Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me)

by Masters, Kallypso

Because nothing is ever easy when it comes to men.

  She glanced at the floor of the closet and saw Marc’s toy bag. On a whim, she bent down and unzipped it, spotting first the paddle he’d last used on her New Year’s weekend at his family resort.

  Mine.

  Like the long-gone mark on her butt from that session, their relationship seemed to be vanishing quickly. Why did he keep shutting her out? One very real possibility was the realization that Marc couldn’t trust anybody. Well, maybe he trusted Adam, Damián, and Luke to a certain extent, but definitely not women. Okay, Grant maybe, but she was one of his Marines. A corpsman’s relationship to the Marines he served with gave them an elevated status.

  He most definitely didn’t trust Angelina enough to build a solid foundation. Wasn’t it ironic that in the beginning the problem had been her inability to trust him? She’d forgiven him for the lie by omission that had snowballed into quite a mess when they’d first met. But she hadn’t forgotten it and couldn’t shake the feeling he was hiding something else about his past relationship with Melissa from her.

  Furthermore, he might not even know what he was hiding. His nightmares had been coming more often, but he hadn’t shared much about any of them since the one on Christmas night. Was it something buried so deeply inside even he didn’t know it was there?

  Oh, they both definitely had serious trust issues. How could they begin to overcome them and move forward together? She’d learned a lot about trust through discipline while being restrained during their play scenes. Maybe she should plan a play scene that would teach Marc.

  Spying the stilettos she rarely wore because Marc always worried about her hurting herself, she decided to slip into them and channel her inner Mistress Grant, who always wore over-the-knee stiletto boots in a Domme scene. These mules would have to suffice. She wondered when Marc would…

  “Bellissima.”

  She turned and Marc cocked his head. How long had he been standing there? His gaze captured hers and then explored the length of her body before returning to linger on her chest. When his gaze shifted to the open toy bag, he grinned and her stomach flip-flopped.

  Don’t even think it, Marc.

  Suddenly, she knew what needed to happen. Marc needed a lesson in discipline tonight. But could she deliver as a Domme, even for one scene?

  No time like the present to find out.

  Chapter Nine

  Marc’s cock grew stiff seeing Angelina wearing his Armani shirt. She’d never looked sexier. He’d come home expecting to give some long, drawn-out explanation about why he’d been such an ass since their return from Aspen, but apparently she was in the mood for some stress relief instead. Good. He needed to expel some energy right now.

  She turned and bent down to his toy bag. The silk shirt molded around her hips, and then he spied the stilettos.

  “Lose the fucking shoes.”

  She stood and turned to him, puzzled. “They’re called fuck-me shoes…”

  Marc didn’t know why the damned things bothered him so much but stared her down until she shrugged and kicked them off, returning them to the back of the closet where they belonged.

  Angelina bent again and rummaged through the toy bag. He wondered which implement she’d choose to play with and didn’t have long to wait. She turned toward him holding one of the fourteen-inch floggers in one hand and a pair of leather wrist cuffs clipped together in the other. He wondered why she hadn’t chosen the pair of floggers; typically his girl preferred Florentine-style flogging. No worries. He’d make sure he met her needs in whatever way she desired.

  Angelina motioned in the air with the hand holding the flogger, swishing the falls in the process. “Strip, boy.”

  The glass of wine he’d had downstairs after returning from the store must have affected his hearing. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I. Said. Strip. Boy.”

  Marc chuckled. She was cute, trying to exert control, but if she thought he was going to…

  “Now.” There was no humor in her eyes, only steely determination.

  What was her game tonight? His mood tumbled like an axe off an icefall. “Angelina, you know how I feel about you topping me from the bottom. I’ll determine when or whether you need a spanking.”

  “Oh, I’m not topping from the bottom at all, Marc.” She set the flogger’s falls twirling rhythmically and stalked toward him. As she drew closer, the flying leather tips slapped against his shirt, but she continued with the rhythm. “Tonight, I plan to top. Period.”

  Obviously, she’d been nipping at something, and on an empty stomach, too, no doubt. He really shouldn’t have left her alone with her thoughts for an entire afternoon. Marc reached out and stilled her hand’s movement, but she extricated herself deftly from his grasp.

  “You do not touch me without permission or instruction,” she parroted perfectly the command he’d given her many times while establishing the ground rules for a scene. She didn’t seem to be under the influence.

  Enough.

  “Pet, you won’t enjoy the spanking you are earning nearly as much as you think you might. I’m really not in the mood…”

  “Neither am I.” Her chin quivered a bit before she set her lips into a straight line. She motioned with the end of the flogger toward his shirt before placing the implement over her shoulder. “I want you to show me you can trust me, Marc. I want you to strip. Now.”

  Trust her? He trusted her more than any woman he’d ever known. “What’s this all about?”

  “We’re going to negotiate a role reversal tonight.”

  Like hell. He wouldn’t relinquish control to anyone. Not even Angelina.

  She held one of the cuffs toward him, the Velcro flaps open. She clearly wasn’t getting the message from his glare alone.

  The need to regain control took over, and he wrested the cuff from her hand, taking Angelina by surprise. The flogger fell from her shoulder to the floor.

  “I am the Top in this relationship, Angelina. If anyone will be restrained, it will be you.”

  “Not tonight.” She took a step away from him. “Marc, if you can’t trust me, then we really don’t have a relationship. Trust has to go both ways.”

  What the fuck was all this talk about trust? Why did she think he didn’t trust her? Of course, he trusted her. She had never been unfaithful to him. She would never betray him. She would never leave him.

  Would she?

  The truth hit him with the force of the rebar that pierced his side on the rooftop in Fallujah. An image of Melissa standing naked in their room New Year’s weekend crossed his mind. Angelina had packed her suitcase and left it by the door.

  He narrowed his gaze. “New Year’s Eve, when I came back to the room to find Melissa there, had she inadvertently stopped you from leaving?”

  She looked away. “No. I found Melissa in the room after I came back.”

  So Angelina hadn’t just packed a bag? She’d actually left him? What little control he thought he had in this relationship ebbed away.

  Angelina continued to stare at the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d been less than honest with me about your relationship with Melissa.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me first as I asked?”

  Her face shot up, a spark of fury in her eyes. “I was having an insecure moment, okay? Besides, what happened with you and other women you met before me is none of my business.” She took a breath before continuing. “I feel as if there is some big secret hanging between us that needs to be aired.” She took a step toward him. “Marc, this isn’t about Melissa anymore. It’s about us.”

  “Glad to hear you say that, because I’ve been over Melissa for a very long time.”

  “Are you sure?” Was there an edge to her question? How could she be insecure about someone like Melissa? The pained look on Angelina’s face reminded him he hadn’t given her any details about what had happened in those last encounters with the conniving gold-digger. He hated to remember
those two times, much less talk about them, but she needed to know he’d been over Melissa for a very long time.

  “The two times after Gino’s death were…” Unable to meet her gaze any longer, he grabbed onto the bedpost. He should face her, but the shame wouldn’t let go of him. He drew a deep breath needing to get this out. Her gaze bore a hole to his soul, even though he didn’t make eye contact.

  Marc released the breath slowly. “When my brother was killed, I blamed myself. I thought I was the one who had driven him to join the Marines. To get killed. I was…lost without him.”

  Dio, how to admit what kind of man he’d been back then? “She came to me the night of Gino’s funeral.” Marc heard her gasp at what she must know was coming and lowered his head. He continued barely above a whisper. “I was angry, trying to reaffirm life. Perhaps I even wanted to take revenge on Gino.”

  No excuses, remember? You fucked up.

  He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. Angelina’s breathing became more agitated. She must hate hearing what he’d done with his brother’s fiancée right after burying the body. “Hell, I don’t know why I did it! But we had sex that night. Disgusted with myself afterward, I sent her away. For good, I’d hoped.”

  “That bitch!”

  Marc cocked his head. She was angry at Melissa, not him? Angelina walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him against her. “To take advantage of you in your time of grief…” She rested her head against his shoulder blade.

  He gripped her forearms, not wanting her to let go of him or to leave him again. Marc gained strength from Angelina’s support, but now he had to tell her the rest. Reluctantly, he broke the tight hold of her arms and spun around toward her. He couldn’t bear looking into her face yet, so he pulled her into his arms and took a shaky breath.

  “There was that other time, too.” Her body stiffened, and he rubbed his hand up and down her back to relax her. Or perhaps to calm himself. Touching her was like a talisman for him. “It was the day before I enlisted, the catalyst that helped me decide to leave my family to join the Navy.”

  Breathe.

  “Melissa showed up on my doorstep and—I took advantage of her.” When Angelina tried to pull back, he held her tighter.

  Don’t leave me.

  So many of those he loved had left him, including his own birth parents. Wait. Mama, Papa, Carmella, and Sandro hadn’t deserted him. Ever. Gino had driven the wedge between them to end their relationship, but they would have reconciled eventually if Afghan rebels hadn’t taken that opportunity away.

  Thank God he had his family of choice now—Adam, Luke, and Damián. The guys would never reject him. No worries there.

  What about Angelina? He’d known her barely six months, and she had left him early in their relationship. But he’d screwed the pooch that time.

  He continued to hold onto her like the lifeline she was, but she persisted in pushing him away and stared up at him. Smiling? Puzzled, he quirked his head.

  “Marc, Melissa isn’t the type of woman who relinquishes control easily, if at all. Nor would she take no for an answer. I’m sure she orchestrated the entire scene just before you enlisted. If you want to talk about someone topping from the bottom…”

  Marc hadn’t really thought about it before, but Melissa was a control freak. Probably more than himself, if possible. Thinking back, Melissa did seem to have the upper hand with him that night, from the moment he’d found her kneeling on his doorstep. She’d certainly not complained about anything he’d done to her. When he told Adam about the scene, his friend had no sympathy for her either, but Marc had been so knotted up with guilt he hadn’t really listened. Still, he knew she’d been drinking. He should have remained composed that night.

  He hadn’t loosened the tight rein on himself since. He sure as hell never allowed another woman to play him like that again.

  But Angelina wasn’t just any woman; she had never used him. His emotional connection with her was stronger than he’d ever experienced with any other woman. Even Pamela, his last almost-fiancée who’d wanted him as her Master, hadn’t evoked such strong feelings. To be honest, she hadn’t used him, but he may well have used her. She deserved a more authentic Dom, one confident in his ability to provide what she needed and honest up front about his limitations.

  Then along came Angelina, who disrupted his safe but lonely world like a fast-moving blizzard. She was the woman for whom he’d given up all other women, the woman he never wanted to lose. He’d even been jealous of her being with Luke, his SAR partner, despite the fact that Marc knew she deserved someone more stable.

  No. Mine.

  But for how long? If he didn’t put his trust in her, he was going to lose her as early as tonight. He couldn’t fuck this up.

  Would letting her top him fulfill some need she had? Would it prove something to her about him? If this is what she needed in order to believe he trusted her, could he do it?

  Not a chance.

  He started to leave but halted when she said, “Marc, how many times have I given you my submission?” She didn’t wait for a response. “In doing so, I also gifted you with the highest possible degree of trust that you would never harm me and would only act in my best interests.”

  “And I thank you for that gift, pet, but we aren’t talking about you submitting to me now.”

  “No, I’m asking you to trust me enough to know what you need and to allow me to give that to you. You know I won’t harm you.”

  Of course she wouldn’t, because he wouldn’t give her that much authority over him. He was no submissive. “You aren’t a Domme, pet.”

  Her gaze remained steady, unrelenting. “Maybe not, but this submissive sees her Dom is neglecting his own needs. I think surrendering your need for constant control might help you discover some things about yourself that can help you sort out what’s happening in your life right now. I can’t bear to watch us drift farther apart.”

  Merda. He glanced away. One thing Angelina was right about, though—they were drifting apart.

  “Marc, I want to show you that you can trust me as much as I can you.”

  He’d screwed up enough lately, pushing her away and shutting himself off. He definitely didn’t want to talk about what happened at Mama’s earlier today, and if this scene would distract her, he might as well humor her and see what she had planned.

  “Fine, I’ll submit, but there will be no talk about what happened in Mama’s office today.”

  “Hard limit?”

  “Very.”

  “Eyes on me, Marc.”

  He met her gaze, sizing her up. He recognized the moment she sensed his decision to submit in her almost imperceptible smile.

  Trust her.

  All she asked of him was to meet that objective. Marc drew in a deep breath and handed the cuff back to her. “Have it your way, Angelina.”

  Her eyes opened wider, and she sounded as if the words barely made it from her throat. “Thank you.”

  “I’m bottoming for you, amore. For this one night only, I will allow you be the Top. The few times I bottomed during my training as a Dom were…uncomfortable… to put it mildly.” He remembered how he’d freaked out during a paddling training session when the club first opened. He had nearly ripped the spanking bench apart in his effort to get out of the straps, steadfastly refusing to use his safeword.

  Adam demonstrated ways in which he might conduct himself better in the Dominant role, helping him unlearn some bad habits he’d picked up on his own over the years. The senior partner in the club’s ownership had put Marc and Damián both through their paces before allowing either of them anywhere near the unattached submissives at the club.

  “I find no excitement in being dominated and certainly none in giving up control. But if by doing so I can prove to you that I trust you, I will do it for you, my pet.”

  She grinned and her face lit up. “How do you know you won’t find it exciting, boy? You’ve never been dom
inated by me before.”

  “Oh, on the contrary, my love.”

  You have dominated my life since the moment I found you on the St. Andrew’s cross at the club being abused by Sir Asshole.

  Angelina cocked her head waiting for him to elaborate but soon shrugged and reached out to take the cuff from him. Any hint of a smile was long gone. “Now, boy, I believe Mistress has given you an order, and you have hesitated long enough.”

  He’d taught her well, apparently, the persona of the Dominant.

  Marc reached up and dispensed with the buttons on his shirt quickly, enjoying the way her eyes widened. Obviously, she hadn’t anticipated his cooperation. He removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt, slipping it from the waistband loops. Just as he was about to let it fall to the floor, she held her free hand out.

  “I’ll take that.”

  Surely she didn’t think she would be using a belt on him. Their gazes battled for supremacy for a moment until he remembered his place in this powder-puff exchange dynamic. He sighed, extending the belt to her. She draped the flogger over her shoulder once more, doubled the belt over, and slapped it against the inside of her free hand. Her slight wince had him fighting to suppress a grin.

  Angelina blushed but recovered quickly. She quirked a brow at him then swung the belt as if practicing. Would she use it on him? He’d never used one on her before.

  After leaving him wondering for a while, she wrapped the belt around her waist with a malicious grin, cinching herself into his Armani shirt. Her ample cleavage showed above the vee, reminding him of a lady pirate. The square hem fit snugly over her hips, and he looked to see if he could catch a glimpse of her bare mound.

  Merda. So fucking sexy. Marc’s cock stirred to life.

  “Now the pants. Fold them neatly, just like they showed you in the Navy, and place them on the chair.”

  He’d always been conscientious about putting his things away, even before his Navy training. He sat on the bed to remove his shoes and socks. Standing again, his gaze still on her, he unzipped his pants, removing them.

  Marc placed his slacks and shirt, neatly folded, on the chair and turned to face her.