Who the fuck does he think he is?
Chapter Four
"I'm not." She stared at him defiantly.
Callan stared back and waited. Eventually Mason dropped her eyes, and he saw a ripple of emotion shake her body. She rubbed her hands over her arms, and twisted her fingers together.
"Not now, I'm not." It was barely more than a whisper.
Callan could accept he'd heard her if he chose, but he didn't feel inclined. Mason Andriacchi intrigued and bothered him more than he dared admit. "Speak out Mason, mumbling doesn't become you."
Mason’s head shot up. Her eyes were defiant. If looks killed, he'd be dust and in an urn on his mum's mantelpiece. Well, at least he'd made her spark a little, and he felt pleased about that. She'd looked so sad and defeated.
"Louse," she said. The contempt in her voice was obvious. "Bastard."
"Not at all, my parents were very happily married for over a year before I came along. Be very careful what you say. I have a very long memory." He laced his voice with a warning. Mason's attitude scared him. Defiant one moment and all out sub the next. Such a mass of contradictions. His stomach rolled, and he swallowed hard. Could he really follow through with what he sensed she wanted? Even if it meant she hated him, and any chance of a relationship was lost? I have to try and be damned. It mattered. She mattered. That thought hit him like a sledgehammer. She matters to me. I might hardly know her, haven't spent more than a few hours with her, but she's important to me.
Her lip trembled and she shivered. "So do I and that’s the trouble. So do I." She began crying without warning. "I can't stop remembering." Harsh sobs racked her body, and gave Callan goose bumps. He pushed her hard, but not that hard, surely? Had he prodded stronger that he imagined? If so, he really did deserve the names she'd called him.
Callan sat next to her and lifted her onto his lap. Her scent—a soft citrusy one—teased his nostrils. It suited her, a total contradiction to her Mediterranean looks. Damned if he wouldn't have liked a subbie blanket at that moment. Mason turned her head and rested it on his shirt. Even though her tears soaked through the fine silk and coated his chest, he was content. An indefinable sense of possession hit him, and he tightened his arms. Possession? Where the hell did that come from? He'd never thought of his lifestyle in that way, he possessed no one and no one possessed him.
Callan wanted Mason. In a way he hadn't wanted anyone before. The feeling was stronger and more powerful than any emotion he thought himself capable of. It didn't scare him, didn't worry him, but he'd love to know why now, and why Mason.
As Mason's sobs slowed and gentled, Callan unpinned her hair and separated the strands with his fingers. She murmured and tried to sit up. He tightened his grip, and rested his chin on the top of her head. The soft strands tickled his skin, and he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, the same citrus and fruit mix as her perfume.
"Shh, you're fine where you are. But I'm guessing all that crying will be giving you a headache, and your hair scraped back so tight, will be making your scalp cry as well." He stroked the long dark strands in a rhythmic movement. " I'm enjoying myself. It's a long while since I've had the pleasure of holding and comforting a lovely lady. I'm privileged." She gave what might be termed a soft giggle.
"Not much of a privilege to end up with a crumpled and sodden shirt." Mason sniffed. "Damn I need a tissue." She searched her pockets. "Bugger, where's my handbag? There's a packet in there."
"Here." He handed her a lawn handkerchief. "My mum says a gentleman always carries one. Well, I thought then if I want to be taken for a gent, I'd better make sure I have a hankie." Did it sound silly, mentioning his mum? Callan couldn't have cared less. It produced a watery smile from Mason and a tiny giggle.
"My mum always said make sure you have clean underwear on, in case you get run over by a bus," she said. "I could never understand that. If you were run over surely you'd be past caring?" Mason wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "And if you weren't dead, then I'm guessing you'd be mucky and not give a shit? Oops, bad comparison. Oh lord sorry, but I get verbal diarrhea when I'm upset." She put her tip of her finger in her mouth and grinned. "Only verbal though and well—"
Callan shut her up by the very basic method of removing her finger, holding her hand tight in his and kissing her.
He used his tongue to demand entrance to Mason's mouth. Her lips opened to let him in, and her tongue played with his. Callan gave a mental high five, even as his cock hardened and pushed against his zipper. She moaned into his mouth and the sound reverberated inside him. Such a fucking turn on. Her hands clutched his shoulder, and she wriggled on his lap. Of course his prick responded as if it had a mind of its own, hardening to the point Callan wondered perhaps he should check his jeans for stains.
In one swift movement, he stood and twisted her around so they were face to face. Mason leaned into him, and Callan took advantage to pull her close and hold her, clit to cock, against him. Thank God for killer heels. They made her the perfect height to achieve it. He used one hand to lift the hem of her dress, and then tease the globes of her ass with his fingertips. The lace of a thong caressed his nails as he stroked her. His hand itched to spank, and delve into her, but he held back. The shifting of her body, and the way her breath hitched under his mouth, damn near undid him. As tempted as he was to throw caution to the wind, and stake his authority, Callan slowed the pace down. After one last thrust of his tongue, he pulled back and rested his cheek against hers. The sense of loss was far more than he'd anticipated.
She shuddered and relaxed her death grip on his jacket. The material would never be the same and Callan couldn't have cared less.
"Wha—what the hell was that?" Mason sounded shaken.
"Destiny." Callan kissed the top of her head, and then straightened the neckline of her dress, which had settled askew. No bra straps, does that mean no bra or strapless? He determined to find out as soon as it was sensible.
Mason laughed. "Chemistry more like, and not the romantic hearts and flowers sort. The oh shit, it's a long time since anyone kissed me and I'd forgotten what it was like sort." It would have sounded better if she spoke as if she believed what she said.
Enough was enough.
"Mason, if you don't want me to ignore the table downstairs and take you bound and naked over this table upstairs, I suggest you shut up." Callan spoke with as much authority as he could muster, when his insides jumped around like a flea in a circus, his brain on several wavelengths at once—all designed to make him as horny as hell.
The look of contempt she threw him should have been enough to cool his ardor. Instead, the brief flare of arousal he saw in her eyes before she shuttered them increased his determination to feel her under him, in every which way, and to hear her soft sighs and mewls, and rejoice as she called him Sir.
"Do we carry on?" he asked in an even voice, which showed none of the emotion that scorched him. His stomach churned, the hairs on his arms stood on end, and goose bumps tingled as they bombarded his arms. Callan swallowed rapidly as the metallic taste of true, deep down fear hit him. It was new to him, and he didn't like it one bit. What if she says no? I'll have to grow up and give up. It wasn't to be thought of. "What's it to be? Continue as civilized and sensible adults? Eat and then talk business? Or do we screw?" He used the crude word on purpose, interested to see her stiffen. It gave him hope. For all her kick-ass attitude, she didn't like that.
"Oh, believe me, I've never screwed anyone in any way in my life." She tugged the bottom of her dress down. "But I could make an exception in the non-sexual sense for you."
Callan laughed. He was so going to enjoy their time together. There was no doubt in his mind they would have a fair few hot and explosive moments before the hottest and most explosive coming together imaginable.
And he would have her on her knees, bowing to him as her Master. He simply had to figure out how to get to that point without losing a few layers of skin, and his balls.
"Let's eat. No,
not each other." He glanced at her hands, which were still clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Time to back off a bit. "Look, Mason, we seem to have set off at a pace beyond which either of us was ready for. Let's slow down, eh? Have a meal and then I'll show you what I want painted." He risked a quick glance toward her to gauge her reaction. Her expression was as blank as a new, unpainted canvas—or plastered wall. No help there, then.
He carried on, as he tried his best to show her what he meant. "If you agree, we can move on from there. As slowly as we think we need to. Yes, I want you, and yes, I want you in my own world and ideas. Do I know if your ideas are the same? No I don't. Do I hope they are? Of course, but you know we're all a mix of show and tell signs and your show and tells convince me you're submissive, and would be so to me. But I won't coerce you."
She looked him in the face. Her eyes were full of sorrow and tears, and it was like a punch in the gut.
"Was, not am. I was submissive. My Master died, so I'm not anymore."
Her voice was so soft, he wondered if he heard her properly. The words were like a dagger to his heart. Did she really think it could be turned on and off like a tap? And how did one he compete with a memory like that?
Chapter Five
Mason shivered. She couldn’t bear the look of compassion on Callan's face. The knowledge he saw and understood her instinctive necessity to submit, and her decision not to, unnerved her. It was obvious he wouldn't help her make her mind up, and she didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful. Deep inside her mind, she heard her husband's voice. Go for it cara, it's time.
"Food then, and show me."
He nodded, not giving anything away. Damn him, he could at least be pleased about it.
Callan opened the door and ushered her through. "Nice ass," he said in a conversational tone as she began to make her way down the stairs.
Mason glanced back at him. "You should know, you fiddled with it for long enough back then."
His shout of laughter almost made her stumble. If she'd dissed Michael like that he wouldn't have laughed, and her spanking wouldn't have been for pleasure either. But it's not Michael. Somehow she thought the similarities between the two men would be zero except for the one word. Master. Did it matter?
To her relief, it didn't worry her like she thought it might. Instead a quick zap of heat filled her, and her thong crept higher into her butt cheeks. The swell of her clit reminded her, without a thong she'd have damp thighs.
"Wait there."
So he started as he meant to go on? In this, Mason complied without any worry. She stood to one side and let him open the door. Once they were in the restaurant, Marco came up to them.
"Small room?"
Callan looked at Mason. "Your decision here."
She took a deep breath. "Small room." Callan's pleasure washed over her, and a weight lifted from her. One she hadn’t even known was there. It still didn't stop her knees knocking or her heart thudding as she followed Marco to the door, and let herself be ushered inside.
Into a room that held no resemblance to the one she remembered. Mason let her breath out with a whoosh. This was all cream and gold, not the greens and purple, which had been there on her last visit.
"Redecorated, but you wouldn't let me tell you." Marco grinned as Mason flung her arms around him, and kissed him.
She ignored the warning throat-clearing from Callan. Marco was her cousin, and Callan would have to get over their loving ways if he wanted to continue to have anything to do with her.
Where did that come from? Okay, he wants me on my knees, but who knows what else? Deep down, she did know though, and was fairly sure she felt the same. If only she could get over the hurdle that her Sir was no longer Michael. That worried her most. Michael and she had been more than Master and sub, even though they hadn't live a 24/7 lifestyle. Intuitively, she knew Callan would be different. Of course, he had to be. But could she understand and accept that? It was something she had to decide if she wanted to find out.
****
Callan couldn't believe the surge of red-hot jealousy sweeping through him as Mason hugged and kissed the other man. Cousin or not, it was too close and lovey-dovey for his liking. Before his green-eyed monster showed, Mason drew back and stared at him. He knew exactly what that look meant. Get over it.
"Dinner," he said, in what he meant to be a mild and unthreatening tone. It obviously wasn't, because Marco laughed.
"Oh, Callan, you've got it bad." He left the room before Callan had a chance to say anything else.
With a smothered curse, Callan turned to Mason, who stood grinning next to the table. "Don't say a word," he said in warning. "Not one word. I'm possessive, okay. Accept it. What's mine is mine."
That seemed to shake her. She blinked several times, and cleared her throat. "Um, and that involves me how?"
He knew fine well the look he gave her was one hundred percent full on Dom. Her eyes widened and she swallowed several times. Good, she needed shaking up. "You know," he said simply. "There's something stoking between us. I know what I think it is. Are you going to be open and honest and agree? And then let us explore it?" Callan pulled her chair out so she could sit down, before walking round the table and seating himself. He steepled his fingers together and made eye contact with her.
"Maybe."
Well, that's a start. "Then let's eat." A knock came on the door and a waitron appeared with menus and a basket of breads. Callan sighed. It was going to be midnight at this rate before they got to the Dance Studio. It seemed Mason agreed because she rolled her eyes.
"If I may?" She waved toward the menu. Callan nodded, he didn't mind what he ate, as long as it arrived in the next few minutes.
"Tell Marco two of whatever he can get in here in the next two minutes," she said to the astonished waitron. "Oh, and bring another bowl of bread when you bring us our surprise food, please."
The man nodded. Apparently he was used to weird customers because he backed out. Almost immediately, he returned. Mason looked at her watch. "One minute and fifty-eight seconds," she said with a smirk. "Spot on."
"I wonder who had to wait for their meal?" Callan asked as he cut open ravioli.
Mason giggled. "No one, Marco always has something handy just in case someone balks at whatever they chose. The staff eat it up, or have a takeaway with what's left each night." She forked the pasta into her mouth. "Mmm, this is good."
Silence reigned for a while.
"So, what is it you want exactly?" she asked, as she put her fork down and picked up her wine glass. "From me."
She lifted the glass to her lips and Callan watched, dry mouthed, his cock hard and his skin tight. He followed the play of her muscles as her throat rippled as she swallowed. One day that'll be my cum she's swallowing. I want her under me, me in her, her crying my name. Rosy-skinned and hot, wet for me, showing her submission. Mason as mine for ever. His thoughts shocked him. I’ve got it bad. It wasn't shock but satisfaction.
"You," he said without embellishment. "Just you."
To his delight, she didn't look worried, just thoughtful. "Yeah? Yeah. How?"
Callan considered. What the hell. "As my sub."
She blinked. Her dark eyes were unreadable. A soft flush spread up from her chest, showing how his words affected her. "Hmm. So, my maybe Sir, what sort of Dom are you?"
"A good one." He put his cutlery down and looked at her almost empty plate. "Are you ready?"
Now she looked wary again. Then as if her mind was made up she nodded and stood up. "Let's go."
Callan smothered his grin. "Subs are subs, not Dom's."
Mason giggled. "Unless they're switches. It's okay I'm not. A switch, I mean. Well, I don't think I am, cos I wasn't, but now is now not then, and— Oh shit, I'm babbling. See now you've opened the door, I'm excited to go through it. Show me what needs coloring, and how."
"You mean the walls, not your ass?" He opened the door for her, and strode up to a startled Marco. "We're off, w
ill you send me the bill?"
Marco nodded, and looked at his cousin. "Okay, cara?"
"Who knows? I think so. Do you know where I'm going? Do you trust Callan?"
Marco grinned. "Yes and yes, and enjoy rejoining the human race."
"Hmm." She didn't sound that sure. "I'll see, and I'll decide whether I pay you back for interfering later. Ciao."
Callan thumped his friend on his shoulder and opened the door to the street. As they exited the restaurant, his car appeared, and he ushered her into the back seat.
Mason whistled. "Posh, eh? Chauffeur-driven swank. What next?"
"The Dance Studio." He waited to see if she questioned him. She ran her tongue over her mouth, and bit her top lip.
"Don't." He put his finger over her teeth. "Don't. You'll get the wrong sort of mark if you do. The only marks I want to see on you are mine." What would Mason say to that declaration? Her eyes widened and she swallowed. He was beginning to recognize her shows and tells. Callan decided to push a bit harder. "I can make such a pretty pattern on your ass, Mason. You'll see."
Her laugh shook. "Well if, and that is a big if, you ever got anywhere near my ass that's just what I wouldn't do isn't it? See. Because it's behind me."
"Sassy sub."
She sniggered. "Sassy something anyway. Sub is not necessarily it." She paused and the wicked glint in her eyes was a warning of what might be to come. "Or is it—Sir." She dipped her head and then looked him in the eyes. "Okay, I'm sorry, But you know? I feel alive for the first time in over a year, and I so can't believe it. And it's not just because I'm painting a few walls either. It's scary, amazing and all things in between. I never ever thought I'd feel I wanted to do anything remotely kinky again. Michael? Well, Michael and I had a very tight relationship, and I don't think I can cope with that again." She looked worried once more.
Bow to Your Partner Page 3