In a few days he was up to making love in the missionary position. There was no doubt that was what it was, making love and not just fucking, but she still couldn’t say the words. She wasn’t sure what was holding her back, but there was something missing. He was being gentle and loving. He was healed up enough to go back home, but he was staying. She wanted him to stay.
“Do you believe in me?” she asked him one day at the breakfast table, over the delicious sausage and eggs he had made.
He smiled. “Is that a personal question or a theology question?”
“Both, I think.”
“Then yes. And no.”
She frowned, not sure what to make of that. “Am I just a hot lay? Maybe a little more so, because I’m crazy? What do you believe, anyway, after I helped you find Jerry and sent the police to rescue you?” She regretted saying the last part. It was too close to I saved your life, and she wasn’t sure she could claim that much credit. Still, the doctor said that if he’d bled a little longer…
“I don’t know what to believe, Marisa. I’d stake my life on one your hunches. But…”
“But?”
“There has to be a rational explanation.”
“Does there?”
He nodded. “I don’t know what it is. And I need to be okay with that. I don’t know how a lot of things work, and no one else does either.”
She stared at him. “But it can’t be magic.”
“I am who I am, Marisa. I think you have incredible insight. Maybe you piece together things subconsciously. I don’t know. That’s the bottom line. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a better word than magic. I guess it’s a hard word for me, though.”
Like love. Her heart softened. “I know all about hard words. And yes, we both have to be who we are. So thank you for the honesty.”
Their eyes met. She wasn’t sure if they’d reached an understanding of sorts or not. She didn’t need him to say he believed what she did was magic to say she loved him. She felt she should say it, right then and there, even though something was gnawing at her. Something was missing.
He smiled, although it wasn’t a totally convincing smile. “I think I need to go for a walk, little witch. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and took her plate to the dishwasher.
NOLAN WALKED TOWARD where he’d seen Marisa doing her ritual. Was it only months ago? It seemed liked yesterday in some ways, but it was an eternity. It was colder now. In fact, the weatherman had predicted a few inches of snow for the evening.
Marisa had given him a lot to think about since he’d met her, a lot to doubt, and something to have faith in.
I love that woman.
He was more sure of it than ever.
She’d struck a nerve with her comment about having to be who they were. She was a witch. He needed to wrap his brain around that. Whether there was such a thing as magic or not, it was a part of her identity that wasn’t going away. And he didn’t believe for a moment she was simply deluded or lying. There was something about her he couldn’t explain, some special understanding of the world, and she chose to call it magic and witchcraft.
He walked farther, toward where she’d told him he could find the lost little girl.
He’d wanted Marisa to tell him she loved him ever since he’d said the words to her. Was that what she meant by difficult words? She’d adapted to telling him she was wet, although that had clearly challenged her at first.
A tree had fallen in front of him. It hadn’t been there the last time he’d come that way. He carefully worked his way around it, blazing a new path. The animals went under it, but he was too big for that.
He’d been patient with her. Gentle. He’d been holding back—at first because of the wound in his side, but lately because he wanted to coax the words out of her. He wanted to show her how much he loved her by how much restraint he could show. He longed to be rough with her.
A blur moved in front of him and then vanished deeper into the forest. A coyote. They were natural cowards, running away from trouble, never picking on anything their own size. It would look for more defenseless prey. That was what a coyote did. What it was.
And who am I?
The science fiction he’d been reading made him think about a television show he used to watch. The bad aliens were always asking people “What do you want?” The good ones asked “Who are you?” He’d been focusing the entire time on what he wanted, and that was for Marisa to love him and tell him so. He wanted to keep her in his life. That was what he wanted. Simple.
But he’d been doing it by trying to be someone else. He wasn’t vanilla. He wasn’t even close. His attempts to have purely vanilla relationships had never ultimately been successful, and he either ended it himself or scared the girl off. And lately he hadn’t even tried, because he knew himself better. So why was he trying to be vanilla with a woman he knew was submissive? To show he could do it?
Somewhere in there I decided that loving a woman and dominating her didn’t go together. But I’m going to have to make them fit.
He knew what he should do. He turned around and walked toward the house, and when he came to the fallen tree, he indulged himself by jumping over it. The landing hurt his side but not too badly. It was worth it.
She met him at the door and gave him a hug far gentler than it needed to be. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He didn’t let the silence have time to get awkward. “I need to pick up some things from my place. Would you drive me, or should I call a cab?”
“You’re coming back, right?”
It wasn’t I love you, but it would do in a pinch. He grinned. He didn’t want to get off track. “Yes, I’m coming back.”
“Well, then, why don’t you borrow my car, if you’re up to driving.” She detached a clip from her belt loop and sorted through various keys until she found the right one. “Try not to wander along any dirt roads. And my car is not for tailing bad guys. Oh. And we’re out of milk and flour. And bread. Maybe I should come along?”
“I can get all those things.” Now that he thought of it, he preferred her not to come. He took the keys from her hand before she changed her mind. Her company would be enjoyable, but he didn’t want her to see what items he was retrieving, because that was better as a surprise. While he could tell her to wait in the car and not invite her up, that would be awkward.
“Okay. Call me from the grocer, and I’ll make a list of anything else we need and read it to you over the phone.”
He’d seen guys with their cell phones pressed to their ears in the grocery store and had always thought they looked the worst kind of whipped. But what she’d suggested was practical, so he made a slight modification. “Text me, and I promise I won’t look at the texts until I’m parked.”
She nodded. “Works for me. And Nolan?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for telling me you’re coming back.”
He smiled and kissed her. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He put his hand under her chin and held it so that she had to keep looking at him. “Put on a short skirt and a tighter shirt. I have things I want to do to you.”
His index finger was against her neck, and he could feel the sharp intake of breath as well as hear it. Her pulse sped up too. “Yes.”
“When I get back, you’ll learn how to say a word that might be difficult for you.”
She bit her lip. Not as exciting a prospect, apparently. He hadn’t expected it to be.
“The word is ‘master,’” he said and let her go. He wanted to see her reaction, but he turned around and walked to the car. Maybe this wasn’t the way to get what he wanted. But it was who he was. And he wasn’t going to give her anything less.
Chapter Eight
Marisa’s mind raced. Short Skirt. Tight top. Master. She wasn’t sure she had any short skirts; she’d always preferred the long, flowing kind, thinking they were more witchy. And without her car, she couldn’t go into town and get one. She had a
plaid mini in college, and she didn’t think she’d gotten rid of it, but there was no way it would fit her.
But she wasn’t about to disobey orders, either. He’d probably be sympathetic when she explained she didn’t have one, but she didn’t want him to be sympathetic. The idea flashed through her head of him taking the opportunity to punish her for disobedience, and it made her shiver with excitement. She put a burgundy satin skirt that hugged her hips and darted in at the knees, and found an old black T-shirt from her college days. A size too small, it definitely qualified as tight. It displayed an inch of midriff, which she didn’t appreciate, but at least she was trying, right?
Master.
It occurred to her that she had a skirt with a higher waist, and that would solve the tummy problem, so she went back in to change. Black velvet, or the navy-blue tiered one? The velvet one was an old favorite, but it was frayed at the bottom and was working on a bald patch. Too old and too well used, she decided, and got the navy one out. She had it on, when another thought occurred to her.
She found her sewing scissors in an old drawer, got the velvet skirt, and started cutting. It was on its last legs anyway. And as much fun as a spanking might be, having him say “good girl” was even better.
With a touch of mischief, she decided to make the edge jagged, instead of smooth. It wouldn’t hold up, but it appealed to her sense of whimsy. And the skirt was done for in any case.
She put it on and waited. She wondered what he was planning. It could be anything. So many possibilities played around in her mind.
I’m wet, Master.
She knew then she’d have to tell him the moment he got in the door. The thought made her wetter. It was embarrassing to be turned on so easily.
* * * *
“I’m wet, Master,” Marisa said.
Nolan grinned and looked her over. His smile broadened. He enjoyed what he saw. “Then you can go kneel in the living room while I put the groceries away.”
He had two bags of groceries. She realized she’d completely forgotten to text him, but obviously he got more than milk and bread and flour. He had a big black sports bag slung over his shoulder too. She wasn’t sure he should be carrying that much so soon. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. Obey.”
Fuck. That voice didn’t allow any dissent, although she still wanted to lecture him for overdoing. She hurried to the couch, pulled a cushion off it, and knelt. Then she couldn’t resist, although he was already in the kitchen by then. “Really sure?”
“Really sure. Besides, I’m setting them down now, so it’s too late.”
It wasn’t too late when I asked. If he hurt himself, she’d have to nurse him back to health again. But she didn’t mind his macho side. He was what he was. What she wanted him to be. She’d never have to wonder which of them was the man of the house.
She waited. She would have liked to say she waited patiently, but it wasn’t the truth. She tapped on the cushion with her fingers. She’d been waiting for this moment ever since he had first made love to her after he was wounded. He hadn’t exactly been a pushover—in fact, he’d initiated all but one of their lovemaking sessions—but he hadn’t been so totally, blatantly in control either.
He walked in carrying the sports bag. He set it down in the chair and unzipped the top of it but didn’t take anything out. Then he looked at her. He crouched down so that his eyes were only a little higher than hers.
“When you said ‘Master’ at the door, did you mean it?”
“I—” She hesitated. He wasn’t just playing a game with some hot sexy words, was he? But that word seemed to carry a meaning she needed in her life, very badly. “I meant it.”
“And what did you mean by it?”
“I meant that I’d do what you asked. And that you could do with me what you want. I meant that I trust you.”
He nodded. “Good enough for now. I’ll tell you what I want it to mean. All of that, of course. And something more. I want you to know that I have a claim on you and that no man may touch you without my permission. And they’re not going to get my permission. I don’t share well. I want you to know that I’ll protect you to the best of my ability. And I want you to know I don’t intend to let you go. Is that what you want in a master, Marisa?”
I definitely don’t want you to let me go. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Master. And Master?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not letting you go either, so if any woman takes a run at you, she’s likely to get her eyes clawed out.” She smiled sweetly. “Just saying, Master.”
He took hold of her hands and lifted them. “Sharp fingernails,” he observed. “You won’t need ’em, but you can keep ’em that way.” He kissed each hand in turn and then set them down. “I’m going to play with your breasts today, my little slave girl. It’s going to be intense. I’ve got toys in my bag to help me make sure of that.”
“What kind of toys?”
He grinned silently at her.
“What kind of toys, Master?”
“Oh, I wasn’t not answering because you didn’t say it politely enough. I wasn’t answering because I don’t want you to know yet. However, let’s start by protecting your carpet and the cushion.”
She blinked. What did her carpet need protecting from? But he was already reaching behind him and pulling out a plastic package that she recognized as the kind sheets came in.
He unfolded it once in each direction until it was a couple of feet square, and then looked at her. “Get up now, so I can put this under you.”
She rose and moved to the side, trying to get a better peek inside the bag. She saw bright red rope on the top. She had lipstick that color, somewhere. She loved the color but hated how often it needed to be refreshed, so she hardly ever wore it.
He looked over at her when the sheet was still one step from being entirely unfolded, leaving it two layers thick. It was still enough to cover the cushion and the floor around it, and the fact that he stopped then surprised her. She knew she had been seen looking in the bag, for all the good it did her. At least she knew he planned to tie her up, but she still wasn’t sure why he needed to protect her carpet.
“Kneel,” he said. She hurried back to her cushion, eager to show how obedient she could be after getting caught peeking. He hadn’t scolded her. That bugged her more, in a way. She knew he’d seen her. Maybe he knew it would bug her. Maybe that was her punishment. Devious man.
He crouched in front of her once more. “Today is all about your breasts, Marisa. It’s not about my cock. It’s not even about your pussy, although if you’re a good girl, I’ve got a surprise there too. But you have the most lovely tits, and there is nothing I’d enjoy more than to play with them.” He cupped them as he was talking, gently lifting and squeezing through her shirt. “So that’s what I get to do. Because I’m in charge.”
She breathed in, and the air felt clean and good. That was what she wanted, for him to be in charge. Despite their differences in world views, she trusted him. No, maybe even because of their difference, and because he could honestly express what he thought. She could believe what he told her.
“Keep your hands behind your back if you can.”
She moved her hands behind her and clasped one wrist. She hadn’t known what to do with them, and it was good for them to have a place.
His hands wandered, but the frequency with which his fingers brushed her peaks was too much to be by accident. She felt them hardening too. And aching. They were traitorously responsive to his touch, obeying him and not her. Or maybe they weren’t traitors after all. Maybe they knew first what the rest of her was learning, that she was most at peace when she was responding to his direction.
“They’re getting nice and hard,” he told her. Even though she knew, and knew he knew, him saying it aloud made her blush. “Do you know why I want them so hard, slave girl?”
She shook her head.
“Well, f
or one thing, they make a lovely impression on that shirt you’re wearing. It’s very tight. You did a good job following directions. I can see them stand out.”
She blushed at the praise.
He reached behind him and pulled out two red clothespins. “But also I want these to go on them.” He set them down on the black sheet, where she could see them. They made a nice contrast. The very idea of him putting them on her made her nipples bunch up more, as if that would somehow protect them. The clothespins would hurt. “And they need something nice and solid to attach to.”
She wondered what he was waiting for, then. She was pretty sure her nipples wouldn’t get any more solid than they were now.
“That’s a very nice skirt, by the way. Suits you, with the jagged lines and all. Did you make it yourself while I was out?”
“Um, yes.” Why were they talking about the skirt now? She couldn’t get her eyes off the clothespins.
“Thought you might have.” He picked up the clothespins but only moved them a few inches, and then lifted his hands to her breasts again. He squeezed each peak, making her want more. “You’ve followed directions very well.”
She knew then he was waiting on purpose. He wanted her to be thinking about the clothespins, wondering how they felt. Definitely a devious man. She wanted him more than ever. He tugged, distending her nipples. The lace of her bra felt rough against them now.
“Do you think you’re ready?”
“For the clothespins?” she asked, her voice a squeak.
“Yes. For the clothespins.”
She wanted to say no, but she was curious. And she suspected he’d keep playing with her tits until she said yes, anyway. Hmm. Maybe that wouldn’t be all bad. But she wanted to please him. She arched her back. “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”
Submissive by Moonlight Page 10
