The Protective Dominant

by Jan Irving

  She paced, thinking she would add a pot of nasturtiums to his mini patio now that he’d invited her to this sacred space, this temple of his solitude. The flowers would go wild and cover the flagstones with vines and bright mustard flowers.

  Rock and flowers.

  Yin and yang.

  Her and Taz. Could it be that simple, just that simple? Could she be woman to his man, or was she still too broken?

  “Jenny, talk to me.”

  She jolted out of her whimsy. Rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

  “So…” He looked around as if for inspiration. “Make a list of things that are bothering you and just tell me so I know. I can’t understand you if you don’t talk to me.”

  She sat down on a recliner. “Whoa, that’s Relationship 101.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were watchful on her. “No, it’s me not being able to sleep sometimes and having to make a list so I know what the fuck I’m feeling. I, uh, got good at disassociating from my emotions a long time ago.”

  Jenny held his gaze, saw pain under his machismo. “I guess I’m a little down.”

  Taz nodded. “Go on.”

  “I feel awkward here, like you’ll have expectations and there’s no way I can meet them. Because I’m not sexy. Because I can’t just walk up to you and kiss you without being nervous about how you would react.”

  When Taz didn’t say anything, when his expression remained impassive, it weirdly reassured Jenny to keep going. “Dharma’s beautiful and experienced and…gorgeous. And I’m not.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How do you feel?”

  “Um, queasy. I ate a chocolate bar. I thought it would make me feel better. Happier or something.”

  “I’m coming out,” Taz warned her. “You might not be ready for this.”

  Nude. He was warning her he was nude. Jenny swallowed tightly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been waiting forever to see you. I’m just not sure I’m ready for more, okay?”

  Tenderness burned in his eyes. “Okay.”

  He lifted himself out on his arms, his biceps bulging with the effort, water spilling with him in a sloshing waterfall.

  Taz was a big man.

  She’d known that, had peeked at him quite happily often enough to have seen everything he had to offer.

  But it was different when he was only a few feet from her, when he was watching her watching him. When he was naked and comfortable and she was blushing and self-conscious.

  He towered over her, intimidating, his chest so broad her hands would look tiny pressed against it. On his right upper arm was a Celtic knot that looked like the armband on an ancient warrior.

  Hair threaded from his navel to where it flared generously around his sex, which was… Oh. He was really… Oh.

  “Come on, you had to have seen it before.”

  “I think this falls under ‘objects are larger than they appear from a distance’.”

  “You make it sound like a UFO.”

  “For me, it kind of is.”

  He snickered. She gave him a faint smile.

  Then his voice roughened. “I’m hard. You make me hard.”

  Jenny swallowed tightly.

  Taz reached impatiently for a towel to cover himself, but she grabbed his hand, gripping it while he held her gaze, checking out her expression. “All right,” he said, and dropped the towel. Then his forehead crinkled. “It sounds as if you’re depressed, baby.”

  She nodded, feeling her misery rising like a genie from a bottle. Talking to Taz about it seemed to be releasing it.

  “Why do you think you feel that way?”

  “Because I’m scared.”

  He nodded, reached out and cupped the side of her face, soothing long fingers. Gentleness. He was big, yes, but he was so surprisingly gentle with her. She thought it was a first for him, just like his invitation to come here.

  “Why are you scared?”

  “Because I’m a virgin,” the words just popped out, flowed with his touch. Then she immediately said, “No, I’m not—”

  He was shaking his head slowly. “You are. In every way that counts, you are, Jenny.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “You think?”

  “Yep. Not that I, uh, have any experience with, ah, virgins.”

  She quirked a brow. “Really?”

  “I think that innocence can’t be taken. It can be crushed. It can be wounded.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I wanted it to be you.”

  Taz brushed his lips against hers. “Don’t you see that’s what I’m trying to say, Jenny? It can be me. I mean, if you still want me.”

  “Oh, Taz.” She buried her face against his shoulder. He cupped the back of her neck. Safe, he made her feel safe, as if anyone who tried to hurt her would have to get through him to do it.

  “Come here.” He offered her his hand and she took it, shifting to sit with him in the weathered recliner. He settled behind her. She could feel his bare body pressed against her, feel his cock against her backside. His hands tightened on her hips then gentled. “I don’t want this to be about me. Does that help?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Because it seems to me that every virgin deserves to be wooed. Deserves to be pleasured and to laugh and to feel wonder.”

  He made it sound so good.

  She looked at him over her shoulder and saw the black hair that had fallen over his forehead, his brilliant green eyes set off like jewels by his tanned, healthy skin. He was so effortlessly sexy. He knew all the secrets to making her cry out and lose herself and surrender to him.

  Just the thought of it made her pulse throb in her throat and wrists and between her legs.

  “Probably we should let you get used to me and then I’ll get used to you. All right?”

  It sounded so down home practical. So entirely sane.

  Throat tight, she nodded.

  As if he couldn’t resist, he pressed his lips ardently against her neck, the side of her face. “Brave. You are so fucking brave.”

  She was trembling, a scared little girl, and he thought she was brave?

  But then he kissed her again, just the edges of his lips brushing hers. It lured her, promising heat. His tongue warm velvet as he licked her upper lip then her bottom one.

  She shuddered, never having felt such pleasure, and he laughed, triumphant, husky male laughter. “I can make you want me.”

  “Well, duh,” she grumbled. “I’ve only been watching you for months.”

  “Me too.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you were so mean to me!”

  He dropped his gaze. “You scared me.”

  “Me? I scared—”

  “Let’s not dwell on the past.” He licked her bottom lip again and she gasped. How did he do that, light her up with a touch? “Oh, Christ, touching you.”

  She felt the same melting into him. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her, taking over. And they were both hungry, so hungry. To merge, to be a part of the other, as if something had fallen away a very long time ago and only now was it found again.

  His tongue was deep in her mouth. The throbbing had become an ache. She squirmed to get closer, but he held her still, forcing her to comply with his slow, tortured pace.

  She clung to his shoulders and didn’t understand for a moment that he had pulled back, why he had pulled back.

  He watched her, careful, considering, and she knew that, for him, control still existed. It was a thin, fragile thread, but he kept it.

  For her. Because this was her first time.

  Emotion was huge, overpowering her like a roller smashing her on the beach. She reached out and touched his body, sleek and made for swimming, made for running, scarred some places—from his work? She longed to ask him, but now it would have to wait because she was lost, drugged by his body.

  Her hands ran down his chest, the thick pad of muscle, the rippling abs, until she clung to his hips. His erection flexed, as if deman
ding that she touch him, know him.

  “Does it frighten you?”

  His voice sounded foggy. Had she done that to him, despite all his one-night stands?

  “Not exactly.”

  He blinked, surfaced. “Do you want to touch me?”

  She sucked in a breath and lost it somewhere in the center of her chest. “Yes,” she admitted brokenly. Yes, let this be another first for her. Let him be the first man she’d ever touched voluntarily.

  He took her hands in his so her palms made little cups, then he pressed them against his cock.

  He spilled out of one hand so she needed two to hold him.

  He purred as she stroked him.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze, heat blasting out of her cheeks, but she also couldn’t let go of him.

  “It’s… You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I always thought so.”

  His breath caught. “Jenny…”

  The mounds below his cock felt cannon ball sized in her palms.

  He was breathing unsteadily now. “You keep pettin’ me and I’m going to come.” His steady gaze asked her, was she ready for that?

  She hesitated, feeling abruptly stupid. Should she keep caressing him? Is that how it was done? She didn’t know.

  “Jenny, you kill me,” he groaned. Gently he took her hands, making the decision for her, guiding them back to his stomach.

  This she wanted, this she felt comfortable doing, tracing every part of his body with her hands. His shoulders, his hair, which he seemed to prefer shaggy to regulation short. “I always picture you when you come back from one of your ocean swims as a merman with long, enticing hair.”

  He blinked at her in exaggeration, as if he had the long eyelashes of a siren. “And would you be enticed?”

  “I already am. God!” Her hands weren’t enough. Untutored but now not caring so much, she brushed her cheek against one of his pecs, felt the wire tension of muscle under silken skin. Heard him gasp. Oh, that was nice.

  She had the same power to move him as he did her?

  She rubbed her face, her lips against his belly. He sucked in a breath, his hands tangling in her hair as if to restrain her, as if to encourage her? She didn’t care. Now she was learning him.

  She nudged him to lift his arm then put her lips against the curls she found there.

  “Oh, God. Oh, fuck.”

  He seemed to like what she was doing so much that she licked him, tasting salt and Taz, that mix of sand and fresh lime and sea air.

  He balled his fists on the edges of the recliner, as if holding himself back so he wouldn’t do anything to scare her. She felt his want like heatwaves shimmering between them. With every touch, she lit a match. He wasn’t quiet, he was restless, a pacing beast who had locked himself in chains for her. He gasped and growled and hummed if he liked something, like when she ran a finger on his thigh, close to his sex. He raised himself up, muscled arms straining, beautiful body arched like a bow, a line of sweat rolling down the center of his chest so she just had to catch it, suck on it and his skin.

  Something shattered.

  Fragments of silvered wood scattered around them. He’d broken the armrests of the recliner with his bare hands and now he buried those hands in her hair.

  “Touch me, oh, Christ—”

  He guided her so that his cock brushed her cheek.

  His breath hissed as if she’d hurt him. His huge body trembled, on the verge of the cataclysm he’d warned her about.

  It felt hot against her lips, hot satin, moist at the tip. She didn’t know what else to do so she just rubbed her face softly against him while he cursed and arched against her. A second later hot liquid spurted, hitting the side of her face and neck.

  He was panting, still trembling like he’d run a race. His arms fell away and he stared at her, dazed.

  A second later clarity snapped into his eyes and he sat up abruptly, all soft enjoyment gone. “Are you all right? Oh, shit! What did I do? Did I scare you? Jenny, did I scare you?”

  She grabbed his face in her hands, holding on. “No, I’m fine. Taz, really—”

  He didn’t look as though he believed her. Then he winced. “You’re all covered with—”

  “Taz!”

  But he didn’t listen to her. He raced to his big beach towel, wetted it in the pool of water then scrubbed her. She tried to bat his hand away. “Hey, I didn’t mind.”

  He swiped at her again and she grabbed the cloth. “Taz, it didn’t turn me off. It was…natural.”

  He dropped his gaze. “I just never wanted to be that way with you,” he said.

  She frowned. “What way?”

  He swallowed and then looked at her. “I liked seeing my spend on you. Did you know that?”

  His words made her blood sizzle. She was still aching, hurting, restless, keyed up. “Why didn’t you want me to know that?”

  He shut his eyes for a moment. “Because it opens a door.” Then before she could ask what he meant, his mouth claimed hers and his hand, both sensitive and callused—much like he was—was on her leg. She hissed a breath, craving, craving his touch.

  She felt like her skin lit one cell at a time as his fingers brushed her bikini bottoms. She was blooming like one of her roses, about to shatter in the heat. He cupped her and she jerked, lightning shooting through her at the confident way he held her.

  His hands seemed to tell her, You are a woman and I know you. I know your depths and your pleasures.

  Her body did a little dance, back and forth onto his hand, rubbing, grazing, unable to keep still as the music riding her crashed. A beat in the blood. An oath taken.

  When he pushed aside her clothing and met her flesh to flesh for the first time, her eyes snapped open and she looked at him, into his brilliant green eyes, swallowed by the dark pupils reflecting her like shadowed mirrors.

  He liked to watch.

  As she jerked and gasped, he licked his lips, as if hungry to taste her. A thick finger played at her opening, finding her wet, swirling and swirling as if caught in a nautilus shell. And just when she thought she’d scream and claw for what she anticipated, Taz impaled her on one gentle finger.

  “Oh. Oh!” She didn’t have time for fear, was too far gone for any dark slivers to pierce through this sweet moment. This wasn’t what had happened to her in the past. This was sun setting in glory and the chill of the approaching night and the smell of sweat and want and his hand exactly where she needed it. Oh, God.

  Soon it was two fingers. She held onto his shoulders fiercely and he looked back at her with equal fierceness as if he wanted her to mark this moment, as if he wanted to change her into something she had never thought she’d be.

  His.

  Chapter Eight

  “That’s it, baby. It aches, doesn’t it?”

  She whimpered in agreement. She hovered, on edge, wanting to gallop free but something pinned her in this moment.

  Taz.

  Even as he gave to her, he withheld, drew things out so that her body was nothing but sparking circuits, tangled and messed by his hands alone.

  “Do you want the most mind-blowing pleasure ever?” he murmured directly into her ear.

  “Ah… Yeah,” she agreed, drowsy, wilting, dying, living at every stroke.

  “Hang on. Don’t worry, I won’t let you hurt.”

  Hurt. She frowned, not understanding, until those magical fingers were gone and she became aware of how her bikini bottoms were also gone. She was sitting bare-bottomed on Taz’s chaise, her body throbbing urgently. A flush stung her face and neck.

  She couldn’t help looking around, hoping none of her neighbors could see her, like elderly Mrs Kent. Nope, there was a big hedge blocking her view. Jenny realized that the only house that overlooked this hot tub was…her own.

  So why had Taz never put up a fence for his privacy? He used to be so prickly. Leaving this private space open to her eyes was almost like he’d wanted her to see him, watch him, even when he was at his most un
friendly.

  And it went two ways, Jenny realized. If she could watch him, then he could watch her…

  Had he done that?

  Taz’s kitchen door slammed and he was back, some kind of metal tube thing in one hand with buckles at either end. Dazedly, she stared at it.

  “May I put this on your thighs?” he asked her, suddenly very formal.

  “Put…” She frowned. “What is it?”

  “It’s a spreader bar. It keeps your legs open if you try to close them.”

  “But—”

  “For what I want to give you, I want you open. I want you to have no choice but to take it.” He dipped closer to her ear again. “To enjoy it.”

  She looked at him and not at the toy. “All right.”

  He was swift, efficient, buckling the device around her thighs. “Taz, what—?”

  “I’m gonna make you scream.” He lifted her into his arms.

  The water was hot, frothing. She gasped at her abrupt introduction to it.

  Taz was behind her, his big body encompassing hers. The bar felt odd. It wasn’t wide so her legs were in some kind of gymnastic split, but she was wildly aware that her legs were open and she couldn’t close them. For some reason that added a lick of dark heat to her needy body.

  His hand cupped her neck. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

  He gave her a long, wet kiss, his fingers returning to play with her so that she fell back against him shamelessly. When she tensed and tried to move her position to enhance her sensations, the bar impeded her movements, gently correcting her.

  Without that freedom of movement, her attention focused on his touch so that every brush of a finger became almost excruciating. He was slow and thorough. The warm, lapping water and dim lights surrounded them, making it a softer, erotic world of the forbidden. Never had a man’s hands been inside her that she could remember. And the bar… The bar was definitely a naughty prop. Her imagination went wild, wondering what he’d used it for before. Had he used it during sex?

  A wallop of heat moved through her.

  “You like it?” His tone was smug, as if he knew.

  “It’s strange, but yes.”

  Taz lifted her so her knees rested alongside his on the long bench, both of them facing toward her rampant flower beds. She felt him, heavy and solid and masculine, grounding her deliciously. Her pulse was thumping. She tried to close her legs and whimpered. Before she could ask him what he had planned, he reached between her legs and held her sex fully open. She gasped at the exposure, digging her fingernails into his arms.