by Joey W. Hill
"She will," he said, touched. "She'd just sent me out to get some of that."
"There's enough for you both," Ben said. His shrewd gaze covered Leland head to toe, and rested for an extra moment on his face. "Come on, man. You look ready to drop off your feet."
Mike had brought him a change of clothes from his place last night, but some things a change of clothes and a quick wash-up in the bathroom couldn't fix. Leland wasn't the type to let himself be nurtured, not as a general rule, but as the two guided him back toward the room, the relief that flooded him merely from their presence and their understanding told him how tightly strung he was. Marcie stopped a couple doors shy of Celeste's room, put her hand on Leland's arm.
"Mind if I go in first?"
He shook his head. "She's okay," he said low. "But she looks pretty rough."
A shadow went through Marcie's gaze, the set of her mouth showing she felt the way Leland felt about that. "I'm glad he's dead," she said. "And I'm really fucking glad she was the one who did him."
With a crisp nod to punctuate it, she moved ahead of the men. Just short of Celeste's doorway, she paused, took a breath, tossed her hair back and stepped into view. Her expression was as nonchalant and teasing as if she were picking Celeste up for a girls' night out.
"So here you are, lazy ass in bed again."
Leland gave her credit for the great entrance, though the way her hand tightened on the fast-food bag told him Celeste's pummeled face gave Marcie the same gut punch feeling it kept giving him.
"That's a tough wife you've got there. Remind me never to piss her off."
"You have no idea." Ben's grim smile matched the dangerous flash in his eyes. "I'd agree with her, except I'm sure you'd have preferred to be the one to finish him before he got anywhere near her."
"Yeah." Leland searched for some mundane tidbit of conversation. "What happened? You guys were on your way to Italy."
Ben gave him an incredulous look. "Soon as we heard, we rescheduled our flight. Marcie wasn't going anywhere until we were sure she was okay. Neither was I. She means a great deal to us, Leland. Is she going back to your place after she's discharged?"
Leland ran a hand over his face again. "She wants to go home and clean the house, but I think just getting dressed and checked out will be as much as she can handle today. I'm going to insist on taking her home with me and tell her we'll get a start on that when she's more up to it."
"Good plan. Matt has a cleaning crew headed there now." Ben glanced at his watch. "Should be getting there in the next hour. He confirmed with your Detective Allen that they had all they needed from her house. Best not to ask why or how Matt knows them, but this outfit is Molly Maid meets the CIA. When they're done, there won't be a stray hair or skin cell left from that piece of shit. They'll scrub down every inch of the place. Wash every item of clothing, all the bedding, wipe down every dish and knickknack. She'll be getting new carpet, too. They work miracle fast. Should be done by tonight, if you can keep her out of there until tomorrow."
Leland stared at him, and Ben lifted a shoulder. "Money can't buy everything, but we damn sure know what it can buy. Do you think that will help?"
Leland put a hand on Ben's shoulder, squeezed so hard that the man couldn't conceal a wince. "Ben, I don't know what to say. Or how to repay--"
"This isn't for you," Ben said, a flash of amusement in his gaze. "We knew Celeste before you did. She was our girl first."
Leland knew when he was being goaded, and also knew Ben was giving him time and a way to clear the lump from his throat. "First isn't what counts," he managed. "Anyone who's ever groped their way through their first sex will tell you that. It's not the starting line that matters."
"You keep telling yourself that. I don't grope my way through anything. For most women, I am the start and the finish line."
"Good thing you're in a hospital. Keep that up, you're going to need medical attention. I'll break one of your legs off at the hip and your wife will break the other."
Ben flashed him a grin. "My wife. That sounds good, doesn't it?" He paused, sobering. "You know, much as we like to be the ones to slay their dragons for them, sometimes it's better, afterward, if they did it themselves."
"Yeah." He knew that as a cop. Probably as a man as well, though Leland didn't think he'd ever stop wishing he'd done anything necessary to keep Celeste from going home yesterday.
Hearing a sob, he stepped to the doorway, fast, Ben on his heels. Celeste was crying, but Marcie sat on the bed with her, her arms wrapped around her and Celeste's face buried in her shoulder. Ben's wife rocked his girl in her arms, crooning to her. "It's okay," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "It's okay."
Trauma victims had wildly vacillating emotions, and finding out Marcie had pushed off her honeymoon just to bring her a chicken biscuit more than qualified as a trigger. Hell, if he would admit to ever crying, which he wouldn't, he'd had a near miss himself when Ben told him what Matt and the other K&A men were doing to help Celeste go back home. He would have helped her scrub every inch, but this way, she wouldn't have to worry about it.
As she said, she hated cleaning.
Chapter Eighteen
Celeste knelt on the fleece throw, feeling its silken softness beneath her calves. The square of sea-blue blanket was stretched out over the cream-colored Berber in her bedroom. It still had new carpet smell, tempered with a soothing lavender-and-vanilla fragrance that had permeated the house since the cleaning crew had come in and done their magic. She hadn't entirely believed Leland when he'd told her how thorough they'd be, but every dish in her kitchen had gleamed in a way far beyond the capabilities of her old dishwasher, and the mismatched fabrics on her secondhand furniture looked as if a decade of wear had been removed from the fibers.
The shower curtain had been replaced, a clear door installed. She'd never again walk into her bathroom and not be able to see the interior of her shower. The perception and sensitivity of the K&A men never ceased to amaze her, but the toothbrush and hairbrush choices were all Marcie. The old ones had been replaced by an X-Men set featuring Rogue. When she and Marcie would spar, they'd revert to childhood, pretending to be a matchup of superheroes. Marcie preferred the Black Widow, a la Scarlett Johansson, whereas Celeste had always identified with Rogue from the X-Men comics. The girl who couldn't touch anyone--or be touched--for fear of draining their life essence.
She'd received a postcard from Marcie in Italy and a promise that they'd get together when she and Ben returned. Celeste had a feeling their friendship was going to be even closer, that she'd be opening herself up to her few enduring relationships more than she had before. It was amazing how embracing love could do that for a person. She might have to choose a new superhero to guide her. Maybe Catwoman. She was billed as a super villain, but to Celeste's way of thinking, she was really just a brat looking for Batman to grow a pair and become her perfect Dom, right?
Speaking of which, Leland had added his own touches to the house. He'd simultaneously made her laugh and cry when she opened her lingerie drawer and found he'd bought several more packages of those cotton bikinis. He'd laid them out inside the drawer in a neat fanned out display, good as a Victoria's Secret counter--with one additional touch. Her Walther nine-millimeter was placed in the center of all the pastel cottons.
It scared her, she couldn't deny it, how quickly her life had changed. She'd thought, in the slim but unlikely chance it ever happened, such a relationship would be a far more gradual process, with way more missteps. One step forward, ten steps back, that kind of thing. But maybe the man made the difference. Leland knew how to be tough and gentle, connecting to who she was and what she needed in ways she hadn't understood herself. Yet through him, she thought she was starting to understand herself better.
He'd suggested they go on a cross-country trip in the spring. He wanted to meet her siblings, and she'd said yes before she stopped to think about it. Maybe that was why love was the one thing that even the most skeptical p
eople called magic. Because time didn't constrain it. It could only deepen it, expand the possibilities.
So now she was kneeling on the throw he'd laid out for her. He wanted her in nothing but a pair of those panties--her choice of color--and the locked heart collar he'd given her. He'd turned on a space heater near the throw to keep a flow of warm air moving over her exposed skin. She was quivering, for a variety of reasons. Tonight was the first time they'd be together...intimately. Sex seemed too trivial a word for it. It had only been several weeks, but it felt way longer, that near-death experience a hurdle that had forced them to wait as her body and mind healed. He wouldn't let her rush it, and she'd known he was right, even as she ached for that connection with a sharp longing that surpassed any discomfort her healing body had given her.
She couldn't articulate what she wanted, how she wanted this to unfold, and the Celeste she used to be would have worried herself into a froth over it, until she was irritable and prickly and ready to start a fight. Now she closed her eyes, let herself sink down on her side, curling in a loose ball against the milk-soft fabric. When he knelt behind her, touched her, she vibrated with need under his hands but remained still, docile, as he passed his hands over her, stroking her arms, her hip, the line of her spine, her cheek. He was naked except for a pair of cotton shorts that brushed her skin as he moved against her.
When he turned her face up and bent over her, she kept her eyes closed, savoring the feel of his lips on hers, the tease of his tongue opening them. He slowly turned the rest of her, hand gliding down over her sternum to her abdomen to slide his fingers between her legs. He stroked her through the cotton panel of the panties and then cupped her bottom in his large hand, his other sliding under her shoulders as he brought her up in a half-curled ball onto his lap. He held her that way with all his amazing strength, cocooned as he put his lips on her forehead, the crown of her head.
"My sweet girl," he murmured. She savored the words, the way he said them, as if he could never tire of her sweetness, never tire of being with her like this. She suspected there would still be times she'd fight him. She'd need that edge he could command to combat her bitchier moments, but tonight it wouldn't be needed. For either of them. She wanted to give him succor as well. He might be a big, bad cop, a tough guy through and through, but love made some things easier to read and understand, especially when she dropped her defenses so she could see his heart fully. He loved her. Which meant this hadn't been a picnic for him, either.
He eased her back to her side, removed her panties. She watched him remove his shorts so he was as naked as she was. Then he wrapped the dark purple rope around her wrist, fixed it there with the simple knot. Beginning the ritual he'd shown her weeks ago, he brought her arm up across her throat, molded her hand against her nape as he guided the rope around the back of her neck. Then down over her sternum, binding her other arm against her body. He figure eight wrapped both thighs and drew them up so she was in a tighter curl. Tucking in the rope, he bent over her, mouth cruising over her buttock, the line of her hip, down between her legs from behind, his stubbled jaw scraping the sensitive seam of her ass as his mouth found that oblong space revealed by her closed thighs. His tongue teased her labia, slipping into wetness as his hand gripped her hip, holding her still when shock waves of sensation rippled up through her.
It felt so good to have him there. She'd scrubbed Dogboy away, she had, but it wasn't real, wasn't finished until her Master replaced that other touch with his own. He was so thorough, telling her he knew, he understood, that he was doing this for both of them. Claiming her and reasserting his claim. She was rocking against his face, fingers flexing against the webbing of rope across her chest, desire rising like a slow tide. She had the normal spurt of panic she couldn't explain as control of her own response started to slide out of her hands, but when she tilted her head back, trying to find him, he straightened, came back to her mouth. He stroked her face, letting her taste herself on his lips while he put his hand where his mouth had been, massaging her as those pre-climax ripples kept building.
"Leland..." She met his gaze, her lips parted.
"I'm here, darlin'. Trust me with all of it. Don't fight me."
She shook her head. "Scared...just a little. Don't know why."
He lifted her back into his arms, the rope falling away. He made her smile as he rolled backward, carrying her with him and changing their position so she was straddling him and he was stretched out beneath her. She curled her fingers into his chest. He had her sitting on his erection, stretched out hard and flat against his belly. She rubbed herself against his substantial length, her breath shortening at his thickness, at the steel beneath velvet.
"Who's in control, Celeste? Who's in charge?"
Ironic question, because the change of position should have made the answer obvious. But it wasn't. What was real and true was going on in the connection between their eyes, all the intense feelings she felt there, as well as in the grip of his hands on her hips. "You."
The lines alongside his eyes crinkled, his firm lips curving. "Can I get that on tape? On the record?"
"No." That made his smile deepen, even as he held her more tightly. Her little movements and twitches became more insistent, desire rising over fear. Her hands slid over his wide chest, that smooth butterscotch skin. Well, smooth except for the occasional scar. She touched the one on his abdomen that he'd said was a ricochet. His hand went to her shoulder, traced the bullet wound turning into a small, shiny scar. His eyes darkened, shifted to meet hers.
"Put me inside you, Celeste."
His grip loosened so she could reach between them, curl her fingers around him. She moistened her lips. "You're so big. You always are, but..."
"I've been thinking about being inside you for the past couple weeks, darlin'. I want to drive it all away. Remind you that you're mine so you don't have any thoughts otherwise."
She guided him to the mouth of her pussy, and her tissues were so moist, so eager, she drew him in with barely a breath, sliding down his length, her face tightening at the stretch. As she adjusted to accommodate his size, her breath grew shallower in that wonderful, thrilling way. She pressed herself down on him as far as she could go, resting on his pelvis and feeling his length fill her so there was no doubt he had her. He took control again, holding her fast as he made small movements inside her, increasing the kaleidoscope of sensations. She curled her hands over his forearms, holding on as he started to move her up, down. Deep inside her, then a slow withdrawal, all the nerve endings tingling as she rose and fell.
"Bring your breasts to my mouth. I want to be sucking on them when you start to come."
Just hearing that was enough to tip her over. Her body convulsed on him, but she obeyed, cupping her breasts in trembling hands and bringing the taut peaks to his mouth. He kept her moving on him, and she shuddered at the new angle, even more excruciating. She could feel the inevitability of the soul-shattering climax like the certainty of sunshine dancing on the Mississippi, but it was all at his pace. He bit one nipple, flicked it with his tongue, drew it back in so hard, so she felt the pull all the way to the womb. Reaching up with one hand, he slid his fingers under the choker, thumb stroking her jugular, and she closed her eyes, all of her vibrating with need.
"Master..."
He reversed their positions so smoothly it took her breath away, pressing her down into the fleece throw. He framed her face with his hands, his eyes fierce, mouth firm. "Mine," he said quietly. "Always, Celeste."
She surrendered everything to him. And as she did, the emotions that filled her overflowed and expanded, covering the room, every inch of the house. The cleaning crew had done their part but it had needed this to make it all hers again for real. Now she believed it, with the same miraculous certainty she believed the man in her arms was hers as well.
"Yours, Master. Please. Always."
He shifted so he could wrap his arms around her. As he began thrusting, their gazes never left one ano
ther. She locked her legs over his thighs, his pumping hips. He held her closer as he took them both over that edge, a free fall to bliss.
She hadn't needed pain or elaborate restraints to find this place inside herself. Just a Master who showed her surrender was the way to happiness. To bliss. To letting go of all that didn't matter so she could hold on to what did.
With both hands.
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Now that Celeste and Leland have found one another, would you like to read the FREE novella about Celeste's night with Ben at Club Surreal, the event that started her on the road toward Leland? (Marcie says it's okay. So does Leland, even though he's a little more grudging about it.) The novella is called "Retribution," and it's available on the JWH Connection fan forum, under the Vignette section. Information about the forum and instructions on how to access it are here - http://storywitch.com/community.
Soul Rest is a Knights of the Board Room book. If you'd like to know more about Joey W. Hill's work or that series, visit her website or the series page at http://storywitch.com or http://storywitch.com/series-kbr. Free excerpts for all the books are available there. Each book of the series can standalone, because each book is about a different "Knight," so see who piques your interest!
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The Knights of the Board Room...
Five powerful corporate executives, five bonded males. Together they help each man find the woman of his dreams, even when it takes the sensual talents of all five to break through her shields and convince her that he's the Master who can love her--body, heart, and soul.
"...an outstanding series...if you love romance, if you are part of the BDSM lifestyle or dream you could live in [that] world, or if you just yearn for a really good book, buy a copy ..."
--Riverina Romantics
The Knights of the Board Room Series