Unrestrained

by Joey W. Hill

  She decided to let the smug male satisfaction pass, since it was obviously well deserved. "I have a place in the Keys," she said. "I thought I might go there in the next few weeks. It has a private stretch of beach. I go there to read, take walks, get away from work. Would you be able to go with me?"

  "Yeah. Let me know the dates, and I'll get a couple guys to cover for me with the dogs. Remember what I said, though." He brushed a kiss along her temple. "No matter how much real estate you have, I'm not becoming your kept man, Mrs. Summers."

  "What about when you're old and doddering and need someone to care for you?"

  "That won't be your problem. You'll have kicked me to the curb well before then."

  Her brow creased. His tone said he was teasing her, but as he'd said, she read people well. That intuition made her sit up, close both her hands on his. "If we get old and doddering together--and I truly hope we will--you will let me take care of you, Dale Rousseau."

  His eyes narrowed, and she recognized the set of the jaw, countered it by slipping her fingers over it. "Not just because I'm a submissive and it's my nature to care for others. I love you. It doesn't matter if I'm a Domme, sub or a vanilla person. When it comes to that, love looks the same. We care for the ones we love. We hold on to them as long as God allows and gives them the joy of life. And when life has no more joy, we walk with them all the way to the water's edge, and hope for the day when we'll get on that boat, too, and see them again."

  His gaze held hers, undecided, but this was something she knew deep down, with enough certainty for them both. "You've taught me about letting go, about not handling the things I shouldn't. That was my blind spot. This is yours."

  She laid her hand on his knee, deliberately drawing his attention to his prosthesis. "You are a strong, stubborn and proud man, and you wanted to make sure you took care of every aspect of this yourself. But you really didn't, did you? You even said so. Having the support of SEALs like Neil and Lawrence helped you deal with it emotionally, physically. Your doctors helped you refit the socket until it worked correctly, and you still see them periodically to ensure it's doing what it should. You may view that like maintenance checks on your car, I get that, but it's a reminder that none of us gets through this life entirely alone, without help. There are connections that make us stronger, not weak. Do you consider me weak because I surrendered myself to you?"

  His change of expression to that was instant and gratifying. "No," he said decisively. "And if you think--"

  She put her hand on his mouth, not surprised when he closed his over her wrist, took it away, but it gave her the moment to speak. "I don't. You taught me that. I've told you I love you. It's a different love from what I had with Roy, but I can already tell, as we move forward, it will be as deep, possibly even more intense. It would be an honor to that love to allow me to care for you if ever you need it. Whether it's if you have a sore on your leg," she glanced down at it, then back up at him, a smile in her eyes now, "a head cold that makes you irritable and grumpy, or something that might take you from me."

  She sobered then, placing her hand on his heart. "You know more about honor than any man I know. Giving the one you love the honor of caring for you, when it's necessary, that's everything. You could crush me by not giving me that privilege, Dale. It's a privilege you give to no other. That's why it's in the marriage vows, you know. Better or worse, in sickness or health."

  "Are you proposing to me, Mrs. Summers?" He'd recovered enough to tease her again, but there was a thoughtful look to his eyes, a tightness to his jaw that said, while she hadn't completely convinced him, she'd given him something new to think about. As he'd said, they were both stubborn, independent people. It would take time for them both to think differently about certain things.

  "I believe that would be my Master's job, when and if the time is right." She knew that it wasn't, not now, but her heart tripped a little faster, just thinking what it would be like to belong to him in every way. "For now, I'd settle for him being a little less rock headed."

  He snorted at that, but as she laid her head back down on his shoulder, the silence drew out, both of them mulling. She had her hand on his opposite thigh, idly tracing circles, her ear pressed to his heart, listening to the steady beat. His fingers slid up and down her upper arm outside the thick coat. She wanted his touch on her skin, but at least she felt the pressure of his grip, his attention.

  "I want to take you home, Athena. I want to make love to you."

  She nodded, touching her lips to his chest. "That's what I want, too."

  --

  As she lay in bed, waiting on him, she lifted her hand, studying it against the shadows. She and Roy had done that sometimes, trying to make discernible shapes, but often they were just content playing finger games, tracing the digits, caressing one another.

  Dale had let her help him take the prosthesis off, showed her how he examined it for abrasions. Then he'd put them both in the shower, bathed her, not letting her do anything but stand compliant under his thorough soaping of all her crevices. He explored her body both for pleasure and to ensure he hadn't done her any type of harm that required more care. She was too exhausted to reach the same high level of arousal she had before, but as he touched her so intimately and she thought of his intention to make love to her before they slept, it made a nice, promising swirl in her lower belly.

  His cock wasn't fully erect as he focused on her care, but it was interested, enough to encourage her to steal a few strokes of his length, despite his mock sternness at her for the transgression. He'd punish her for it later, of course.

  After the shower, he'd laid her down on her love seat and done all he'd promised with the massage and the lotions, though she was sure he was tired as well. But she didn't protest. She understood this was part of his responsibilities as Master, which he not only took very seriously, but wanted to do, if his attentive caresses were any indication. By the time he tucked her into bed and bade her stay there while he disappeared into the bathroom, her body was on a slow, pleasant simmer, anticipating, yearning for the touch of his.

  He was moving around with the aid of the gift she'd given him several weeks ago. After taking surreptitious measurements of his crutches, she'd presented him a pair of carved wooden ones, made by a local craftsman. She intended them as a convenience, so he didn't have to remember to bring his own when he spent the night here. When she gave them to him, he'd given her a weighted glance, such that she wasn't sure if her initiative had been welcome. But then he'd examined the bald eagle carving on the cross pieces, the semblance of sailor's knots along the shafts, the anchor shapes burned into the wood. The curve of his lips suggested he approved the use of naval symbols. Eventually he'd grunted, brushed a kiss over her cheek and given her a pinch. That night, he'd used them for the first time, and he'd used them quite a bit since, pleasing her.

  Now he emerged from the bathroom, putting them beside the bed before he stretched out on the mattress. "Come here," he said, low, and she closed the distance between them, making a soft sound of pleasure as his arms slid around her, his hand gripping her ass, holding her fast to push a now-fully-recovered arousal more firmly against her. She thought he might want her to straddle him, but instead, he rolled her to her back, putting himself on top of her. Just as she'd imagined and hoped.

  As his gaze held hers, he parted her legs with his knee. They willingly spread to accommodate him. He slid into her without preamble or foreplay. None was needed, her tissues slick and ready to take her Master.

  He propped his elbows on either side of her face, giving her most but not all of his weight. Enough to offer her that delicious pinned-down feeling as she ran her hands along his broad back, down to his hips, over the muscular buttocks. Her nails dug into them and he adjusted deeper, eyes glinting as her lips parted.

  "Didn't I wear you out?" he complained. "I see there'll be no rest for your poor Master."

  "Neil and Lawrence told me that SEALs have unlimited stamina. N
o matter how far a normal man runs, they can run farther. Lawrence was very clear that extended to other superhuman qualities."

  "Remind me to bash that little bastard's head into a wall." But Dale smiled at her, his eyes getting more serious as his thumbs slid along her cheeks. "God, you're beautiful."

  Her hands slid up to his waist, the small of his back as her legs curved over his thighs. "You are too, Master. As beautiful as a book that makes the day disappear, or the first flowers coming out in spring. I look at you, and there's no sadness in my heart."

  His eyes darkened. The way her heart leaped, proving the point, was a feeling that spread to loins and throat, all the way from head to toes. "My librarian," he murmured. "My girl, at last."

  Then he put his mouth on hers, and no further words were necessary. That overwhelming sense of give-and-take, Master and sub, and the individual souls beneath, took over. They were locked together in their wants and needs, their love for one another. It was beyond definition.

  Indescribable but understood, by the two hearts that felt it.

  If you enjoyed Unrestrained, don't miss

  THE NAUGHTY BITS NOVELLAS

  A brand-new series of four e-novellas from Joey W. Hill

  Available Spring 2014 from InterMix

  Read on for a special excerpt from Part I: Control

  A compact UPS package the size and weight of a cinder block was propped against the back door when she arrived at the shop. As she lugged it inside, Madison wondered what item would have that poundage and belong in a lingerie store, but then again, Naughty Bits was far more than a lingerie store. In the BDSM section, there were plenty of things that should be in a medieval dungeon. Maybe it was a ball and chain, complete with engraving. A special-order gift for the Master who had everything.

  A special order gift fit, since it appeared to have been delivered this morning, but the store had been closed for weeks. She hefted it through the stockroom and took it up front, since it'd be easier to have it sitting behind the counter, ready for whomever had to be contacted to pick it up.

  She left it there as she went to unlock the front door. Not because she was open or expected any customers this early in the morning, but because she'd never liked the feeling of being locked in. She turned back toward the display counter, and saw the envelope.

  All curiosity about the package vanished.

  To MadGirl was written on the outside. Unlike the package, it looked as if it had been placed in its current location weeks ago. It bore a light layer of dust, same as the glass of the display counter beneath it.

  Leave it to Alice to think of doing something like this. Taking a breath, Madison fished out a letter opener from the drawer beneath the cash register and slit the envelope open. Bracing her elbows on the counter, she ran tense fingers over her face, a reassuring hard stroke, then unfolded the pages.

  Sell doesn't have to be a four-letter word. You used to know that.

  Madison blinked. Now, of all times, her sister would choose to be snide? Through a letter sent from the other side of the grave? She had to give her credit for a great hook line, though. Alice always did that with her letters. She never started one with the traditional "Dear Madison." Her handwritten script had flourishes as if she thought she were Thomas Jefferson. She'd done cursive that way since the eighth grade.

  Nearly every day for the past two months, Madison had broken down and cried over some little quirk about Alice. Today it was going to be her sister's damn handwriting. She blinked through her tears and kept reading.

  I'm not being snide. Sell connects to two other really important four-letter words. Want. Need. But I think the word that best describes it is provide. Did you ever look that one up in the Encarta dictionary? The legal term means to require something in advance as a condition or as part of a contract. The nonlegal term is to supply somebody with something, or be a source of something wanted or needed by somebody. Sets off a whole lot of feelings deep in the gut, doesn't it?

  Madison swallowed. "Stop it, Alice," she muttered. "Just stop it."

  Fuck is another four-letter word, one I think gets a bad rap. Cock, cunt, come . . . somebody was on a roll with those. Do you think God and the Devil were playing a word game that day? See how many naughty words can start with C, and whoever wins gets to oversee everything connected to sex. Go! You know the Devil won that one, hands down. God's still pissed about it. Probably why He started the rumor that sex was a sin.

  Madison choked on a laugh, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips.

  Okay, starting to get tired, so have to cut to the chase. Here's the thing, MadGirl. Great selling isn't about tricking someone into buying crap. It's about helping them get something they truly need that adds value to their lives. The salesperson who does that is the one who really deserves the Maserati. I think angels are the master salespeople of the universe.

  "Okay, now you're just loopy on the drugs." The ache in her throat increased as her voice echoed in the waiting silence of the store. Waiting for a mistress who would never return, who'd known how to turn a lingerie store into an adult Disneyland, complete with the enchantment, promise of princes and happily-ever-afters. She'd told Alice that once, with derision dripping off every word. Now she thought it simply as it was. Truth.

  Yeah, you're thinking they overdid the morphine today, and you may be right. But it doesn't mean I'm wrong. So, exercising the right of the dying, I'm going to play angel. I'm leaving you my store. You knew that, but what you're going to find out from my executor when you call him about this letter is that I set aside enough money for you to live on and run it for the next several years. If you don't want to keep the store after a year, sell the inventory and return to the life you were living, or seek another path. But promise me you'll give it a year. I'm thinking the fates will align to make that possible.

  They had. Which was as remarkable a coincidence as reading the words now. She moved to the last paragraph.

  I wanted to "provide" you with this. I loved you more than anyone, MadGirl. Given how many cool, amazing people I met in my absurdly short life, that's saying quite a lot. You always did underestimate what kind of gem you are. Maybe you'll get a chance to shine here and see what I always saw in you.

  Okay, goddamn her. Madison put the letter down on the counter and slid down the wall behind it, giving in to the hard sobs.

  Her sister hadn't let her in on any of it. Madison had been up in Boston, selling stocks and bonds, managing people's investments. Alice had called once a week, despite Madison being passive aggressive at best during most of the conversations. Because that had been the state of their relationship for the past few years, Madison hadn't caught the vital clues, the allergy attacks that came more frequently, the colds and flu bugs. Her sister had been getting weaker and sicker.

  Then, a couple months ago, Alice had called on a Thursday, not their usual day. In her matter-of-fact way, she'd said if Madison could come home that weekend, she'd really like to give her a quick last hug. She also wanted Madison to go through her collection of high-end, well-sterilized sex toys to see if she wanted any of them before they had to be boxed up and dumped. Incredibly enough, the Senior Citizens' Auxiliary at the hospital wouldn't accept them as donations for their thrift shop. You'd think they'd realize there's nothing better for cardiovascular health than a good daily orgasm . . .

  Her lips twitched at Alice's acid observation now. During that call, she'd simply been stunned. To the point she'd said absurd things like, "Okay, let me check my schedule, I have this meeting, but I know I can get out of that . . ."

  Alice had always known her so well, no matter how much Madison hated that. She'd merely listened. "No worries, little sis. Come if you can."

  Of course, once off the phone, Madison's brain had cleared. She'd called her boss, told Barbara what was happening, and that she had to go. With her typical sensitivity, Barbara had said she had to at least come in Friday and handle her scheduled client meetings, because Barba
ra had a tee time with board members. Madison refused. Barbara told her it could cost her the job, and Madison retorted that if she was that replaceable, Barbara could keep the damn job. They'd find the files that would cover anything needed for those meetings sitting neatly in the center of her desk. Hell, her assistant could run two portfolio reviews.

  Just like that, she walked away from a job at which she'd excelled for five years. Crazy, right? But it was like she'd been treading water in a pool, blinded to the fact dry land was as close as the nearest ladder. Until Alice arranged a wake-up call in the form of a simple death bed request.

  Come give me a quick hug, little sis.

  If the memory had theme music, it would be something sad, wistful. Instead, the overtly erotic strains of Bolero injected Dudley Moore and a running Bo Derek into Madison's brain, jarring her fully into the present.

  She'd forgotten music played when someone came into the store. Alice not only had the classics like Bolero, "Somewhere in Time" and Claire de Lune on the playlist, but sultry Latin numbers by Enrique Inglesias and pure fuck-me-now Barry White and Boyz II Men songs. Madison remembered she'd also thrown Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" and "Tonight's the Night" into the mix because, well, why not?

  Once the door triggered the music, it would play the whole song, unless someone else came in. Each time the door opened or closed, it switched to a new song, a way for Alice to know she had a customer arriving or departing. If there were no new customers, after a song played in its entirety, there would be silence. She'd asked Alice once why she didn't set it up so the music played constantly, and her sister said there was value in silence as well.

  Honest to God, Alice's choices gave the store a personality all its own. Madison wouldn't be surprised if she could hear the store breathing during those quiet periods.

  She yanked her attention back to the more important issue. She wasn't alone, and she was hiding behind the register counter. She shouldn't have unlocked the door yet, but she hadn't expected lingerie shopping to be popular at seven a.m. Jesus, she hadn't even flipped the OPEN sign over or turned on lights, not that people paid attention to those things. Having worked sales before, she knew customers were as bad as kindergarteners when it came to noticing details.