by Joey W. Hill
Back then, she'd decided a Dom had to have something really special, akin to a super power, to silence the booming voices of her insecurities, compel her to lower her shields and help her find that still, precious balanced space inside herself like she'd found that night. Yet Leland might just have that quality. A part of her wanted to freak, bolt and run, but another part of her wanted a repeat performance too badly to let her completely break away.
Because here she was. At The Mall on Friday, and earlier than their agreed-upon time.
It hadn't helped that yesterday she'd gotten a quick glimpse of him. It had charged her up more than it should have. She'd been at the courthouse, doing some research in the clerk of court's office. After her usual fond banter with the trio of security guards who knew her well, she'd decided to sit in on a jury trial for a few minutes while she worked on her notes. It was when she'd taken a restroom break and been emerging from the side hallway that she'd seen him.
The railing at that end of the third level of the courthouse overlooked a wall of glass that descended all the way down to the lobby level. Out those windows was a peaceful view of live oaks and a small park area with benches. Leland was leaning against the rail, providing guidance to a nervous-looking rookie probably having to offer testimony for the first time. She'd stepped back into the shelter of the restroom door, but she peeked back around the corner to take another look. Leland's back was mostly toward her as he talked to the rookie, and the other officer was facing the window, so she wasn't directly in either man's view.
Lord, the man had a fine ass. Fine everything. She thought of the scent of his skin, the lemon and peppermint, the smell of old wood, and wondered how the cloth of his uniform would add to that fragrance. He'd put a hand on the young man's shoulder. The deep musical sound of his chuckle was as reassuring a sound as ever had been created. She wanted to touch his hair, the soft wool of the short crop, and trace his full bottom lip. Maybe take a nip out of it and have him growl at her, close his hands on her wrists, pull them behind her back...
God, she was acting like an idiot. Coming back to the present, she focused on the rotation of the carousel. It was the second largest one in the world, after all. Though she wasn't entirely sure how accurate that information was, it was a premium Mall attraction, with a fairly steady flow of kids and parents taking advantage of the ride.
The carousel was in the food court, so there were a wealth of table and chair options. They'd be at a premium when Friday date night got into full swing, but right now she'd commandeered a spot, pulling two chairs and a small table away from the others, positioning it on the opposite side of one of the large indoor potted trees with its string of white lights. It gave them a bubble of privacy and still offered a good view of the carousel, as well as the opening to the first level where more large potted trees and mall decorations were touched by blocks of sunlight coming through the crisscrossed white beams of the glass ceiling above her.
Maybe it wasn't the world's most romantic venue, with the flow of people and constant noise, but with this space marked off, it would work. Public and casual enough to give her an easy escape route.
Coming here early was a mistake, though. During the past thirty minutes, she'd watched little girls get on and off the horses, helped by their mothers, a few by their fathers. As the carousel turned, flashing its hand-painted colors, her thoughts turned and her feelings played out in a different direction. She grew more uptight about the things he wanted to talk to her about. The excitement inside her, the anticipation of what was undeniably a real date, was tainted by a darkness that wanted to make it crash and burn. She wanted to burn it down so the pleasure didn't cut her with its sharp need.
When Leland set the bag down on the table, she looked up at him, startled. She'd been so lost in her head, she hadn't been watching for his approach to wave at him. Yet he'd still found her without any trouble. That made those feelings more jagged, as did his appearance. Stressed jeans, a gold knit shirt over them, a soft-shell black jacket with a stand collar over it. Casual nice, what a man wore to tell his date he'd made an effort for her. Even if he claimed not to date.
The easy greeting on his lips died as he obviously read her expression.
"I don't want to do this," she said.
"Okay." He sat down next to her, stretched an arm across the back of her chair. The length of it bracketed her body. "What do you want to do, Celeste?"
She returned her gaze to the carousel. "I want to go back to your place."
He regarded her silently. "And what do you want to do there?"
"Whatever you want."
"Hmm. My floors need cleaning. I could see you on your hands and knees doing that, Celeste. Stripped naked, scrubbing my floors."
He curved a hand over her shoulder, fingers stroking. She twitched away from him irritably and bit back a gasp as he captured the muscle between her neck and shoulder, putting enough force on that pressure point that pain resonated through her nerve endings. But it wasn't an "ouch, stop that" pain, not for her. Instead it made her breath shorter, made her straighten her upper body and tighten her thighs, absorbing the shot of sensation straight between them. Her gaze snapped to him. His brown eyes were molten gold, the planes of his face more prominent when his expression was intent, like now, registering how she reacted to the hold.
"Take a breath," he said. "A deep one."
She did, and he increased that grip incrementally, wresting a tiny whimper out of her. Her lips parted, and his gaze darkened, seeing it. "It's starting to really hurt," she managed. Yet she didn't want him to stop.
"I know. Do you like bruises, Celeste? Marks left on you by a Master?" He took it up one more notch and now she did catch a cry in her throat at the sharp bolt of pain. That was when he eased the pressure, the caressing follow-up of his fingers easing her body down the same way. He molded his palm over her shoulder once more, only this time to pull her closer so she was leaning inside the curve of his arm. With his other hand, he slid her chair over so they were frame to frame.
She didn't pull away, but she didn't know how to answer him, so she didn't. He didn't seem to mind. His gaze touched the stubborn set of her jaw before it coursed downward. She wore a pale green shirt with a V-neck and a short black skirt, both of which clung to her curves. The black leggings beneath the skirt tucked into brown-and-gold ankle boots. She'd dressed for him, too.
He adjusted her neckline, the stretch of the fabric allowing him to pull it to the point of her shoulder. The act exposed her bra strap, but it appeared he was more interested in the impression his fingers had left beside it. Leaning across her body, he put his mouth on her bare skin there, licking it discreetly with his clever tongue. Then he bit down, sucking hard on it.
The muscle was still throbbing, but the press of his teeth coming right behind the other pain made her reach for him, her arm curling over his wide back. It was the first time she'd had the chance to touch him. Massive muscle groups shifted beneath her touch. He wasn't doing anything overtly inappropriate to her, but the erotic messages such a concentrated pain sent were enough to have her feeling as if she was spread out naked on his bed, trembling with terror and lust. Her fingers dug into that hard muscle and the heat of him beneath his shirt and jacket. Her cheek brushed his temple, his cropped hair. She closed her eyes, her body rigid with sensation as he added to that bruise with the force of his mouth. Her muscles liquefied when he released her, his tongue swirling over the mark, a balm.
As he straightened, one of her hands fell limply to his knee, the other curled in his jacket at the shoulder. He met her gaze. "I'm hungry," he said casually. "So I'm going to eat. Then I'll decide what you need."
She made herself take her hands away from him, fold them in her lap. Tried to keep her voice from shaking. "I can leave. I'm not hungry anymore."
"Yeah, you can leave. If all you want is to go back to my place and fuck each other blind, you can find that plenty of other places. That's not what you're getting with m
e."
She pressed her lips together. She'd known at gut level he'd respond exactly that way to her desperate attempt to turn this into only sex. He made her feel unbalanced, on edge. She should get up and walk away. But she didn't.
Once a few weighted seconds passed, he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the back of his chair. The knit shirt had long sleeves that followed the contours of his arms. He drew a covered takeout bowl out of the bag with packets of crunchy noodles and sauce. After opening the bowl and dumping the condiments over his food, he leaned back in his chair, one ankle braced on the opposite knee, his other knee against the side of her leg. The position stretched his trouser fabric over his thigh. Holding the bowl balanced in his hand, he began to eat, to all appearances unconcerned about her. She'd said she wasn't hungry, after all.
"What are you thinking? No, scratch that." She held up a hand. "You said you're eating. Men can't do those two things together."
He sighed, wiped his hand on a napkin on the table. "I'm thinking that you're going to be such a pain in my ass. That mouth of yours is going to make me want to do all sorts of politically incorrect things to you." He tilted his head, gave her a glance. "Want to get this on tape?"
"No," she said stiffly. "Sounds like I wouldn't want to put you to any extra effort, Sergeant."
"Ever play truth or dare, Celly?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped. She bit her lip, looked away.
Another weighted moment and he shifted, touched her knee. She saw he'd fished out the card she'd given him, was studying it. "Says right here, that's what I'm supposed to call you."
"But that's not how I introduced myself."
"No, you didn't. You said Celly, but then you corrected yourself. You want me to call you Celeste, and it makes me wonder why." His gaze came back to her face. "When you worked for the New Orleans paper, your social business column was done under the name Celeste De Mille, and the tone of those articles matched the name. Far more of a facade than Celly Lewis's articles are now. So are you playing a role with me, Celeste? It's easier to play pretend when you change names to protect the not-so-innocent?"
She picked up her light coat, got up and left. Just walked away. She left her food, which she'd really started to want, damn it, since she hadn't had any dinner. That was fine. She'd get a pretzel from Auntie Anne's. She walked past the tempting cinnamon pretzel bites, though, heading for the store closest to where she'd parked. She maintained a steady pace until she reached the door to the outside. She even made it outside. Then she pivoted. Waffled.
Cursing herself, she went back into the store. She wandered into the purse area, checked out some shoes. Her track took her back into the mall, ambling listlessly past some window displays.
When she eventually arrived back at the carousel, he was still there, though he'd finished his meal. She didn't know whether to be insulted by his presumption or relieved. That was her problem, wasn't it? When it came to approaching relationships, she was like Jekyll and Hyde. She wouldn't want to date her, so she couldn't blame anyone else for feeling the same.
That thought nearly made her turn around and leave for real. Except his arm was stretched out along the chair where she'd been, as if he was waiting for her. He took up a lot of space, so whoever sat down in that chair had to be someone okay being intimately close to him. Based on the second glances women passing by were giving him, she thought they'd be more than willing to give that a go, even if he was a total stranger.
But he wasn't looking at them. He was looking at her. Her steps slowed but they still brought her to him. She sat down. All she had to do was lean back to have his arm against her shoulders. Instead she sat straight, her gaze on the carousel.
"The night that was too good to be true," she said. "The Dom called me Celeste. The way he said it, I could tell he knew it was my real name. That the only fake part of the pen name was 'De Mille.' But it was more than that. It was the first time someone ever said my name and it felt real, like it meant a real person. Substantial, not a reflection of someone else, but who I was, soul deep. I wanted... When I introduced myself to you at Jai's, I wanted to hear how you said it. And it felt the same. Maybe better."
She took a breath. "So if you think I'm a pain in the ass, and I'm not worth any more of your time, well, fuck you. Give me my food and I'll go do better things with my day."
He lifted his arm from chair, cupped the back of her head with his big hand. As he cradled her skull, his fingers caressed the base of it, her tense neck. His thumb teased the hinge of her jaw. He used that hold to turn her toward him. She lifted her gaze, not sure what she'd see in his face, but she only had a glimpse of it before he put his mouth over hers.
The other night had been an overwhelmingly intimate evening, remarkable since they hadn't kissed once during it. That deficit made this even more potent. She'd made the barbed comment about men's inability to do more than one thing at a time, but if that was because they put all their energy and talent into that one thing, no distractions, it wasn't a bad thing. At all.
His arm slid around her waist under the coat she'd donned, turning her toward him so her right breast was against his chest as he kept his other hand cradling her head. He held her still as he coaxed her lips apart and let his tongue slide in against hers, trace and tease. His lips were a sensual pressure that she couldn't resist, so she tried to taste him as well, licking at his mouth, nipping at his tongue, her hands finding purchase on his chest, holding on to his shirt, kneading like a cat.
When he kissed her, his arms around her, holding her so securely, the world disappeared. The parts of herself that usually interfered with the feelings unfurling inside her now disappeared as well. Instead, a plea resonated through her chest and down to the very core of who she was. A core that had been asleep for so long it roused like Sleeping Beauty, with a groggy "Where the hell have you been?"
He eased back when her eyes were still closed and she was holding on to him like she wouldn't ever be able to let go. Her lashes lifted, her hands clutched hard on the front of his shirt and the man beneath, so tight a tremor was running through her arms. He made a calming noise, stroking a hand up her forearm. He closed it around her biceps.
"So what else happened that night?" he asked.
"I got angry. Really angry. Then sad. I was looking in a mirror and it hurt worse than being cut by the glass, but afterward...I wanted to see that image again, too much. But I knew it was such a profound thing, it wasn't likely to happen ever again. If I chased it, I'd probably end up in a far worse place in my head. So it seemed better to focus on the things I knew I could attain for myself. Alone."
Her reaction to that night had always been a confusing tangle in her mind, so she was flummoxed to hear the truth spill from her mouth. She stared at his chest, not sure she could meet his gaze after saying something like that. He pried her fingers off him but left his own tangled with them on his knee. When she at last managed to look at his face, she found him studying her with an unreadable expression, but what she saw in his face didn't dismay her.
"Celeste, I want you to stand up and take off your coat."
She didn't think about anything. She just rose, shrugged out of the coat, put it on the back of the chair. As she leaned forward to do that, he slid his hand smoothly beneath her shirt. Not in an indecent way. He just took advantage of her position to slide his hand under there, fit his palm to her waist, his thumb stroking her stomach near her navel, his other fingers tracing the sensitive flesh of her lower back. The man had large hands. As she straightened, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her skirt, gave her a little tug.
"Sit back down. You want your dinner now that you're done acting out? It's pad Thai."
She narrowed her eyes as she sat. "Acting out? You know, cops are notorious control freaks. Entirely inflexible in their opinions."
"Why change our opinion when it's the right one?" He shrugged and nudged her when she rolled her eyes. "Want crunchy noodles, too?"
<
br /> "Absolutely. Carbs are best topped with more carbs."
"That's my girl." He put a packet of noodles on top of the container, handed it to her with fork and napkin. Then he fished out a bottle of water. "I figured you might be a diet cola girl, but you all tend to be picky about your brands, so I went with water."
"Water works fine."
He broke the seal for her as she opened the lid of the food and inhaled the mix of egg, peanuts, fried tofu and seasonings. When she put the first bite in her mouth, he settled back, stretching his arm behind her again. This time she leaned back against it. He moved his touch to her shoulder, his thumb sweeping along the curve of her neck to her shoulder and back again. Sometimes he went further, hooking her bra strap, tracing beneath it, then coming back again. Tendrils of sexual heat curved under her breasts, down her sternum, along her spine. Each time he passed over that place he'd pinched so mercilessly, her reaction increased.
"You're not making it easy for me to concentrate on my food."
"So women have trouble doing more than one thing at a time when sex is involved?"
"Depends on the man," she said, intending to be catty. Too late, she realized she'd complimented him. His eyes laughed at her. He threw her off her game, for certain. She'd have to work on that.
"You said I'm a pain in the ass, yet you hung around for me to come back. Why?"
"When I got here, you said you didn't want to do this. You just wanted me to take you back to my place and fuck you."
"I didn't say that last part."
"Yeah, you did." The smile disappeared, replaced by something as distracting. A piercing directness. "You have a clever mouth, Celeste. A sharp tongue. But it's what you say with your eyes that holds my attention. I could duct-tape your mouth and still find out everything I need to know about you."
What should have been offensive planted an image in her head that only made her sexual response to him worse. Irritated, she shifted forward so he'd stop touching her. Putting the lid back on the half-empty container, she resolved to eat the rest later and set it back in the bag. She tried to speak casually, as if the words didn't matter.