Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  “I’ve missed you,” I whispered.

  He planted a kiss on top of my head. “I missed you, too.”

  Kitten. I heard the endearment in my head, even though from his mouth my pet name wasn’t spoken. The weight of its loss pulled at my heart.

  I didn’t look up into his face, though I longed to look into his eyes, I couldn’t Not wanting to see if they were the same mesmerizing blue that had lured me in so recently, or whether they were darkened with anger, fear, jealousy…or a million other possible emotions—one of which prevented him from calling me Kitten.

  I kissed the spot on his chest bared by the V-neckline of his silk T-shirt. He was tanner than I remembered, but then it was July and I hadn’t seen much of him since May. Against the healthy glow of his cheek, my hand appeared ghost white.

  “Easy, Celia. Bags!”

  Jackie scooted in behind me, taking the bags from Garrett so that he could properly take me into his arms, his mouth lowering to claim mine, his arms wrapping around my waist to lift me off the ground, making me squeal in a very girly way. Lowering my feet back to the ground, he pulled away, but I followed him, refusing to release his mouth from the kiss he initiated, kissing him passionately with the fierceness of desperation. I couldn’t bear to release him, because I honestly didn’t know what the next moment would bring, our relationship a thrill ride since we’d first met. I, the slave on stage being auctioned, he the master of ceremony, who also just happened to be my purchaser, for the unheard of sum of a quarter of a million dollars. The sum seemed astronomical, even, upon reflection, exorbitant. I feel so much less worthy now than then, and even that night, I wasn’t worth what he paid.

  I was an undercover reporter, hell-bent on an exposé that would further my career. He was the innocent bystander who stood to lose an empire if my then boss, Mr. Bosko, had his way. It was only after awakening in the hospital that the entire truth was made clear. Mr. Bosko would have killed me if Garrett hadn’t arrived to rescue me in time.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid, after what was s-said in the hospital, after you removed my collar and left, that you wouldn’t—that I wouldn’t…God, you’re here! You’re really here, at my house! You’ve never been in my house.”

  “Sh-h, Kitten, just let me hold you,” he whispered against my face, holding me as if he might never let go.

  I did cry then, hearing the endearment I longed to hear. Lifting my chin, he looked into my face, wiping tears away with his thumbs as fast as they fell.

  “Don’t cry, Kitten, I won’t be able to bear letting you go if you cry.”

  “You called me Kitten,” I sobbed in explanation.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I know better.”

  “Please don’t stop, I am yours, I don’t want to go away from you.”

  “Yes, you do. I shouldn’t be here. It’s why I stayed away from the hospital—it doesn’t have to be this hard.” Pulling me into his arms, he hugged me tight, whispering, “I will be waiting for you when you are ready for Lord Fyre to release you.”

  “I heard my name?” his voice asked from the other side of the screen, as if on cue.

  Lord Fyre.

  Oh shit!

  It was easier when we were in the hospital, Thomas talking to me, friend to friend, or so it seemed. The man who opened my screen door and let himself into my home was Lord Fyre, no doubt about it. I couldn’t begin to explain the difference, but different he was.

  Again, a man on either side, me emotionally stretched between the two for totally opposite reasons. Garrett, I wanted to love me, to cherish me—to be my Master; but Lord Fyre I wanted to open me, to share with me the lovely darkness that lurked in his soul, the same darkness that I believed lurked in mine.

  “Kneel,” Lord Fyre commanded.

  I fell to my knees and placed my cheek on top of his black leather boot without question, not thinking about Garrett, standing only a foot away. My only thought was to please this man, to convince him to train me. Remnants of my tears smeared onto his boot.

  “Oh, please,” Jackie whined from the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen. Hearing the sharp click of her stilettos retreating on my hardwood floors, I felt her disapproval, but didn’t know her reasons for disliking Lord Fyre. Though I understood well her frustration with me. She had worked so hard, conspiring with me to help me win Garrett back, and now that I could have him, completely, I still wanted another. She didn’t understand, maybe never would. It made her angry with me.

  Lord Fyre ignored her theatrics, demanding, “Who do you belong to?”

  I didn’t answer, closing my eyes. In my heart I still belonged to Garrett, but a deep-seated instinct that I was loath to understand insisted I allow myself the experience of Lord Fyre.

  “No one,” I answered, it seemed the only safe choice. “Master has released me, you have yet to collar me.”

  “And yet here you kneel before me, not him. Kiss my boots before you rise, slave.”

  I placed a soft kiss on the top of each boot—black and shiny, smelling faintly of fresh shoe polish. I wondered for a moment who shined his boots with such great care that I could see my reflection in their surface, and would that be my job soon? Standing slowly, I faced him.

  “Eyes down.”

  I lowered my gaze to the floor, but didn’t drop my face.

  “Walk with me,” he commanded, turning and going out onto the porch. I didn’t follow, at least not immediately like a good slave would have, instead I looked to Garrett, seeking permission, approval, or some sign that I was or wasn’t making a huge mistake. In answer, he used a nod of his head to nudge me out the door.

  Leaving the house, I didn’t find Fyre on the porch.

  The sun was blinding bright, the day turned into a brilliant, clear day with a deep blue sky and white puffy clouds. My favorite kind of day. It promised to be hot. For a moment, I was distracted by the sheer beauty surrounding my porch. My massive perennial gardens had come out in full glorious bloom while I was away, hummingbirds ducking in and out of the overhanging wisteria, monarchs flitting amongst the daisies, honey bees a symphony of their own, darting gluttonously from fragrant bloom to fragrant bloom. I dallied, trying to get my bearings on which way he may have gone, without seeming too obvious.

  “I’m here,” he called and I walked along the painted wood porch to reach the side stairs leading to the lawn. Joining him, I kept my eyes lowered, stepping back just a little when I saw his hand reach for me. Reflex. Not ducking, not exactly, but defensive. The reaction was met by a heavy sigh, “Who hurt you? Who made you lose your trust?” He shook his head. “Not Garrett.”

  Then his hand was near my face, not touching, reaching for me in what seemed like slow motion, trying not to spook me, as one trained might approach a new horse, or an unknown dog, but maybe my mind was just having a hard time accepting that he was going to touch me. His fingers were light on my jaw, lifting my face with an easy pressure, forcing my gaze up to his. I directed my gaze away.

  “Look at me.” His voice was smooth and easy, but not like warm brandy, more like summer thunder, soft, rolling, non-threatening. Our gazes collided when I finally brought myself to lift my eyes to his and the force of will coming from his was a scary thing that I quickly looked away from a second time.

  “Keep your eyes on mine.”

  Swallowing, I looked at him and forced myself to keep looking long after my bravado faded. A slow trembling started in my shoulders, uncontrollable. I feared him for no other reason than once he’d kissed me and once he’d entranced me. Both times, in my mind, I thought of him as Lucifer, the great deceiver; but standing before him, I forced myself to remember that he was a man, just a man. His scent came to me on the breeze, exotic, unknown, like incense, frankincense, and myrrh, a hint of cinnamon and warm leather.

  I wanted to look away but took him all in, his jaw darkened with a hint of five o’clock shadow, adding ruggedness to his well-trimmed mustache and goatee. Lashes, l
onger and thicker than any I’d ever seen on a man, surrounded his dark brown eyes. Just a man, I told myself again, not a God, not a demon, and still I trembled.

  “Are you going to be able to go through with this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I want this, I truly do.”

  His eyes narrowed and I felt him assess the truth of my words. “Go inside. Spend the evening with Garrett and Jackie. Eat a good meal—God knows you need one by the look of you. Tonight, you and Garrett are going to make up for the misunderstanding, for the deceit, for the betrayal.”

  I jerked with each accusation—deceit, betrayal—knowing how much pain I’d caused Garrett, wishing I’d been honest from the start, the regret trapped in my chest begging for release, but my gaze never left Lord Fyre’s.

  “Tonight he will make love to you and I want you to embrace that love, fill yourself with it, saturate every pore of your being in that love, enough to carry you through three months of not seeing him, because once I collar you, you will be mine, solely mine, for ninety days. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, not really understanding what he was saying, hearing only that he wanted me to make love to Garrett, hearing that he wanted me to say good-bye to him.

  Emotion caught in my throat, preventing me from speaking.

  He repeated, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, not able to find my voice.

  “Tomorrow you will meet me at noon beside the swings at the park around the block. Do you know where I’m talking about?”

  I nodded, even my whisper stolen by the power pounding into me from his eyes.

  “Then go to him now.”

  I stood for a moment on my porch, watching him drive away in a shiny black Porsche, almost identical to Garrett’s except that Garrett’s Carrera Cabriolet is a convertible, Fyre’s 911 Turbo isn’t. Parked side by side, so alike, so different. I tried not to make comparisons, both men also so alike, so different. Finally returning to the house, I entered to find it solemn and felt like I had just missed an argument between Jackie and Garrett. Enough so for me to ask, “Is everything okay?”

  Handing Garrett plates to set the table with, she turned to me with a questioning, raised eyebrow, “We could ask the same of you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sit, Kitten,” Garrett commanded, pulling out a dining room chair. “Dinner’s almost ready, we’ll eat soon.”

  I looked at the food already on the table and my stomach rolled, but I sat.

  “So, we’re not going to discuss this?” Jackie demanded, sitting a wicker bowl filled with warm bread on the table.

  Their gazes met over the table, each glaring at the other. Garrett’s glare said stop. Jackie’s glare meant a whole lot more. I slumped forward, propping my elbows on the table, rudely sliding so that my crossed arms pressed the table and my face pressed into my arms.

  “For God’s sake, talk some sense into her, Garrett! Before it’s too late!”

  “God has nothing to do with this,” I quipped, whispering too softly for either to notice. Exhausted, not wanting to hear them fight over me, over my decision to go with Lord Fyre, I sucked the flesh of my arm into my mouth and bit down, just to feel the pain, just to make sure that I was awake, not dreaming. I just turned myself over to Lord Fyre. He commanded me here to eat and to make love. To say good-bye.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Jackie. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “I think she’s making a huge mistake, one she’s going to regret, and mark my words, Garrett, my boy, you will too.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing I could turn off the volume, sinking my teeth in harder, deeper, wanting it to hurt enough so that the pain would be louder than their voices in my head.

  “God, Kitten, stop!” Garrett jerked back on my hair, pulling my teeth from my arm with a loud pop. “Jackie, hand me a napkin, Kitten’s bleeding.”

  Looking down, I saw the first red drip of blood falling over my forearm. Perfect dents, welling with blood, forming a perfect circle, and then blood spilled in thin rivers of red. Not a lot of blood, but enough to require attention.

  Funny, I felt drunk, or drugged, when only moments before my heart was racing from the fear of knowing I’d just taken the final step. No turning back. How will I survive three months with Lord Fyre when a moment on the lawn left me so unsettled?

  “And I thought when Lord Fyre kicks her back to your curb in three months you’d have a mess to clean up,” Jackie sniped. “Looks like you have a pretty big mess that needs cleaning up right now.”

  “Enough, Jackie!” Garrett demanded, kneeling beside me, pressing the napkin against my arm to stop the bleeding.

  Jackie stormed to the table, pressing herself nose to nose with him. “No, Garrett, not nearly enough! I watched while you destroyed this girl, I held her hand while you ignored her, and now, when you should be stepping up to the plate to reclaim your property, you are letting one stronger than you take her! I’ve seen you Garrett, as Ice you are every bit as strong as Fyre. If she needs to be mastered, you are every bit as able as he is to help her release her demons and embrace her darkness! Isn’t that why you said this is happening?”

  “Yes, Jackie, that’s what I said.”

  “If you go through with this, little girl,” Jackie seethed, turning on me, shaking me unexpectedly, waking me from my stupor with her angry shriek, “I’m wiping my hands free of it—I hope the three of you can figure out how to fix this disaster once it explodes in your faces, because I’m wiping my hands free of all of you! Do you understand?”

  “Leave, Jackie,” Garrett stood and pushed her hard enough to move her, screaming, “If you feel that way, get out!”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. Jackie stormed away, making me jump when the screen door slammed, announcing she was gone. Startled, I blinked, feeling like I’d missed something. Squatting before me, Garrett’s concerned face came into focus, but he wasn’t really in focus, I saw just his blurred form, enough to realize that it was him, lifting my arm, dabbing at the bloody mess I’d made on my arm. My brain squeezed in on itself when he demanded, “Why did you bite yourself?” I couldn’t answer. My shrug didn’t seem to please him.

  With Jackie’s departure, my head cleared a little, though she’d had nothing to do with it. I watched Garrett clean my arm with a square damp pad reeking of alcohol, and once wiped and disinfected, it didn’t look horrible, just a red, angry-looking circle of teeth indentations. I watched him repack the contents of the kitchen first-aid kit I didn’t remember him bringing to the table.

  “I need to feed you,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Lord Fyre told me to make certain you ate.”

  That got my attention. I couldn’t resist challenging, “Do you always do what Lord Fyre tells you to do, Garrett Lawrence?”

  His eyes narrowed as if he might not answer the question, as if I might have made him angry with the question. I swallowed, realizing too late that when it came to matters between Thomas and Garrett, I was walking on eggshells and hadn’t even realized it.

  Just when I thought he was going to not answer, he did, his eyes still narrowed. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. It’s a complicated relationship even I am sometimes loath to understand; however, he was once my master, and old lessons are hard to unlearn.”

  His answer made me wish I hadn’t asked the question, especially when he started to speak again, but closed his mouth. I didn’t ask what he might have said. We both looked at the table at the same time, seeing how much trouble Jackie had gone to for my homecoming—fresh, warm breads that looked homemade, grilled salmon, glazed green beans, fresh corn on the cob, bowls of cut melons, green leaf salad, and citrus salad. “Please thank Jackie for the trouble she went to, but I can’t eat, really.”

  “You have to start eating soon,” he said, but he didn’t argue the point, instead lifting me and carrying me through the house and up the staircase to my bedroom, withou
t directions.

  He lowered me onto the bed, and then pulled his shirt off. “Did Fyre tell you that I’m going to make love to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to make love to you?”

  “More than anything in the world—yes.”

  “No games tonight then, Kitten. Just me making love to you and you making love to me. No pain tonight. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, trying not to be overcome with emotion, watching him as he unzipped his jeans, pulling jeans and plaid boxers off in one swoop. As he stood naked before me, I was very aware of how much I appreciated the beauty of his body, tall and lean, long-limbed and tan. Fine dark hair covered his arms and legs, thicker hair covered his chest, narrowing to a trail that led enticingly to his hard cock. I could say that he stood there posing. I could say that he wanted me to look, he wanted me to commit to memory each shadowed muscle, each subtle nuance that made his body distinctly his. The truth was perhaps somewhere in the middle of me being unable to stop looking and him wanting me to look my fill.

  I looked until I could look no longer without touching him, and then reached out to him without thinking, just reaching. Grasping my hand, he folded it over his and kissed each finger, turning my palm to kiss the inside of my hand. A man had kissed me in a similar manner in my past—Lion. I have never been kissed that way by a man who knew what he was doing and put every bit of emotion he held in his being into the kiss, energy crawling over my palm with his lips, the kiss itself electric, coursing through my body, awakening parts of me that I was unaware were sleeping.

  Moving to the foot of the bed, he slipped my sandal from my right foot, kneeling before me to kiss each toe as he had my fingers, except after kissing, he ran his tongue over and under each toe, until each had felt the soft lick of pleasure. Continuing to hold my foot, he ran his tongue down the length of my arch before placing a kiss on my ankle. Not to be neglectful, he pulled my other sandal off and repeated the sensual tongue worship on my left foot, drawing and sucking on each toe, discovering quickly that my left foot was more than slightly ticklish. I’m sure the sadist in him made him lick my arch while I wiggled and screamed, begging him to stop. I was both relieved and sorry when he did.