Opening herself was frightening, and there wasn’t any guarantee he would respond, but if she wanted him to show his true feelings, she needed to do the same. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she poured her heart and soul into her gaze and allowed him to see how much he affected her and just how badly she wanted him.
His hands, which had been fisted at his sides, slowly rose to her face. His touch was so tender she nearly cried as he cupped her cheek in one palm and slid the other to the back of her head. Threading his fingers through her hair, he caught her in a firm grip, then used the hand cupping her face to stroke her cheek before dropping to her neck, then down to her breast.
“You don’t hate me, do you?” she whispered, hoping he heard but not Lucas.
His eyes closed and he exhaled sharply. He swallowed once, twice, then slowly opened his eyes and met her gaze. With a slow shake of his head, he said, “No, sweet baby girl. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
Heat swept across her chest and neck, and her heart took flight as the tremendous weight surrounding her troubled relationship with Mathew lifted. As she continued to grow lighter, the strokes from the flogger grew sharper and her focus splintered.
She wanted to stay with Mathew, but the flogger demanded more and more of her attention and pulled her away. Her body coiled tight with need, and the tentative grip she held on her mind slipped.
Lucas, the ever-aware Dominant, no doubt noticed her highly charged state and reversed the strokes so the strands came up her body rather than down. As the ends stroked over her sex, the coil wrapped into a painful knot of frustration and despair. It had been so long, she was nearly crippled with the need to come.
As her eyes drifted shut, Mathew snarled, “Open those beautiful eyes and look at me.”
Sweat beaded his forehead and the side of his neck pounded furiously. Even though Lucas wielded the flogger, Mathew was her point of contact. Her grounding mechanism. And he was as involved in the scene as Lucas and her.
“Do you pleasure yourself, Muriel? Do you play with toys in the dark of night and scream as you make yourself come?”
God, she wished. She would’ve done just about anything to release some of the sexual frustration building up over the past several months. But she couldn’t.
Unable to keep her gaze trained on his, she dropped her head and shook it no.
“Look at me.” His voice was a sharp crack, but when she lifted her eyes, his expression was soft. “Why not?” he asked, his voice gentler than before.
The need to come increased exponentially with every well-placed blow between her legs, and she shifted side to side and up on the balls of her feet, trying to escape the strands so she didn’t go completely mad.
“Why not?” he asked again, this time with more force, compelling her to answer honestly.
She gasped as a more intense blow landed and cried out with frustration as she admitted, “I can’t.”
Sympathetic understanding crossed his face. “Because your Master hasn’t been there to give you permission.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact, so she nodded to confirm what he already knew. “Yes, Sir.” As the strands clipped her clit, she arched into him and pleaded for relief. “Please. Dear God, please let me come.”
His fist tightened in her hair and he jerked her head back. “Keep your eyes locked on mine. Do not look away. I’ll let you come, but only if you look at me. See me. Do you understand?”
It was difficult to keep her thoughts organized, but she understood the underlying meaning of his command. He wanted to make sure she knew who was giving her what she so desperately needed. He wanted to be sure she saw his brown eyes. Not Lucas’s green. Not Ian’s gray. His.
“Yes, Sir.” Making sure he knew she truly did understand, she added, “I’ve always loved your brown eyes. They remind me of rich melted chocolate, and I’m happy to lose myself in them.”
They flared with surprise and possibly pleasure, then narrowed as his focus intensified, and the hand absently playing with her nipple increased the pleasure by giving a pinch. Fire ripped through her breast, down her stomach, and into her sex. Between the hand in her hair and the one clamped on her nipple, she was locked in place. Which was perfectly fine with her. She didn’t want to go anywhere anyway. She just wanted to come.
His gaze shot over her shoulder to Lucas. She presumed they were in silent communication, because his eyes narrowed sharply and his jaw jumped before he gave a hard shake of his head.
As she tracked his facial expressions and worked to assimilate the meaning, the flogger hit the floor. Then Lucas’s hands were on her ass, spreading her wide. Seconds later, his tongue lapped at her folds, and her knees buckled.
When she finally came, she would surely die, just like a star erupting into flames and burning itself out. But, oh God, what a way to go.
As Muriel’s knees buckled, Mathew wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body harder against his. He’d expected the evening to be hellish, but he’d never considered the possibility of ethereal heavenliness mixed with diabolical suffering.
The way she looked at him as he owned up to his feelings nearly broke his resolve to keep her at a distance. She didn’t glare in disgust or purse her lips in disapproval. Instead of calling him out for being a coveting asshole, she smiled broadly and sighed with relief.
And in that moment, he’d had a ridiculous fantasy of a relationship blooming to life. Nothing had ever felt as right as having the silky strands of her hair wrapped around his fist and the creamy skin of her cheek pressed to his chest as she struggled to keep her blue gaze focused on him.
Which was utterly and completely fucked up, because everything about this situation was wrong. How could he take so much pleasure in having his best friend’s widow in his arms, loving the press of her body to his as his erection strained against the confines of his pants to get to her?
Because deep in his soul, he knew she could be his heaven, his salvation. But he wouldn’t be the same for her, would he?
Watching Lucas palm her ass with his face buried in her slick folds, while Muriel mindlessly squirmed and gyrated her hips, was like a jab from the devil’s pitchfork, launching Mathew into a bottomless pit of burning embers. It was his own damned fault since Lucas encouraged him to go down on Muriel while he kept up the flogging, but Mathew was a selfish bastard and didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to break the connection they’d established. He wanted her looking into his eyes as he gave her the command to come.
Lucas might be doing all the work—if it could be called that—but Mathew was the one who ultimately controlled her pleasure tonight, and he wasn’t relinquishing that gift. She was so tightly wound that when she finally let go, the explosion would be of epic proportions, and he refused to miss one second of it.
Her eyes glazed over as she slipped deeper into subspace, and while she mostly maintained eye contact, every now and then, her gaze dropped to his mouth and she licked her lips enticingly. Her plump bottom lip was the most tempting piece of fruit he’d ever seen, but he refused to give in to temptation. Holding her in his arms, knowing he couldn’t keep her, was causing him enough trauma. Tasting her would lead him down a path of mental and emotional anguish he might never recover from.
Admitting his feelings, for the sake of sparing hers, was one thing. Acting on them was something else. Lucas had devised this grand plan, and Mathew followed because he didn’t think he had much of a choice. He didn’t know why Lucas believed Ian would’ve wanted him and Muriel to be together, but at this point, Mathew could still walk away and not feel like a bigger sack of shit than he already did most of the time.
A long, anguished moan from her luscious pink lips brought him back to being fully present in the moment. “Muriel.” He said her name to recapture her attention as her gaze drifted shut. “Are you ready to come apart for us?”
Her pale-blue eyes, raging with lust and desire, flickered open, and she nodded. “Ye
s, Sir. Oh God, yes.”
“Keep those eyes locked on mine, angel, and come.”
He’d never seen a woman erupt so violently. She threw her head back and screamed while her body stiffened and convulsed. Lucas continued to work her with his mouth, dragging out her orgasm until the waves crashing down on her subsided and she turned boneless in Mathew’s arms. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would’ve slipped through his arms and landed in a heap on the floor.
But he was holding her, and he wasn’t in a hurry to let go. God, it was so wrong, but he never wanted to let her go. He wanted to hold her at night after he’d made her come a couple dozen times and keep her safe in her dreams. And he wanted to be holding her every morning when she woke so she never had to start another day alone.
He allowed the fantasy to continue running through his mind as he rubbed her back and whispered soothing words in her ear while her breathing grew less erratic and she came back down to Earth. When she calmed to the point he thought she might’ve fallen asleep, he couldn’t justify holding her any longer.
There hadn’t been a scripted plan for the evening, so Mathew didn’t know where Lucas planned to take things from here. He assumed Lucas would get in a tub with her and provide her aftercare, but beyond that, Mathew was clueless. The only thing he knew for certain was he’d endured all the torture he could stand for one evening and he had to get out of here before he did something incredibly stupid. Like laying her down, crawling inside, and, while pleasure drove them both to the brink of insanity, convincing her he should be her new Dom.
Shit, he was obviously skirting the edges of madness. Which meant he needed to go. Now.
He’d had the privilege of commanding her to come. It had been his eyes she looked into while the orgasm rolled through her. He’d been given the beautiful gift of holding her together while the intensity of her release threatened to rip her apart. He’d also opened himself up and allowed her to see into his soul—something he’d never done with anyone.
She’d accepted the truth of his feelings without showing contempt or disdain, but she’d been in a vulnerable position and not thinking clearly in the heat of the moment. And the truth was she deserved someone better than a black-market bastard sold to a drug and arms dealer as a weird-ass gift for his wife. A wife, it turned out, who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body and never wanted kids in the first place.
Muriel was too pure for the likes of him, and he’d be well-served to remember that before he got even more wrapped up in a starry-eyed fantasy of extending this little play date beyond tonight.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her jasmine scent while memorizing the feel of her body molded to his, the steady thump of her heart beating in sync with his.
When he was certain he had every nuance memorized, he opened his eyes and switched his attention to Lucas. With a tilt of his head, he indicated Lucas should go to the tubs so he could hand Muriel off. When Lucas didn’t move, Mathew narrowed his eyes and glowered, but the effect was the same as staring down a bull and expecting it to bow in submission.
Upping the pressure, he said, “I’m going to set you in the tub, angel, and Lucas will crawl in with you.”
He knew Lucas wouldn’t let Muriel down, and he’d never allow her to bathe by herself as groggy as she was, so Mathew scooped her up in his arms and headed to the nearest tub. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head sweetly on his chest, his resolve to leave nearly crumbled.
But continuing down this path would ultimately end with the same result as him driving headfirst into a brick wall at a hundred miles per hour. Nothing good could come of it. So with an ache the size of Texas ripping through his chest, he knelt and lowered her into the warm water.
Her arms tightened around his neck and she lifted her head to look into his eyes. “Aren’t you getting in with me?”
The soft plea in her melodic voice—sounding the same as she would first thing in the morning—grabbed him by the throat and nearly squeezed the life out of him. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to fight the blinding pain ripping through his body. “No, angel, I’m not. But Lucas will sit with you.”
Except Lucas—the motherfucking, cock-sucking son of a bitch who engineered this whole goddamned thing—remained fully dressed, arms crossed bullishly over his chest, feet planted in the same spot they’d been moments before.
The light in her eyes dimmed and her shoulder muscles tightened as he set her on the built-in seat and released her. Her gaze dropped to the water as she ran her hand in a slow circle, creating a mini whirlpool.
“I’m fine in here alone.” She swallowed roughly and lifted a watery gaze to him while forcing a bright smile. “You’ve done more than enough already, and I promise not to drown. Thank you.” She shifted her attention to Lucas. “Both of you. This room is breathtaking. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you not only taking my idea and running with it, but also putting so much time and hard work into finishing it for my birthday.” She dipped her gaze and the corner of her mouth lifted. “Not to mention the… uh, reintroduction.”
Mathew watched her lips move and his ears heard the words she spoke, but his head and heart registered the hurt she worked to hide. The image of her on her knees, apologizing for whatever she’d done to offend him, flashed like a neon sign. If he walked away now, he risked giving her the wrong impression again. But dammit, he couldn’t stay.
He had reasons out the ass for not wanting to get in deeper, but what held Lucas back? Why wasn’t he jumping at the chance to provide the aftercare she not only needed, but deserved? When another quick glance over his shoulder revealed Lucas still standing there, eyes locked on Mathew, not only waiting for him to get in the pool, but daring him not to, Mathew ground the heels of his hands against his eyes and clenched his jaws shut.
Frustration swirled in his gut until it twisted into a violent tornadic rage that shot him backward away from the pool. His slick shoes slid on the stone paver and he nearly fell on his ass before grabbing his footing to stand. As hurt and uncertainty flickered in Muriel’s eyes, his rage increased and combined with a deep, punishing ache that nearly ripped him apart.
He hated putting that look in her eyes and wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around her, reassure her she was the most amazing woman on the planet, and spend the rest of his life proving how special she was.
But this one taste had proven another sample would only lead him farther down the path to hell, which was also a no-win situation for her. He spun away from her and damn near ran to the column where they’d been standing moments before. After snatching up his shirt, he stormed toward the door.
Whatever I did all those years ago to cause your distrust or dislike of me. I’m sorry…
Her voice, replaying in his head, stopped him in his tracks and had him spinning back around. His chest heaved with harsh breaths as he squeezed his eyes shut and waged war with the overwhelming desire—no, need—to go back to her. He wanted to convince her he wasn’t all bad, but the reality was he was all kinds of wrong for her. And that’s why he had to leave her the hell alone.
Shit, he should probably not only leave Pandora’s, but get the hell out of town so he wouldn’t be tempted to come crawling back on hands and knees and beg her forgiveness for being an ass. Again.
With fury at the whole damned situation swirling in his gut, he rotated back toward the door, and, with shoes landing like hammers on the slate floor, he ate up the distance between him and the door in record time.
And all the while, he cursed Lucas for putting him in this position. Cursed Ian for leaving them. Cursed himself for loving Muriel when he was the last person in the world she needed. And he allowed burning hatred to scorch his soul for putting the hurt back in her beautiful blue eyes.
Chapter 8
Muriel’s heart sank as Mathew stormed away. She could’ve sworn she saw something in his eyes, something indicating she was more special than
a casual play partner. But then, in the blink of an eye, he closed himself off and was back to his angry, snarling self.
Without warning, he stopped and turned back to face her. The black gaze drilling a hole through her was searing… dangerously thrilling, and had her sucking in a sharp breath, holding it as she watched a series of emotions scroll across his face. Regret? Maybe. Definitely anger. A lot of anger. And something else she couldn’t put her finger on.
Ridiculously enough, considering the amount of hostility flowing off him, she hoped he would come back to her. She wanted to hold him in her arms and soothe whatever conflict was tearing him apart. But as his chest rose and fell with harsh, sawing breaths and his fingers tightened into a fist around his shirt, she let go of hope and settled on sad resignation.
After a moment, he shook his head and clenched his jaw so tightly she feared him cracking a tooth, then turned and resumed his pounding pace to the door. As he pushed through the exit and escaped down the hall, his thunderous footsteps faded in the distance, like an afternoon thunderstorm moving offshore.
She folded her arms on the edge of the tub, dropped her forehead to them, and released her pent-up breath on a sigh. It was obvious Mathew was in pain, and her heart ached with a desire to help him fight whatever demons tormented him. But she also had selfish reasons for wanting him to return.
Despite having an orgasm so intense it probably registered on the Richter scale, she wanted more. The attention he’d lavished on her breasts left them swollen and aching, and she wanted his soothing tongue to stroke and lave them once again. Her pussy still throbbed with need and seemed to be under the impression the last orgasm was just a warm-up for something even more cataclysmic—the ultimate connection of having Mathew buried deep inside her while they climaxed together. Or… She swallowed the nervous energy puddling in her mouth at the thought of being taken by Mathew and Lucas at the same time, which would probably leave her comatose.
Coveted (Pandora's Playground #1) Page 8
