by Joey W. Hill
“Yes. Though he never became much taller, Lawrence lost a lot of weight and became more athletic. They entered the service together, but different areas. In one of Kyle’s letters, he said Lawrence had gone into a special forces branch, like Rangers or SEALs.”
She looked down at another picture and couldn’t help smiling. “This one was the day I taught Kyle to ride a bike. He was six. No training wheels. I was just thinking about that the other day, when one of my therapy patients came in and said he and his wife had been helping his daughter to ride her bike without training wheels.”
She traced her hand over that picture. It didn’t matter she’d just done it to the other one. It was Kyle, at different ages, different memories, and she liked connecting to those moments through touch. “We were both laughing when he figured it out. After a while, he stopped the bike, threw his arms around me and asked me to spin him. He liked that. He was almost too big for me to do it at that point, but I managed it. I’m glad to be getting those memories back, spontaneously like this.”
At Jon’s quizzical brow, she explained, a shadow crossing her heart. “For a long time, the ones that came to mind the most were those near the end. When he treated me like Cole did. Then, the coffin coming back…the funeral. The way Cole acted.”
Jon moved his stroking touch to her shoulder, her upper arm, holding her closer to his side. She could feel his desire to protect. Help. It was a reminder of how a woman could rediscover her strength, when a good man supported and loved her.
“Thanks to you, I started getting those other memories back,” she said. “I realized I made mistakes, but I didn’t deserve contempt. Cole made me believe that I did. I let him do that to me. I would have figured it out eventually…and Kyle would have figured it out, too. I knew his heart. He was a loving boy. Time. We just ran out of time, but there was never a moment he wasn’t loved. He might not have been at a place to appreciate it, but…”
She wiped away tears, smiling when Jon helped with his long, gentle fingers. “I was meditating not too long ago and…I felt it. Felt him. Felt his love, like he was reaching across that space, and I knew he was okay. We were okay. I suspect that’s been there waiting for me, waiting for me to lift the walls I’d put up around myself, sealing in all that grief and guilt. The guilt drained out, the past let go, and there he was.”
She took a breath. “I heard him. Just a word. Mom. It was everything.”
He put the photo album aside and held her, letting the tears take her. The cry was hard, as it always was, with a lot of body-wrenching sobs. However, for the first time since Kyle’s death, the grief didn’t take her into despair. When the tears ebbed, she was on a quiet, contemplative shore, held in Jon’s arms. And she felt as if life, horrible as it could be, held a lot of mystery and wonder, and Kyle was cocooned somewhere in that mystery, safe and well.
When she eased back, Jon pressed his lips to her forehead. She rested her palms on his chest, the white shirt front, inhaling the fabric and all it held. The K&A offices, the New Orleans city streets, their home…and the unique scent that was all him.
Removing his arm from her shoulders for only a moment, Jon reached toward the coffee table. She noticed a trade-size booklet that he must have placed there before coming to find her. So focused on his unexpected arrival and the photo album, she’d missed it. He handed it to her and put his arm around her again.
“This is the other reason I went in to the office. Cassandra was finishing it last night.”
Against a teal blue fabric cover was a glued wooden frame, which contained side-by-side pictures. One of Kyle as a baby, and one in his dress uniform, the last formal picture taken of him. Along each side of the wooden frame was a repeated stamped series of words in metallic gold. “In honor and memory of Kyle Madison. Rachel’s son.”
Her fingers were trembling, and she could feel new tears on her cheeks. Jon helped her turn the pages. There were nineteen. On top of his observant nature, Jon was a good listener. He and she had gone through the photo album they’d just been looking at before, and he’d apparently remembered the right picture to match Kyle’s age, one through nineteen. Because on each page was a reproduced color picture of Kyle at that age. Next to the picture was a photo of a gift appropriate to that year.
Romper Room toys, Lego sets, a colorful set of classic children’s stories, like Treasure Island and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Then a bicycle, music player, game box, and the list went on, all the way to nineteen.
“Those are the gifts we all donated to the local children’s home, in honor of Kyle.”
She clutched the book tight, laid her chin on the top of it, turning her face into Jon’s touch as he lifted his palm from her shoulder to cup her cheek. He used that pressure to direct her to lean back against him, tuck her head beneath his jaw as she held the book against her breast.
“You’ve been working on this a while.” She took a tremulous breath. “Oh, Jon. I really am sorry. To think I thought… I really do sometimes revert to the way I thought before, that I have to handle everything alone. Part of it is the submissive thing, I think.”
“Yes, it is.” He squeezed her. “But the kind of submissive you were before. You know better now. That’s why you called me. Not soon enough, mind you.” The lines around his riveting eyes creased in humor as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “So that’s three. Tomorrow, after Kyle’s day is done, we’ll start our morning with a stimulating punishment.
“Promise?” Her stomach muscles fluttered as she contemplated it.
“Guaranteed. It is a birthday, after all, and what’s a birthday without a spanking? I think Kyle would have agreed with me that you should have known I wanted to be here with you, rather than not be bothered or burdened.” He tapped his belt with significance as he gazed up into the air. “Let's see. Since I believe Kyle is on yet another life’s journey, I think it makes the most sense to go with the age he’d be now. Don’t you?”
Returning to the present and the arms of her husband, the warm nest of their bed, Rachel let her gaze drift over her son’s smiling face in the photo montage. When she closed her eyes, that fond memory and Jon’s arms made it easy to fall into dreams.
Though just before she did, she remembered his promise about that girl-girl fantasy he and the other men were devising. The poignant memories of a mother gave way to the anticipatory flutters of a woman. How would it happen? And Dana…how did she feel about it? Would they be allowed to talk about it with one another beforehand?
Probably not. Jon, as much as the others, liked the sensual tension that not knowing what was going to happen could create. She had no doubt of one thing, though. When it did happen, it would be another sexual adventure she’d dreamed of, but never expected to have.
The wait wasn’t long. Wednesday night, as they were washing up their few dinner dishes together, he told her there was a Friday night poker game planned at the K&A board room.
“Oh. That’s good.” Though she was secretly disappointed that they would have to miss or move their Friday night ritual, she never begrudged him time with the K&A men. Guys needed guy time, the same way girls needed girl time, and a poker night would certainly need to be on a weekend night when no one had to get up early for work. “Do you want me to make some of those homemade baked chips that Ben and Lucas like?”
“They’d appreciate that. But you’ll be coming with me. As my submissive. Remember what we talked about a few days ago? The girl-girl fantasy?”
She was glad she had her hands in the soapy water, not holding a dish to hand over to his side. “Um, yes.”
Jon, apparently in a far calmer state, put the plate he was rinsing in the drainer. He propped a palm on the edge of the sink and ran a hand down her back, caressing the top of her buttocks and then dropping his touch to caress those curves, rub them in a slow, circular and completely distracting manner.
“Dana will be there with her Master. You’ll be there as service subs. To handle drinks
, snacks, and whatever else is needed.” His eyes sharpened upon her. “Whatever I tell you to do, you’ll do.”
“Always, Master.” The response, and the move into that headspace, was immediate. His intent gaze reflected his approval. He lifted his touch to pick up a towel and gestured to her to give him her wet hands. He folded them up in the towel and began to dry them, massaging her fingers through the terrycloth.
“Since you work a half-day on Fridays, I want you to schedule a massage with Sally,”—her co-worker who did massages for the PT patients—“and then plan on coming home, taking a bath and getting a good nap. Nothing but pleasurable, relaxing activities.” He squeezed her hands through the towel. “Just like your usual Friday ritual prep, I’ll provide you any instruction you need. You’ll come to my office at six-thirty.”
He spread the towel over the dishes in the drainer, and wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her up against his body for a teasing kiss, a nip of her bottom lip. “Now, let’s watch some NCIS reruns.”
Really? Being pulled right up against his body, she could tell she wasn’t the only one aroused by their Friday plans. Jon drew back enough to thread his hand through her hair, give it a tug.
“You’re hell to resist, sweet girl, when you have that hungry look in your eye, and your soft body is right here, mine for the taking. But none for either of us until Friday. I want your mind totally on your Master’s desires between now and then. As for me, I want to be fueled by everything I plan on doing to you that night. It will make me particularly demanding.”
Imagining what that could mean only made her desires worse. And NCIS wasn’t a random choice. They both liked the show, but he knew she had all sorts of Dom fantasies about Mark Harmon’s stern Gibbs character. Fuel to the fire, indeed.
Well, she had her revenge at bedtime, since Jon liked her to wear nothing or one of the silky, transparent gowns he’d bought her to bed. She chose a blue-gray one that was like a shimmering storm cloud over ocean waters, the fabric clinging and flowing in all the right ways. She wasn’t trying to make him change his mind. Not exactly.
When she came out of the bathroom, brushing out her hair, he was lying on the top of the covers in nothing but a pair of black sleep shorts while he read something on his tablet. She paused in the doorway, gaze coursing over the fit, muscled body, the light layer of black hair on his chest, the way strands of his dark hair feathered over his brow. The pursing of his sensual lips and crease of his silken brows as he worked out whatever problem he had on the screen.
As soon as she shifted, however, his gaze immediately rose to her, coursing over her from head to toe. She was wearing lace panties beneath the nightgown in the same color and sheer fabric.
“Couldn’t take pity on your Master and wear flannel?”
“My Master didn’t include that in his list of my bedtime clothing choices.” Her lips quirked, and she pointed at his mostly exposed body with her hair brush. “But I could say the same.”
He grinned. “I’m allowed to be a sadist.” Then his expression became more focused and he set aside the tablet, lacing his fingers behind his head as he studied her. “Take off the gown. Leave on the panties.”
He was planning to have her sleep with him that way, another method to drive them both crazy. To ensure that Friday night, she would be so mindlessly aroused she wouldn’t worry about anything. And he would have a backlog of ideas of things to do to her, just as he’d threatened. The plan wasn’t a bad one. Just agonizing, enduring the wait.
She unlaced the thin ribbons, unbuttoned the tiny row of buttons over the straining bodice, and let the gown slide off her shoulders. She could have drawn the whole thing over her head, but if there was one thing she’d learned, her Master liked presentation.
“I am the luckiest fucking man in the universe,” he murmured, his blue eyes suddenly very heated and focused on her curves. “Cup your breasts and toss your hair back, lifting your chin.”
She did it, her fingers slightly quivering, same as her knees did when he issued orders in that thick voice.
“Your nipples are so swollen. Do they need attention, sweet girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
She came to the side of the bed and Jon slid an arm around her hips, molding a palm to her left buttock. He cupped her breast, much as she had, only with a much more significant impact on her senses. She bit back a little moan as he watched her face, the working of her throat and parting of her lips.
“My girl is shamelessly wet, isn’t she?”
She nodded. He curled a finger around her hair, wrapped it to draw her down toward him. She strangled on a cry as he licked her right nipple lightly, oh-so-lightly. And he kept doing it. No suckling, just the friction of his tongue teasing all the sensitive nerve endings. Her hands opened and closed at her sides. She knew he wouldn’t want her to touch without invitation, that he wanted all her focus on this, and how it was making her feel. Sometimes she wished she didn’t know so much about what he expected of her.
The half-humorous, all-desperate thought disappeared into liquid need as he shifted to give the other nipple the same treatment.
When he drew back, the throbbing between her legs was as forceful as her pounding heartbeat. She bit back a startled noise as he slid both arms around her and used his impressive strength to lift and swing her over him. He laid her down beside him, her facing away so he could spoon around her, one arm over the top of her bare breasts, their weight resting on his other forearm, wrapped above her waist. He pushed his solid erection against her bottom.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she said, her breath a rasp, especially when he curled one hand around her throat and tightened it. Another surge of arousal gripped her, and she knew the panties were going to be soaked.
Dropping his other hand, he curled his fist around the Brazilian-cut back and twisted, pulling the crotch up in the front and compressing her clit.
“How do I know if I fuck you now, that you’ll be as hot and wet as I want you to be on poker night?”
“Because I never stop wanting you, Master. Never.” She dropped her head forward as he set his teeth to her shoulder again, only this time he bit her far harder, making her mewl but not pull away. Never.
He changed his grip, pulling the panties to the side, and she let out a moan of relief as his cock slowly pressed into her, sliding into the heated wetness with ease, despite the more challenging angle. Once he was halfway in, Jon banded his arm low around her hips and brought her all the way down on him in a decisive, firm movement that tore a groan from her lips.
“That’s my girl.” He tightened his hand on her throat. With that and the arm around her waist, he started to bring her down on him in a pounding, demanding stroke. He didn’t stroke her clit at first, making her wait for that stimulation as he got harder and thicker inside her, as his breath rasped against her ear.
Then he moved the hand that had been holding her panties and laid his palm over her mound, his fingertips pattering in little maddening touches over her clit. The build-up happened slow, but was intense. When she was ready to shriek with the sensations, he knew it.
“Let me hear you, Rachel.”
She expected she let everyone in the county hear it, but she didn’t know how to stop, and her Master didn’t want her to hold back, anyway. As he began to release inside her, she rocketed over the pinnacle, screaming out her pleasure, which only built as his massage of her clit became firmer, more insistent.
His groan against her ear, the animal sounds of his release, were blissful to her. They moved together on the sheets, the ceiling fan giving them a touch of cool air for their damp and heated skin when they finally slowed. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades. Finding his hand at her waist, under her breast, she took it and held on. When she did, her hand tightened almost of its own accord, as if it had received a message deep from her soul, yearning and afraid.
/> She closed her eyes, dispelling such things, but he responded to the pressure, holding her even closer. Everything in his presence reassured her, his touch and heat a guarantee that wrapped around her. It was like a coat providing shelter for the room inside her where it felt as if it would always be endless winter. When he spoke, he nudged her away from that cold place with lighter words.
“Such a bad girl. Teasing your Master.”
She smiled against the arm he had propped beneath her head. “I was just following his orders, wearing one of the things he’s approved for me to wear to bed.”
“I’ll make a note to add footy pajamas in that godawful seventies green to the list.” He paused. “No, that won’t work. You’ll still look gorgeous. Though it would disturb me on so many levels, I’d still have a hard-on if you wore that.”
She chuckled and elbowed him, but then he started stroking her hair and she subsided. He moved from her hair to her shoulder and side, his hands strong and soothing, his body a comfortable bulwark behind her. Though she thought if they hadn’t taken the edge off, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep, his hands said differently. His touch always possessed this magic, equally able to arouse or bring her peace. Before long, she was easing toward a dreamless sleep.
Right before she did, however, she remembered how the evening had started. On Friday, she was going to be part of a girl-girl fantasy. In front of all five K&A men.
Excitement and worry returned, all at once. Her sleep might not be so dreamless after all.
It took a great deal of effort to concentrate and give a hundred percent to her morning yoga classes and afternoon PT clients, but she did it, because she refused to let herself give them anything less than her best. Plus, as Jon said, it just made that knife edge of need grow sharper.
His behavior only added to that. After that first night, he kept his resolve—and his Master nature came out in full force. Curling up behind her in their bed the next night, he stroked her body however he pleased, until she was biting back moans of frustration. He’d told her to be still, but on an involuntary jerk, she pressed her hips back into the cradle of his and couldn’t stop herself from rubbing against his steel erection.
