by Alex, Demi
Phoebe’s demeanor didn’t hide the fact she wanted to trust him with more than her body, to believe in him and in the possibility of a lasting relationship despite the brevity of their time together. But he could also see her insecurities were as toxic to her budding hope as weed killer was to a bed of roses.
Once burned, twice shy, as the saying went.
“Listen, sweetheart. This is real. I’m not putting on a show for you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You deserve to be cherished. Don’t you agree?”
Not exactly declarations of love, but at least he was honest.
“There is something about you, sweetheart, something that calls for you to be treasured. Don’t doubt this is real. It is. The lessons are to teach you how much you’re worth being cared for. Not to demean you or negate any positive feelings between us.”
“I know, Master Dane.”
“You like it when you’re cared for, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It excites you to relinquish control to me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And, you like it rough at times?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He had to smile. No way to hold it back. “Then, I will oblige your desires. I want nothing more than to please you and give you all you desire, Phoebe.”
“Thank you, Master Dane.” She pressed her hand to her face, as if to contain the tears, and wiped her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m just—I don’t know. Tired. Crazy, I guess.”
“Just tired.” He corrected. “Let’s get you into that bath. After that, more aloe, then to bed with you.”
Chapter Five
In Hot Water
Master Hottie lowered her into the water then switched off the faucet. The bath was cool, but not uncomfortably so. And, it did pull some of the heat from her ass and thighs.
Slowly releasing his neck, she relinquished the safety of his body, and finally opened her eyes. The harsh brightness had her squinting, but the opulence and comfort of the room was unmistakable. Sea foam green stone tiles stretched from floor to ceiling, showcased with a dark wood trim. A chocolate-colored slab of granite, with sleek faucets and built-in soap dispensers, served as modern double sinks along the length of the wall. A shower, large enough for a party of four, with multiple showerheads and a beveled glass door, sat in the far corner.
“The tub is made of wood,” she breathed.
“It’s a custom Japanese soaking tub called an ofuro. Helps soothe a tired mechanic’s muscles at the end of a long day,” he said, as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his jeans. “Scoot a bit forward, sweetheart.”
Phoebe did a double take, then looked around the room again. The dimmed sconces provided just enough light to allow her to take in all the details, but didn’t bombard her eyes and overload her senses. A fresh, woodsy smell hovered in the air, enticing her to draw in deep breaths and relax enough to maximize the wonderful scent in her mind’s eye.
“This place is gorgeous,” she said, stretching her arms over the tub’s lip and leaning against the heavenly wood. “It’s certainly different from the country kitchen you carried me into earlier.”
“The bathroom was the first room I renovated when I moved in.” Hottie tapped on the back of her shoulder. He was standing behind her—buck-naked.
“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed, unable to look away from his perfectly sculpted body. “I was about to comment on your handiwork, but you’ve scrambled my brain with your brawn.”
He laughed, tenderly pushing her forward and sliding in behind her. Tan, long legs wrapped around and over her thighs, holding her legs apart and exposing the auburn triangle at her center. She tried to bring them together, to cover up a little, but the tensing of his calves was enough to stop her.
“Never hide from me.”
“I’ve been on my own for a few months, so I haven’t really…” Her voice trailed off. She hadn’t shaved her legs in over a week.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Finish what you were saying.”
“It’s not that I’m shy or anything like that, especially not after all we’ve just done, but I’d like to take some time to get myself pretty for you.”
“If you get any prettier, you’ll give me a heart attack.” He collected her against his chest, and his ink masterpieces crossed over her breasts, managing to hold her close enough to rub her upper arms and warm her torso. Heat sizzled along every cell on her skin.
“I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve made butterflies dance in my tummy again.” Phoebe kissed along the shadow outlining his jaw, lingering on the tiny indentation in the center of his chin. “I like this.”
“Taking baths?”
“Taking baths with you,” she amended. “Taking baths with you in a paradise of a bathroom.”
“Duly noted, sweetheart. We’ll take baths often.”
“Does that mean you’ll be punishing me often?”
“It’s not punishment. It’s discipline.” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up, swiping his thumb over her lips. “And the frequency of discipline is up to you. You are the only one who can decide to act properly or not. The rest is for your pleasure. Never for punishment or pain.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and feeling overwhelmed with his sincerity. She simply wasn’t used to any man making her needs a priority and giving her the power that Master Dane gave her to hold over him.
Before she could guess his intention, he had a bath sponge and scented soap in hand. Rather than spoil the moment, Phoebe closed her eyes and enjoyed the lathering massage. Having a man’s hands roam all over her naked body would be, on a normal day, a titillating experience; she was truly exhausted because she couldn’t react to his ministrations. Rather than succumb to the sensually of the experience that should have served as a launching board for another bout of sexual play, the pleasing aromas and his relaxing attention lulled her into a state of pseudo-sleep. She hardly bothered to open her eyes when he washed and rinsed her hair.
Fidgeting in the cooling water, she finally managed to look about. Grateful, but tired, she wondered if they were almost done. “It’s getting a little cold.”
He wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her against his warmth, resuming the rubbing along her arms. Phoebe traced her fingers over his tattoo, feeling the strength and majestic appeal radiating from the thick waves of the tribal design.
She smiled and looked up. “Does this mean something?”
His jaw clenched. The knot on his throat bobbed. His hands stopped moving on her arms.
“It’s okay,” she rushed. “Please don’t get upset. I’m sorry I asked.”
“I’m not upset,” he said, clearing his throat. “It does mean something. It means a lot.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she insisted. “I was only asking because it looks like something of purpose, like it really means something special.”
“It does.” He stroked the side of her head, tucking her hair behind her ear, and kissing her temple. “It’s a talisman of sorts. A tribal tattoo that links me to the other members of my squad, which is a symbol of strength and protection when we stand together and all the tattoos are united.”
“Squad?” Kissing a bare spot between the dark swirls, she glanced up at him and found he’d relaxed. “What do you mean by squad?”
“SEAL,” he replied. “This specific squad was part of a SEAL team.”
That explained so much. Hottie was a Navy SEAL. No wonder she felt he could do anything he wanted to do. Strength and confidence seeped from his pores, and that body was ultra-competent.
“When we finished the first segment of our training, we thought we would be invincible if we stuck together. Vowing to more than have each other’s back, because the whole team has each other’s back, they all do, we walked into a tattoo parlor and made our commitment permanent.”
“Did you see
action?” The tattoo thrummed beneath her fingertips. It seemed to have an awareness that was unexplainable to a mere civilian. She couldn’t stop tracing the swirls. She couldn’t take her fingers away.
“Yes.”
“Did your squad come home with you?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you sound like somebody died?” Closing her fingers on his forearm, she stroked along the length and felt the prickles run along his skin.
“Someone did die. An informant.” He shifted a little and turned the hot water on, then turned it back off. “An informant that came to me, came to me as a friend, came to me for guidance, died because she wouldn’t listen to reason, and I couldn’t get to her in time.”
Damn, she shouldn’t have asked. Hottie had gone rigid and seriously upset. It wasn’t her business. But, she couldn’t help but to place her head against his shoulder and raise his hand to her mouth. She kissed each of his knuckles. “If she wouldn’t listen, it wasn’t your fault.”
“She worked with me over a month. We became close, and we became friends. She asked if I could help her escape when my mission was complete. She wanted to get away from her politically fanatical family. She wanted a normal life. She wanted out. I wanted her out. The problem was I had broken the rule and had become personally involved with a subject. I considered her requests more than I should have. Especially when I knew they were wrong.
“One day, we were seen speaking together while standing near an elderly village woman. I knew it was a bad situation for Miriam. I knew the woman would go to the rebels.” Using his arms, he pushed on the edges of the tub and stood. He reached for a towel with his right hand, and offered her his left hand for help to stand. “That day, everything felt off. I didn’t want her to return home. I wanted her to stay with us. Told her we could protect her at headquarters.”
“She insisted on going home?” She stepped out of the tub and raised her arms as he wrapped the towel around her. “I would have done the same thing.”
“I know better now. I wouldn’t let you go.” He dropped a second towel on her head and started drying her hair. “They slit her throat. Minutes—seconds before we arrived.”
Horror rammed through her awareness, but then she looked at him and sadness replaced the fear. He knelt to dry her feet, and she gathered him in her arms. Crushing his head against her chest, she kissed the top of his wild waves, and closed her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“They slit her throat so she couldn’t speak to give us any more information,” he breathed against the towel, allowing her to cradle him in her embrace. “I should have made her listen. I should have made her return to base with me. Miriam was a stubborn woman, who thought she could take on the world by herself.”
He hadn’t let her leave with Mary Lou. He set terms to having sex. He was Master Dane.
“I guess that’s why you’re such a control freak?”
“I’m not a control freak,” he replied, taking hold of her hips as he stood and bent to scoop her up in his arms. “I protect what I care about, no matter the objection. And when it comes to sex, I’m an obliging Dom when my partner desires me to be.”
After grabbing a new tube of aloe from the counter, he carried her into his bedroom and gently laid her on the bed, then carefully rolled her on her stomach. He sat beside her and added more gel to her ass and upper thighs. Growing cold, she tensed to stop from shivering.
Moments passed with a heavy silence sitting on their shoulders, and she couldn’t help but wish he’d hurry.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“I’m okay,” she offered.
He placed the gel on the nightstand, then fiddled with the radio and tuned in a soft and soothing instrumental. He folded the towel over her treated behind, then covered her with a blanket.
“While I appreciate your effort to be polite, I’d prefer you to be honest with me,” he said, Master Dane back in charge. “I know manners dictate that guest complaints should be kept to a minimum, but you are more than just a guest, and it wouldn’t have hurt my feeling if you had admitted to being cold.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, rolling over on her side to look at him. “Sir,” she added. “I’ll try.”
He must have recognized the genuineness in her tone, because he simply nodded and proceeded to the door.
She closed her tired eyelids, sure that fatigue was making her nuts. After all, she’d just apologized for being polite. However, she really was being sincere in her apology—perhaps because he’d noticed that she was cold at all. No one ever noticed her discomfort, and if someone did, rarely did that person care enough to make sure it didn’t happen again.
“But he cares,” she mumbled to the pillow.
Phoebe snuggled deep into the softness of bed and drifted off to sleep, breathing the wonderful scents he’d left behind. His comforter smelled like sunshine, fresh soap, a bit of cologne, and him.
Dane took extra care in shutting the door behind him and went to the kitchen to straighten up, pleased Phoebe was already beginning to adjust, and so very proud of her. He had glimpsed a side of Phoebe she hadn’t had when she arrived—a side he hadn’t believed he’d see so soon.
True, he’d only known her for a few hours, but she had revealed many facets of her being in that short time. He’d met Phoebe the Strong and Phoebe the Vulnerable. He’d met Phoebe the Passionate, and even Phoebe the Brat. She was a complex woman. One moment she would charge at him in a blaze of fury, and the next, writhe beneath him with intoxicating pleasure. She could be unreasonably stubborn in one breath, yet be refreshingly candid in the next. She was kind, and she was honest, but she remained guarded.
Never—not once—had she been completely unguarded with him.
Dane pulled the cleaner, sponge, and bucket from beneath the kitchen sink.
He’d gently reprimanded her for not expressing her needs, and he’d been surprised with an apology. He didn’t need to hear one. He just wanted her to know her needs were more important to him than propriety. But then she turned over and spoke automatically, without thought to weigh her words—added his title without prompting and offered a commitment without prompting—her tone pure, her expression content. Even with her fatigue, her eyes held no wariness or caution. She was not scared, worried, looking to pacify or afraid to offend.
Most surprising was the way she peeled away his layers and had him sharing. He didn’t share his past and his pain with anyone. Why Phoebe? What was it about her that opened him up for her to access?
Dane finished wiping everything down, then dumped the bucket of water.
She just was. This just was. No need to question it. He wanted her with him. He had her. He was going to make things good and enjoy the moment. Phoebe Morris was perfect and exactly what he needed.
He pulled two beers from the fridge and sat at the table. Downing the cold brew, he gave the first bottle a spin and raised his arm in victory. Was he celebrating too early?
“This” might only be temporary.
They’d fallen into a relationship and said relationship was evolving very quickly. Her reaching the point to trust him enough to let her guard down was the next logical step. She should be more apt to follow his instructions without hesitation. And if there was any sort of hesitation, she should trust him enough to express her fears without a smidgen of shame or embarrassment.
Or she could wake up later with her defenses back up and intact.
Dane put the cleaning supplies away and checked the time. Evening already. He needed to get to his computer and order those parts.
Chapter Six
Hot Bed of Naughtiness
Phoebe awoke with a start, disoriented by the dim, unfamiliar surroundings. She sat up, panicked, ready to fight or flee for her life. Placing her palm over her racing heart, she willed her lungs to breathe normally when she remembered where she was and smiled. It was not a dream. She really was shacked
up for the night with her hottie mechanic.
But more importantly, she was safe and sound.
She’d learned early on during her trip a woman traveling alone, without a lot money for a nightly motel, was a target for the unscrupulous fuckers of the world. Thankfully, she had awoken before the assholes could jimmy the car door open, but the lesson stuck with her. It was not something she would chance again. She might not be so lucky next time.
Ah, blessed sleep…just another luxury she could not afford.
But tonight was different.
Phoebe tried to relax again, to force herself to rest while she had the opportunity, but waking up so abruptly was like a starting pistol to her brain, which insisted on racing. Mostly with thoughts of Hottie and all she’d shared with him earlier.
Staring at the dark ceiling, Phoebe replayed every delicious moment, allowing her hand to creep between her legs and press the ache building there. How naughty would it be to masturbate in his bed? Or rather, how stupid would it be? Or how exciting?
Why masturbate at all when the flesh and blood man waited just beyond the door?
“Because I could have this orgasm without the threat of a spanking looming over me,” she grumbled. “Because it’d be hot to do it in his bed. Even hotter if he spanked me again…in his bed.”
Funny, though, how the spanking made him that much more. Her ass had been on fire, but the rest of her nerve endings had become super sensitive. Everything had felt more intense, including her arousal. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she might have begged him to fuck her all over again. Instead, she had turned all mushy and cried like a little bitch.
That last part was too humiliating to dwell on.
But remembering the stinging heat on her ass…hmm…
Moisture seeped through her fingers, and before she realized what she was doing, her middle finger was sliding through her slick folds. She considered stopping, but instead her thumb circled the bundle of nerves swelling beneath her touch. She closed her eyes and moaned, savoring the sensation. Damn, that felt good.
