely didn’t help in the department of forgetting how she looked on her knees in front of him.
“I don’t have ‘rooms’ in my head.”
“Oh yes you do.” He swung a leg over so he straddled the bench. “Why the tears?” He ran a hand across her cheek. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Were the ropes too tight?”
“The ropes were fine.” She grabbed his hand with a desperate urgency. “I— The ropes were—” She sucked in a harsh breath. “The ropes were wonderful.”
Understanding set in. The dip of her head, along with the way she sounded like she’d just confessed murder to a priest, made him nod. “Ah. And you’re conflicted about that. A little overwhelmed?”
She tapped at his knuckle with a dainty fingernail. Though the polish was light pink, each nail had a little dark pink jewel glued on it. Hmm. His Victorian cameo girl had a secret thing for bling. And, they were both quickly learning, for other alternative things. Trouble was, the lesson was turning her into a giant ball of nerves. That mass was likely infused with some shards of fear too.
“Look, I’ve got a couple of girlfriends into the whole bondage-and-submission thing. A few times, I even went to a club with one of them.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
“It was fine. But all I did was watch. And it was…fine.” She stammered it out like the priest had locked her in the confessional for a boldfaced lie. Which looked to be pretty much the case. “But just not my—” She huffed. “Look, I’m not some closet kinkster, okay?”
“Pity,” Mark replied. “Because I am.”
That got her attention. Newly stabbed by her wondering stare, he leaned his own face closer until their noses were inches apart. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Rose. It’s a beautiful gift that you give, in following your need to surrender. A man is hardwired to take care of his woman, in all ways and forms. Some of us just like to be more in control of the process. Much more in control. And when a woman trusts enough in our control to submit fully, such as letting herself be restrained and guided to fulfillment… Well, to a Dominant, that’s like water from heaven.” He closed that gap now, taking her lips in a tender caress, flicking his tongue against hers for the briefest second. “It’s a drink I haven’t had for a very long while.” He kissed the end of her nose. “Thank you.”
She sighed, brushing fingers along his beard, but then shook her head. “This feels so incredible. But it can’t be right.”
“Why?” He grabbed those fingers. “Are you seeing someone?”
A laugh shot from her. “No! God, no. There’s no one.” She sobered. “But surely you—”
“No one.” He said it with deliberation, needing to wipe the disbelief from the back of her gaze. “Sweetheart, despite the antics of some of my coworkers in Washington, bed-hopping never has, and never will, hold much appeal.” A deep chuckle emerged. “Believe me, it really has been a long time.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He squeezed her nape. “Not about this.” When she looked away, he clamped the hold tighter. “You still don’t believe me?”
“No. I believe you. It’s just that—”
“What?”
“Well, you’re on the younger side for Washington, which has to make you prime meat on their invitation lists.” Her cheeks turned the color of her name. “And…you’re flipping hot.”
The annoyance turned into a laugh. “I’m glad you think so. You’re pretty goddamn hot too.” The delicious curves of her mouth called to him again. He molded their lips and tongues together, diving his hand into her hair when she started pulling away, holding her for his consummation. Too late. Though her mouth complied, the rest of her resisted. When he slackened his hold, she lurched to her feet.
“No!” She pressed shaking hands to her cheeks. “We have to stop wanting this. We have to stop thinking it can happen!”
Mark shut his eyes. It was time to grab the room’s elephant by its big, fucking, floppy ears. “Because despite the hotness factor, I’m still older.”
She flung her hands out. “For one thing, yes. But—”
“I’m forty-five, Rose. And you’re…what…”
“Thirty-one.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “It’s not unheard of. And we’re not teenagers, sweetheart. Bogart and Bacall were twenty-five years apart. Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones? Twenty-five years. Rhett Butler had a twenty-year jump on Scarlett O’Hara.”
She scowled. “Fictional characters. No points on that one.” And how did he just pull all of that out of his head?
“Two out of three, then. I’ve made my point.”
“It’s still—You’re still—”
“What?” He rose calmly as he could while his patience still allowed. “I’m still what, damn it?”
“Yo
u’re still you! Respected on Capitol Hill. Demanded by Fortune 500 players. The father of a major music star.” She dodged his outstretched arms, gazing at him with half her bottom lip in her mouth and her heart glittering in her eyes—betraying to him, in one incredible second, that she’d been just as floored by what they’d shared so far. Yet in the next breath she whispered, “What’s the expression they use? Out of my league. That’s it. Senator Moore, Sir, you’re even beyond that. You’re out of my universe. We can’t let ourselves get deluded. Neither of us can afford it. Not now, not ever.”
Mark didn’t take the time to stop at irritated. He let fury stomp in and take the over. It saturated him as he pulled her up next to him. “So that’s it, then? The universe has gone through all this goddamn work to bring us together like this, giving us this gift, practically pounding us over the head with how perfect this is, and you’re going to hide behind all these excuses?”
“Not excuses!” She pushed at his chest. “Reasons! Good ones!” When her escape effort didn’t work, she huffed. “Look; I believed in the gift once. I believed in it all. I bought the whole glass-slipper fantasy, thinking I’d found my prince—”
“I’m not pretending to be a goddamned prince.”
“I know that.”
“Rose.” He bracketed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze up again. “I want to give you something better. Do you get that? Do you see it? You’re already halfway there. Oh Rose…pet…”
Her gaze pooled with new tears, which gave him an odd glint of hope. But then she tried to jerk away. “Stop calling me that! Why do you call me that?”
“Because it fits.” He pulled her back next to him. “Because I want to take care of you, see after you. I want to meet every need you have and then some. And because you need it.” He fitted her head to his neck, loving the way her lashes felt against his jugular. “You know it too, don’t you? So why are you so afraid of it? Why are you denying who you are, who you clearly want to be? Why do you surrender so exquisitely for me, but then deny the thing that makes you feel so good and blossom so beautifully?”
She turned her head so their eyes met again. He stared at her, nestled so perfectly against him, and endured a rush of amazement. He’d managed to stuff his life full of things that seemed fulfilling…and all of it, with the exception of his time with Dasha, was like a washed-out painting compared to this. To simply holding a subbie after he’d taken her to heaven and back. No. It was holding this subbie. He longed to cradle her all night, to pull her tighter so he could kiss her deep…
She ended up reading his thoughts on that one. Rose sifted her fingers through his beard, then his hair, coaxing him lower, lower, until their lips met again. Fire and arousal roared through him anew, until the second he recognized the desperation behind the sweeps of her tongue and the pressure of her mouth. When they pulled apart, the depths of her gaze confirmed his suspicion. The kiss wasn’t hello. It was good-bye.
“I have to deny it,” she whispered. “I have to. Not every rose is meant to blossom, Senator. Some are just there to remind the world about the thorns.”
She pushed to be free again. And this time, Mark let her go. Just like he let her turn and leave the building without looking back at him. He found the strength to get through it by remembering a little axiom that had served him well through the years.
“You took the battle, Rose,” he murmured. “But the war is far from over.”
Chapter Six
The next morning, Rose stopped in the hallway outside the meeting room to take a deep breath. Another. Her head already throbbed, due to one inescapable fact. Facing Ryan, Pete, Kai, and the others was less terrifying than having to face Mark Moore again.
She’d hijacked his beautiful words last night and driven them right into the ground. To make matters worse, she’d turned and left him standing in the mental wreckage. Not that she didn’t feel a hundred kinds of shit for it. Not that she hadn’t stopped ten steps out the fitness center’s door, longing to run back in and sob that she didn’t mean it, that she’d never felt like this before, not even with Owen. And oh yeah, while she was at it, he was right; she was indeed a stubborn brat, and needed to be put in her place. She needed to be tied back down again, and given over for his punishment…and pleasure. God, how she wanted to bring the man pleasure.
Instead, she’d gone back to her room, caught Titanic on HBO, then fallen into a chaotic sleep just before midnight. The irony of the whole thing hadn’t escaped her. The Rose in the movie had been given a soul mate, then gone against everything she knew to have him. The ship hit the damn iceberg, anyway.
But the woman had known a love that lasted her a lifetime.
She clenched her jaw, banished the thought, and forced her feet forward.
Her stare found him instantly. The experience was worse than what she anticipated. In a rich charcoal suit and deep burgundy tie, with his hair and beard groomed to perfection, he looked beautiful enough to jump, even here. His clothes, fitting him to the millimeter, made him more perfect than a hunk from a magazine ad—but his stance turned him into something more appropriate for a wild-game hunter. Every inch of him conveyed pure aggression, from his braced legs and stiff shoulders to the scowl that looked tense enough to bite someone’s hand off.
His expression intensified when he looked up and saw her.
She squared her chin, forcing herself to take his scrutiny. He’d asked her to return, not the other way around. She was not going to let him pull the intimidation-by-wounded-male bit. Bolstered by that, she marched her way down the tiers to the front of the room again and took her front-row seat. She didn’t look back up again until she’d stowed her purse, then pulled out her course binder and pen—
And got assaulted by a stare more intense, permeating, and outright cocky than a grown man had a right to yield.
Which, when coupled with the tie and suit, only made her long to glue herself to him worse than before.
Only then did she notice the smirk. It was the smallest of expressions, a tiny sideways slant, barely noticeable…unless a person happened to be sitting less than six feet from the man.
She blinked. Maybe she’d imagined it. But then Mark slid the look to the other side of his mouth. The gig was up. His original glare really was a ploy, a stunt that’d drawn her up here better than a magnet on metal shavings.
Why?
She didn’t know why she squirmed when considering the answer to that. Looking at him didn’t help. His all-business mask was now slammed back on his features. He lifted that expression to the entire class.
“I hope all of you enjoyed the break yesterday and used it to accomplish the goals I set?”
Rose glanced around as reactions to that ranged from awkward coughs to a few “Yes, Senators.” It didn’t escape her that Kai and Peter were members of the latter group. Ryan chose stoic silence, only giving a respectful nod to Mark, acknowledging he’d heard. Shockingly, Ryan included her in the action too.
The Twilight Zone theme started in her head. Ryan Johnson, prick of the year, was now giving her deference? What the hell had happened in here yesterday? A questioning stare back at Mark gave her nothing. His eyes were hard as agates now, his mouth set with grim satisfaction. His words from the grotto echoed in her head. “You really thought I’d treat those morons with a shred of civility after what they did to you?”
A strange warmth suffused her chest. Was this what those medieval maids felt, when knights went out and broke lances on each other for them? And if so, did that damsel question the feeling as being completely ridiculous?
“Very good,” Mark pronounced. She half expected him to pound his chest too, but the man’s authority was subtler than that. He moved forward and once again to the desk right next to her. She braced herself for the sexy-as-hell, lazing-lion thigh pose from yesterday, but he opted for a more commanding stance, hiking a foot up to the chair. After angling an elbow to that knee, he looked out over her classmates again. �
��I believe we left off at discussing one’s attitude in unknown lands…leaving the office mentality behind, getting into the headspace of your guest status in another country. Can anyone share if they took away any keywords from our dialogue?”
Rose wasn’t surprised when Ryan jumped on the chance to speak. His tone conveyed the pure purpose of getting in a fresh piss on his territory. “Leadership.”
“Okay,” Mark answered. “Good. You thought about your answer, Mr. Johnson. That’s an outstanding way to phrase it. Who else?”
Christine, one of Aria’s buddies from the Austin office, raised her hand. “Compassion?”
“Excellent, Ms. Daye.” He nodded at the back of the room. “And Ms. Vernon?”
“Humility.” Veronica, who had come from the New Orleans office, said it with conviction. Mark reacted with a hum of praise, which brought another heat front to Rose’s chest. This time the sensation wasn’t so pleasant—and irked deep when she recognized it as a certain green monster of sentiment. And outright rankled when she let it drive her arm up.
She almost regretted the action as Mark cocked his head toward her. His gaze was sharpened by deep topaz flecks. “Ms. Fabian? You’d like to share?”
She floundered. Everything about his posture was casual and relaxed; everything about his stare was incisive and intense.
But damn it, he wasn’t going to crumble her so easily. She lifted her chin, deliberately defiant about the motion. “Brains, Senator. Plain and simple. People don’t use them enough.”
His brows lifted. “It’s all about the head today, is it? What happened to yesterday’s words of the heart?”
She took him up on the brow jump but added a shrug. “Heart still has its place, but not as your mission statement. When you’re in new lands, where you don’t know where you are or what lies ahead in the next hour, you can’t just let everything go to the moment. You do that, and you’re…”
He leaned at her by just an inch. But even that tiny schism of space, filled with his presence, made her stammer back into silence.