by Angel Payne
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “You’re so ready, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes. Please!”
“Then come for me. Don’t hold back. Come, Rose. Now!”
Her scream, full and strident, filled the air. Her scent, tangy and heady, flooded his senses.
Her tears ripped at his heart.
Gritting back words that would only sound empty, he simply continued stroking her. Watched as she rode the release, along with the emotions it freed—until he couldn’t any longer. Not as she kept sobbing.
He leaned over, quickly releasing her from the rope and then tugging her shorts up before pulling her into his lap. She snuffled and fumbled, as if not knowing what to do. He guided her arms around his neck, compelling her to lean on him as her heartbeat calmed. Holding her close was an invitation to a new paradise. She was so beautifully made, with generous curves to her hips and ass. Her breasts, even tucked beneath a sports bra, pillowed against his chest with delectable softness.
“What a woman you are.” He rasped it against her neck. “Thank you, Rose, Thank you.”
She pulled back a little. Huffed and wiped at her eyes. “Uhhh, isn’t that my line?” She scooted back even farther, glancing down. The evidence of her effect on him still stood stiff in his crotch. Her direct gaze didn’t help matters. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to adjust his balls to a more comfortable tension. She cleared her own. “And shouldn’t I be showing you my thanks instead of telling you?”
Before he could stop her, she dropped to the floor between his knees and reached for his waistband—until Mark stopped her, seizing her hands. “Is that what you think I want?” At her startled blink, he tamped down a surge of fury. Of course she thought that. A wedding day that never was, coupled with the genetic chip for taking responsibility for the world, had churned out a woman who “proved” her worth to a man with her mouth between his thighs.
He pulled harder, making her sit beside him. “No. Not right now. Come here.”
Confusion bunched her brows. “You…don’t want me to…”
“Oh, pet. Clearly there’s nothing I’d want more. But right now, this isn’t about me. This is about you, talking about what’s happening in those rooms in your head—most particularly, the one where all the waterworks came from.”
Her frown deepened. Those full berry lips gathered into a puzzled pout—not helping him forget how gorgeous she’d been on her knees, between his thighs.
“I don’t have ‘rooms’ in my head.”
“Oh yes you do.” He swung a leg over so he straddled the bench. “Why the tears?” He ran a hand across her cheek. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Were the ropes too tight?”
“The ropes were fine.” She grabbed his hand with a desperate urgency. “I… The ropes were…” She sucked in a harsh breath. “The ropes were wonderful.”
Understanding set in. The dip of her head, along with the way she sounded like she’d just confessed murder to a priest, made him nod. “Ah. And you’re conflicted about that. A little overwhelmed?”
She tapped at his knuckle with a dainty fingernail. Though the polish was light pink, each nail had a little dark-pink jewel glued on it. Hmm. His Victorian cameo girl had a secret thing for bling. And, they were both quickly learning, for other alternative things. Trouble was, the lesson was turning her into a giant ball of nerves. That mass was likely infused with fear too.
“Look, I’ve got a couple of girlfriends into the bondage-and-submission thing. A few times, I even went to a club with one of them.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It was fine. But all I did was watch. And it was…fine.” She stammered it out like the priest had locked her in the confessional for a boldfaced lie. Which looked to be pretty much the case. “But just not my…” She huffed. “Look, I’m not some closet kinkster, okay?”
“Pity,” Mark replied. “Because I am.”
That got her attention. Newly stabbed by her wondering stare, he leaned in until their noses were inches apart. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Rose. It’s a beautiful gift that you give, in following your need to surrender. A man is hardwired to take care of his woman, in all ways and forms. Some of us just like to be more in control of the process. Much more in control. And when a woman trusts enough in our control to submit fully, such as letting herself be restrained and guided to fulfillment…to a Dominant, that’s like water from heaven.” He closed the gap, taking her lips in a tender caress. “It’s a drink I haven’t had for a very long while.” He moved the kiss up, gently bussing the end of her nose. “Thank you.”
She sighed, brushing fingers along his beard, but then shook her head. “This feels so incredible. But it can’t be right.”
“Why?” He grabbed those fingers. “Are you seeing someone?”
A laugh shot from her. “No! God, no. There’s no one.” She sobered. “But surely you—”
“No one.” He said it with deliberation, needing to wipe the disbelief from the back of her gaze. “Sweetheart, despite the antics of some of my coworkers in Washington, bed-hopping never has, and never will, hold much appeal.” A deep chuckle emerged. “Believe me, it really has been a long time.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He squeezed her nape. “Not about this.” When she looked away, he clamped the hold tighter. “You still don’t believe me?”
“No. I believe you. It’s just that—”
“What?”
“Well, you’re on the younger side for Washington, which has to make you prime meat on their invitation lists.” Her cheeks turned the color of her name. “And you’re hot as hell.”
The annoyance turned into a laugh. “I’m glad you think so. You’re pretty goddamn hot too.” The delicious curves of her mouth called to him again. He molded their lips and tongues together, diving his hand into her hair when she started pulling away, holding her for his consummation. Too late. Though her mouth complied, the rest of her form resisted. When he slackened his hold, she lurched to her feet.
“No. Please.” She pressed shaking hands to her cheeks. “We have to stop wanting this. We have to stop thinking it can happen!”
Mark shut his eyes. It was time to grab the room’s elephant by its big, fucking, floppy ears. “Because despite the hotness factor, I’m still older.”
She flung her hands out. “For one thing, yes. But—”
“I’m forty-five, Rose. And you’re…what…”
“Thirty-one.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “It’s not unheard of. And we’re not teenagers, sweetheart. Bogart and Bacall were twenty-five years apart. Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart? Twenty-two years. Rhett Butler had a twenty-year jump on Scarlett O’Hara.”
She scowled. “Fictional characters. No points on that one.” And how did he just pull all of that out of his head?
“Two out of three, then. I’ve made my point.”
“It’s still— You’re still—”
“What?” He rose calmly as he could while his patience still allowed. “I’m still what, damn it?”
“You’re still you! Respected on Capitol Hill. Demanded by Fortune 500 players. The father of a major music star.” She dodged his outstretched arms, gazing at him with half her bottom lip in her mouth and her heart glittering in her eyes—betraying to him, in one incredible second, how she’d been just as floored by what they’d shared so far. Yet in the next breath she whispered, “What’s the expression they use? Out of my league. That’s it. No. You’re even beyond that. You’re out of my universe. We can’t let ourselves get deluded. Neither of us can afford it. Not now. Not ever.”
Mark didn’t stop at irritated now. He let fury stomp right in as he pulled her up next to him. “So that’s it, then? The universe has gone through all this goddamn work to bring us together like this, giving us this gift, practically pounding us over the head with how perfect this is, and you’re goi
ng to hide behind all these excuses?”
“Not excuses.” She pushed at his chest. “Reasons. Good ones!” When her escape effort didn’t work, she huffed. “Look; I believed in the gift once. I believed in it all. I bought the whole glass-slipper fantasy, thinking I’d found my prince—”
“I’m not pretending to be a goddamn prince.”
“I know that.”
“Rose.” He bracketed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze up again. “I want to give you something better. Do you get that? Do you see it? You’re already halfway there. Rose…pet…”
Her gaze pooled with new tears, giving him a glint of hope—before she tried to jerk away. “Stop calling me that! Why do you call me that?”
“Because it fits.” He pulled her back next to him. “Because I want to take care of you, see after you. I want to meet every need you have and then some. And because you need it.” He fitted her head to his neck, loving the way her lashes felt against his jugular. “You know it too, don’t you? So why are you so afraid of it? Why are you denying who you are, who you clearly want to be? Why do you surrender so exquisitely for me but deny what makes you feel so good and blossom so beautifully?”
She turned her head so their eyes met again. He stared at her, nestled so perfectly against him, and endured a rush of amazement. He’d stuffed his life full of things seeming fulfilling…and all of it, with the exception of his time with Dasha, was like a washed-out painting compared to this. To simply holding a subbie after he’d taken her to heaven and back. No. It was holding this subbie. He longed to cradle her all night, to pull her tighter so he could kiss her deep…
She read his thoughts on that one. Rose sifted her fingers through his beard and then his hair, coaxing him lower, lower, until their lips met again. Fire and arousal roared through him anew, until the second he recognized the desperation behind the sweeps of her tongue and the pressure of her mouth. When they pulled apart, the depths of her gaze confirmed his suspicion. The kiss wasn’t hello. It was goodbye.
“I have to deny it,” she whispered. “I have to. Not every rose is meant to blossom, Senator. Some are just there to remind the world about the thorns.”
She pushed to be free again. This time, Mark let her go—just like he let her leave the building without looking back. He found the strength to get through it by remembering a little axiom that had served him well through the years.
“You took the battle, Rose,” he murmured. “But the war is far from over.”
Chapter Six
The next morning, Rose stopped in the hallway outside the meeting room to take a deep breath. Another. Her head already throbbed, due to one inescapable fact. Facing Ryan, Pete, Kai, and the others was less terrifying than having to face Mark Moore again.
She’d hijacked his beautiful words last night and driven them into the ground. To make matters worse, she’d turned and left him standing in the mental wreckage. Not that she didn’t feel a hundred kinds of shit for it. Not that she hadn’t stopped ten steps out the fitness center’s door, longing to run back in and say she didn’t mean it, that she’d never felt like this before, not even with Owen. And oh yeah, while she was at it, he was right; she was indeed a stubborn brat and needed to be put in her place. She needed to be tied back down and given over for his punishment…and pleasure.
God, how she wanted to bring the man pleasure.
Instead, she’d gone back to her room, caught Titanic on HBO, and then fallen into a chaotic sleep just before midnight. The irony of the whole thing hadn’t escaped her. The Rose in the movie had been given a soul mate and then gone against everything she knew to have him. The ship hit the damn iceberg anyway.
But the woman had known a love for a lifetime.
She clenched her jaw, banished the thought, and forced her feet forward.
Her stare found him instantly. The experience was worse than she’d anticipated. In a rich charcoal suit and deep burgundy tie, with his hair and beard groomed to perfection, he looked beautiful enough to jump—yes, even here. His clothes, fitted to the millimeter, made him as perfect as a magazine ad—but his stance turned him into something more appropriate for a wild-game hunter. Every inch of him conveyed pure aggression, from his braced legs and stiff shoulders to the scowl tense enough to bite someone’s hand off.
His expression intensified when he looked up and saw her.
She squared her chin, meeting his glare directly. He’d asked her to return, not the other way around. The intimidation-by-wounded-male bit wasn’t going to work.
Bolstered by the conclusion, she marched her way down to the front of the room again. Without a hitch, took her front-row seat. She didn’t look back up again until she’d stowed her purse and pulled out her course binder and pen—
And got assaulted by a stare more intense, permeating, and cocky than a grown man had a right to yield.
Which, coupled with the tie and suit, brought her right back to the whole craving to glue herself to him.
Until she noticed the smirk.
It was the smallest of expressions, a tiny sideways slant…
Maybe she’d just imagined it?
But then the bastard slid the look to the other side of his mouth.
The gig was up. His original glare really was a ploy—a stunt to draw her close like a magnet on metal shavings.
Why?
And why did she squirm when considering the answer to that?
Looking at him didn’t help. His all-business mask was slammed back into place as he addressed the entire class.
“I hope all of you enjoyed the break yesterday and used it to accomplish the goals I set?”
Reactions ranged from awkward coughs to “Yes, Senator.” It didn’t escape Rose that Kai and Peter chose the latter response. Ryan chose stoic silence and a respectful nod to Mark, acknowledging he’d heard. Shockingly, he included her in the action too.
The Twilight Zone theme started in her head. Ryan Johnson, prick of the year, was giving her deference? What the hell had happened in here yesterday? A questioning stare back at Mark yielded nothing. His eyes had turned as hard as agates, and his mouth was set with grim satisfaction. His words from the grotto echoed in her head. “You really thought I’d treat those morons with a shred of civility after what they did to you?”
A strange warmth suffused her chest. Was this what those medieval maids felt when knights went out and broke lances on each other for them? And if so, did the damsel question the feeling as being completely ridiculous?
“Very good,” Mark pronounced. She half expected him to pound his chest too, but the man’s authority was subtler than that. He moved forward, once again to the desk right next to her. She braced herself for the sexy-as-hell, lazing-lion thigh pose from yesterday, but he went for something more commanding, hiking a foot up to the chair. “I believe we left off at discussing one’s attitude in unknown lands. In short, leaving the office mentality behind, getting into the headspace of your guest status in another country. Can anyone share if they took away any keywords from our dialogue?”
Rose wasn’t surprised when Ryan jumped on the chance to speak. His tone conveyed the pure purpose of getting in a fresh piss on his territory. “Leadership.”
“Okay,” Mark answered. “Good. You thought about your answer, Mr. Johnson. That’s an outstanding way to phrase it. Who else?”
Christine, one of Aria’s buddies from the Austin office, raised her hand. “Compassion?”
“Excellent, Ms. Daye.” He nodded at the back of the room. “And Ms. Vernon?”
“Humility.” Veronica, from the New Orleans office, said it with conviction.
Mark gave back a hum of praise, bringing another heat front to Rose’s chest. This time the sensation wasn’t so pleasant. Okay, it was shitty—especially when she recognized it as a certain green monster of sentiment. It outright rankled when she let it drive her arm up.
“Ms. Fabian?” He cocked his head her way at once. “You’d like to
share?”
She floundered. Everything about his posture was casual and relaxed. Everything about his stare was incisive and intense. But damn it, he wasn’t going to crumble her so easily. She lifted her chin, deliberately defiant about the motion. “Brains, Senator. Plain and simple. People don’t use them enough.”
His brows lifted. “It’s all about the head today, is it? What happened to yesterday’s words of the heart?”
She took him up on the brow jump but added a shrug. “Heart still has its place, but not as your mission statement. When you’re in new lands, where you don’t know where you are or what lies ahead in the next hour, you can’t just let everything go to the moment. You do that, and you’re…”
He leaned toward her by just an inch. But even that tiny schism of space, filled with his presence, made her stammer into silence.
“And you’re what, Ms. Fabian?”
Hell.
His stare sliced in, deeper and hotter. Confronting it was like standing naked in the summer sun—with all the resulting heat to the layers of her sex.
“You’re…overwhelmed.”
A smirk inched back across his lips. “Overwhelmed isn’t bad, Ms. Fabian. Sometimes you can’t, and you won’t, control everything.”
“So what, then? You surrender and get yourself killed?”
“Sometimes you surrender in order to survive. Sometimes surrender is your freedom.”
Air was becoming a rare commodity to her lungs. He was so close. Too close. Too strong, hard, golden, and beautiful…and infuriatingly sure of himself.
Especially as she realized, with every instinct in her body, he wasn’t talking about the mission anymore.
Damn him.
She fought his little trick with an irritated snap. “I respectfully disagree.”
He reacted to that with leonine grace, returning to his feet in a couple of smooth steps. But his gaze, as hard as stone again, never left her. “Overwhelmed is inevitable.” His voice drilled with the same unflinching intent. “It. Will. Happen. And the only thing you can do is be prepared, Ms. Fabian…to accept it.”
