Sigh

by Angel Payne

  “Repeat that to anyone, and I promise, no matter where you’re at in the world, I’ll come after you—and the floggers will be packed.”

  Her mind played out an image from his words. Him, bare-chested and rippling, swirling a pair of floggers through the air in beautiful symmetry. Her, spread and bound to one of those X-shaped crosses from the BDSM clubs, moaning and arching beneath the mixture of pleasure and pain.

  She pulled in a sharp breath, hoping he hadn’t heard, and sat in one of the padded chairs next to the villa’s private pool. Her panties, now seeping, decided to share their hydration with the apex of her thighs. Re-crossing only made matters worse.

  New topic. Now. You’re here to talk logic and reality, not succumb to chemistry. You’re not one for the best odds where chemistry is concerned, Ro.

  “So, you two go diving together?” Shockingly, she kept her voice even. “Where? In Lake Michigan? I’ve heard there’s shipwrecks down there. That must be kind of fun. Do you live in Chicago now?”

  He didn’t make a move to sit with her. Instead, he slipped off his tie and then strolled to the slider that led to the bedroom and tossed the burgundy garment into the room. He didn’t close the door when he was done. Still leaning against the jamb, he drawled, “You’re quite the inquisitive thing tonight. Trying to skirt a subject, Ms. Fabian?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He looked out over the pool. “I live in Chicago now, yes. And yes to your second question as well. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Yes, Dante and I dive.”

  “In Lake Michigan?”

  “Out of the sky.”

  “The sky?”

  “I was in recon in the Marines. Dante is just a bat shit millionaire adrenaline junkie.”

  “You really do like to live dangerously.”

  “Yes, I do.” When he swung his gaze back at her, it was thick, unwavering. So was his gait as he prowled back to her. At last, he nudged the ankle of her top leg with one foot. He pushed until she lowered it, resulting in her sitting in front of him, one of her calves captured by his legs. “Why do you look so surprised by that?”

  She tried to straighten a little. He didn’t yield the hold.

  “I’m not surprised. It actually helps my case.”

  “And what case would that be, specifically?”

  He gave up the lock on her leg—so he could shift his position, straddling her thighs. He curled forward, bracing both hands to the chair’s arms, crashing through every inch of her physical space. The awareness of him, in every beat of her blood and inch of her skin, made her breathing spike, her skin burn, her senses swim. By some miracle, she managed to keep her eyes open. It bolstered her enough to attempt speech.

  “Look, I’m not going to deny that we have an attraction…”

  “And that’s dangerous?” He fixated on her neck like Barnabas Collins after a dry spell.

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Because?” He smirked when she only gulped hard. Brushed her hair off her bared shoulder. “I’m listening.”

  “Senator—”

  “I prefer it when you call me Sir.” He traced her collarbone with his thumb. His touch was rough, possessive. Her breath came in audible stammers. His eyes dilated. Hell. The expression transformed him from totally mesmerizing to fucking hot.

  “I’m not the one you want for this. I wish I could be, but I’m just too—” She grabbed his hand, forcing him to stop and letting him behold her anguish. “I’m not the one you want, okay? Not by half. I’m not sophisticated, or graceful, or polished—”

  “You really think that’s what I want?”

  “That’s what you need, Senator.”

  She forced herself to emphasize the last word. Someone around here had to grow a chunk of logic. Apparently, it had to be her. Under other circumstances, she might’ve laughed at that. Placing herself in the same sentence as the word logic? Wow, the universe did have a sense of humor.

  But the grandest joke would be continuing this. She had to keep remembering that—to recommit to her resolve. She was here to move forward, not revisit a past where passion had led to ruin. That included pushing on, even when his silence went into Freeze-button mode. “Look, I don’t like it either,” she stated. “But what you need is—”

  He cut her short with a burst of vicious strength. Before she could get out a gasp, he flipped their grip, fully controlling the pressure now. His hands squeezed her shoulders with angry intent. “Don’t tell me what I fucking need.”

  “I’m just trying—”

  “Don’t tell me what I need. I think I know the answer to that by now. Look at me. Now. Into my eyes, not at my chin.” His gaze stabbed her, packed with a thousand golden spikes. “Who’s crammed your head with the crap that you’re not enough? Owen? Was that the dickwad’s name?”

  She tried to laugh. To her horror, tears brimmed instead. “No!”

  “Then what was his name?”

  Thank God for a chance to shake her head. “No, no. You’ve got the name right, but it wasn’t Owen. He didn’t…” She swiped her free hand across her cheek. “He never said a word. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone, okay?”

  “The hell it wasn’t.” He snared that hand too, interlocking his fingers to it and then pushing it against the chair, next to her ear. “Somebody filled your mind with the idiocy that you’re somehow…” He stared deeper, looking like he couldn’t believe the lunacy of his next word. “Broken.”

  “Damn it.”

  She didn’t mean to sob both syllables. Yet as soon as they were out, the damn of emotion burst open. “Did you ever stop to think it’s because I am broken?”

  She should have torn her clothes off for him then and there. She’d be less exposed, less horrified, and battling less torture in her soul. Broken. It was the perfect word and the perfect torment at once. “Leave me alone,” she sobbed, pushing against him. “Let me up. You’re suffocating me. I’m serious. Please. I’m hot. Hot. Too hot.”

  To her shock, he complied. Rose tore up from the chair. She was sweating, trembling. Her nerves were a swarm of fire ants. Even her fingernails throbbed with heat.

  Relief beckoned, steps away. In a haze, she kicked off her shoes and stumbled toward the pool. Her intention was a wade in along the first step, but she shook so badly she missed, tumbling in face-first. She only went under for two seconds, but the damage was done.

  She popped up, drenched and humiliated. “Shit.”

  The same word burst from Mark’s lips as he sprang into motion, intensifying her horror. He bounded in, plowing through the water like it was simply air.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Not what you want to ask right now.” His retort was damn near a snarl. He came closer by the second, shirt clinging to the ridges of his pecs and abs, the water turning his beard dark gold.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Also not the right thing to ask.”

  “I tripped, okay? But you—oh crap, your clothes!”

  His stare dipped, going wildcat again as he beheld what the water did to her linen blouse against her bra-free breasts. “Your clothes.”

  “I’m not wearing thousand-dollar Cavallis.”

  He jerked off the shoes and his socks, hurling them into the deep end of the pool. “Stay on topic.” He stepped close enough to grab her elbow. Hard. “Why the hell do you talk about yourself like this? Who have you let into your head, to paint these ass-backward ideas? I want my answer, Rose. Now.”

  She flung her other arm out, slamming water at him. “Ass-backward? Really? Do you need more evidence than the situation you’re in, Mr. Moore? I’m impetuous. Ill disciplined. I say the wrong things. I do the wrong things.” She managed to wrench from his hold but realized he gave her no place to go. Two steps back, and her waist hit the side of the pool. “Why do you think I try so hard at the Victorian priss thing? Because I’m not!”

  “Thank God.”

 
Hell. He sounded like he meant it.

  Rose tried to get around him again. He was more than ready, snaking both arms out and locking in her shoulders. He slid a smile of victory. She shot him an open grimace.

  “Fine. You want to know? For starters, I have too much mouth and not enough manners.” It was easy to spit it out. God knew she’d heard it from Shane enough. “Let’s see. What else? Too much sass, not enough poise. I’m too talkative, too opinionated, too outgoing and, apparently, much too passionate.”

  Not that her brother knew anything about passion—which might not be such a shitty thing. At twenty-eight, Shane had already made partner in a major Chicago law firm, yet here she was, soaked in a swimming pool, makeup coursing her face, listing everything she’d done to royally derail her life—to a man who, foreseeably, wanted to make her his slave-girl kink bunny.

  And battling a large chunk of her brain telling her to let him.

  “No. Not too passionate.” Unbelievably, the rage in his face deepened—but the anger was joined by something else. It looked a great deal like the expression he’d given her neck a few minutes ago, only hungrier. Much less willing to let her go, no matter how hot she got now.

  “Really?” It was a feeble attempt to screech the brakes on her racing senses. “Then tell me what the hell I am.”

  By unnerving degrees, he pressed closer. When Rose was pinned between his body and the pool’s edge, he shifted his grip from her hands to her wrists—using those elegant vises to push her arms to her sides.

  “You’re a creature, wild and beautiful, who just needs the right master to guide you. To hone that passion. To let it shine.” He circled her arms back so her wrists rested on the pool’s edge. He kept them there by securing both with one of his hands. He raised his other hand, urging her face back up with a firm sweep of fingers. “Every fiber of you wants it, don’t you, pet? You’ve had desires…fantasies…haven’t you? And Owen was the man you were going to marry, the man you longed to fulfill those dreams. So you went to him and opened up to him a little. Maybe a lot.”

  “Oh.”

  It was all she could say as his nearness turned their proximity into incredible humidity. How did he know? How could he have known?

  But he did. Somehow, he did.

  “Yeah.” He nodded, looking satisfied yet still plenty pissed. “That’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it? You went to him, you bared yourself to him, and the goddamn boy got so scared of having the passion of a real woman on his hands, he shit in his diapers and ran.”

  Despite the big beautiful nearness of him and the sparks flying between them at nearly visible intensity, she shivered. The disaster with Owen…she’d never heard it explained like that before. Could it be…maybe a little of it…wasn’t her? Could it be she wasn’t a complete disaster? Could it be that maybe, given the right place, the right man, all the secret yearnings of her heart and all the dark needs of her body…were okay?

  But this wasn’t the right place. This wasn’t the right man. They were from different worlds, different life paths. At least with Owen, she had hope of being enough, squeezing enough into the mold. But this golden god, who stripped her of all rational thought? No. She’d disappoint. Would never be enough.

  She’d come here tonight to tell him exactly that.

  So tell him.

  Her brain railed it at her drunk senses like a nagging designated driver. It kept trying even as he wrapped a hand to the back of her head, anchoring it in place to excavate her gaze with his. Then her bloodstream took over. It grabbed those keys of self-control and hurled them into the thickest bushes of her mind.

  She was so in trouble now.

  “I don’t scare easily, Rose.” His breath filled the air between them, scented with Scotch and wind and desire. “I want your passion. I need your fire. This is good. This is right. You’re so right.” He dipped his head, brushing his lips along the seam of hers, sending a thousand more frissons through her body. “Give in to it, for just tonight. Give me the chance to show you how amazing it can be, how amazing you can be. Submit to me, pet. No obligations other than now. No thoughts beyond this.”

  He finished the promise by filling her mouth with his, taking her like a man possessed, slanting her back with voracious force. He swept her hard with his tongue, exploring her, claiming her. Rose moaned, fascinated by the contrasts surrounding her body, her senses. This hot, wet kiss. This cool, teasing water. This fluid, powerful man. His solid, searing touch. She yearned to get her hands on him in return, but his grip on her wrists tightened. She had to show him her heat and her need in other ways. She pushed her face higher, trying to suck his tongue in. She writhed and whimpered, now blatantly aware of the soaked fabric against her hard, achy nipples.

  When he finally pulled away from her, a single word sighed up her throat.

  “Yes.”

  A low sound of pleasure came from his throat. “Yes what, pet?”

  “Yes, I… I’ll submit to you. Sir.”

  “Oh, honey.” He kissed her again, brutal and fast. “You have no idea…what that does to me.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I have a little bit of an idea.”

  “Ssshh.” Without taking his eyes off her, he lowered his hand, unbuckled his belt, and slid it off. The only sound between them was water dripping off the leather strip as he circled it behind her and then cinched it around her wrists in place of his other hand. She watched his face as he looped the strap back under, slipping the end between her wrists, rendering them immobile between her lower back and the pool’s edge. His lips were parted, his jaw was set, his eyes were fires of fierce concentration. When he was finished, her elbows lay flat against the tile, their curves turned into little coves. As the water lapped at the sensitive skin there, every nerve ending on her arms shimmered in awakening.

  He wrapped both hands to her back, running them over her bonds, testing to make sure she really couldn’t move. His stare bore into hers again. “Too tight?”

  “No, Sir.” She whispered it, now entranced with his concentration on her. He focused with a heady mix of all business and pure lust. Nobody had ever looked at her like this.

  He didn’t miss the change in her voice either. He pressed her forearms firmly, declaring how he understood the enormity of her decision. He kept his grip firm despite her trembling, nostrils flaring as if just that little act aroused him.

  “You’re so breathtaking.”

  His words were heavy and rough. He lowered his head to her shoulder, teething her skin as he lifted a hand to her breast. His thumb swiped her nipple through the wet cotton. More electricity sizzled through her. Rose gasped and lurched toward him.

  “Easy, Rose. It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry.”

  She tried to get air, but every breath pushed her breast into his hand again, inciting the need to be closer, to get more of him. Without thinking, she tugged against her restraint. Without thought, she cried out in frustration. “Easy? This isn’t easy!”

  He laughed—laughed!—and locked his other hand to her hip. “I need to know something.”

  She glowered against his chest. “The answer is yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes; I’m dying to get my hands on you.”

  He chuckled again. The sound was a maddening mix of warmth and desire. “That’s not your place right now, pet.” He ignored her little huff, which halted when he asked with seriousness, “I need to know…in those clubs you went to with your friends, did you learn about safe words?”

  Her stomach clenched—though this time in a good way. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then do you know what yours is now?” He pulled back, tilting his head in question. She was so deliciously smooth. So goddamn hot.

  “Extemporization?” When his stare turned into a glower, she sighed. “Fine. Yes. My safe word is worth.” She stuck in a mocking edge to her finish. “Sir.”

  He angled his face over hers now. His fingers closed tighter on her breast. “I shou
ldn’t let you get away with that.” He added a harsh tug to the ends of her wet hair. With her neck bared to him again, he nipped at the hollow of her throat and then the valley between her breasts. “I should rip this blouse off your shoulders and bite your sweet, hard nipples until they’re red and sore. Yet still, my pet, you’ll beg me to nibble them one more time, just so you can climax for me in a million throbbing pieces.”

  His voice wove its rough magic down, down, boldly gripping her sex.

  “Yes,” Rose pleaded. “Oh yes, please, Sir.”

  “No.” He took a step back, slipping buttons out of his shirt to bare his hard, golden-skinned chest. “You’re going to come with my cock buried deep inside you, honey. And you’re going to feel beautiful as you do. Beautiful and sexy and very, very fulfilled.”

  With those soaked white panels now hanging off his bulging, broad shoulders, he delved his arms beneath the water and hiked her skirt to her waist. Once he got to her panties, he didn’t bother tugging.

  “In the way.”

  He hooked his forefingers to the elastic at both thighs and then ripped the thong free.

  Through her lashes, Rose watched the lace float across the pool. It was an apt symbol of where her modesty, her logic, her determination, and her self-control had gone. As if she had a moment to mourn them.

  “Eyes here, pet.” Her gaze was commanded back up by Mark’s fingers beneath her chin. “And do not close them. I want to see it all from you, every moment of it.”

  “Every moment…of what?”

  “Of your transformation.”

  Dear God. The man had a way with words. And the way he scraped every syllable into her, like sensual sandpaper, leaving her mind exposed and her body writhing… Could it be possible? Could she be changed, if only for this magical sliver of time, into somebody celebrated for her fire and not shamed for her cheek? Guided into a place where she was wild yet tamed, freed yet harnessed, detonated yet not destructive? Her heart burst with the possibility of it. With the miracle he offered.