by Opal Carew
* * *
Mason’s heart nearly stopped at her words, and her eyes widened as soon as she realized what she’d just said.
He tried to hide the maelstrom of emotions her words elicited, but his clenched jaw and stony expression gave him away. Watching her cringe, pain flashing through her eyes, made his gut clench.
“Mason, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He took her mouth fiercely, stopping her words. Pulling her tight to him. Not wanting her to hurt, but knowing he could not reciprocate her words.
It could never work between them.
No matter how much he wanted it to.
When he pulled his mouth away, his expression still filled with anguish, he turned off the shower, then took her arm and guided her to the glass door. Before they stepped out, though, his gaze caught on a dot of deep red marring the pristine white tile floor of the shower. Then another.
He stepped back and his gaze glided up Dana’s legs. Another drop fell. Then he noticed a couple of red droplets on her inner thigh.
Blood.
“Dana, what the hell?”
She glanced downward. “Oh, they said this might happen.”
“Who is they?” he demanded.
Her gaze lifted to his. “I … uh … did some research about losing my virginity and some of the articles said that there might be blood for a few hours afterward.” She bit her lip. “Just a little.”
He just stared at the crimson droplets, swirling with the water. Spreading.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
Her teeth worked at her lower lip. “No.” But as he continued to pin her with an unflinching stare, she sighed. “A little. But it’s no big deal.”
“What did these articles say about that?”
“Just that it’s different for everyone, but some women do feel pain for a while after. They suggested taking over-the-counter pain killers, but I don’t usually bother—”
He took her hand, pushed open the shower door, and led her to the medicine cabinet, then grabbed a bottle of pain killer. He spilled out two caplets and handed them to her, then filled a paper cup from the dispenser with water.
“Take them.”
She gazed up at him and hesitated, then popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed some water.
“What else can I do for you?” he asked.
“I need a feminine napkin. There’s some in my purse.”
He nodded. “Stay here.”
He quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, then strode out of the bathroom and across the suite to where her pink sequined evening bag was lying on the floor by the couch. He picked it up, then glanced around for her underwear. The scrap of pink lace was lying on the floor by the bed. She probably needed something more substantial than that. He went to Dana’s room, punched in the combination, and opened the door.
When he stepped inside, he felt surrounded by her. There were traces of her everywhere. Her sweetness and her femininity were evident in the frilly cushions, the brush and mirror set on her dresser, the delicate figurines of fairies and angels on the bookshelf. Those ornaments she had left behind when his father and her mother had divorced, as if she’d wanted to leave behind all the memories of being here. But she’d taken her books. He remembered the wide range she used to have on these shelves. An eclectic selection of novels, biographies, history texts, and several other disciplines, had clearly shown her intellectual acumen, even at only eighteen.
He walked to the dresser and pulled open drawers until he found one full of underwear. It was a colorful, lacy jumble. He picked up a pair of fuchsia panties, then purple, but both were skimpy and … sexy. He swept through the mass of lace and satin until he spied a white pair. He snatched it up. Simple. Cotton. Substantial looking.
He wrapped his hand around them and returned to the bathroom in his suite. He knocked.
“Come in,” Dana called.
He stepped inside to find her sitting on the small bench, a big, white towel wrapped around her. He handed her the panties and her purse. She looked at the white garment, then frowned.
“Really? Granny panties?”
“I thought they’d work better … you know. With the thing.”
She laughed. “Men. You get so squeamish around feminine products.” She unzipped her purse and fumbled inside, then pulled out a small, pink package.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he said.
“Okay.”
He grabbed the soiled bedsheet and left the room, closing the door behind him. He retrieved some fresh sheets from the linen closet, and was just finishing making the bed when Dana came out of the bathroom. He tossed the heap of old sheets in the corner and turned toward her.
Her arms were crossed over her breasts, and all she wore were the panties he’d brought her. The sight of her in those plain white panties, hugging her hips and rising to an inch below her navel, was oddly sexy. So innocent. So … virginal.
A spike thrust through his heart.
What kind of idiot had he been to take her virginity? He’d hurt her … caused her to bleed. And, fuck, knowing how she felt about him, it was inevitable that she would believe it could lead to more. The emotional pain would be far more scarring than the physical.
“Let’s get some sleep, baby.”
He took her elbow and drew her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him as he held her close, loving the feel of her soft, naked breasts cushioned against him.
He nuzzled her ear, then guided her to the bed. She climbed under the covers as he turned out the light, then he slid in beside her. She snuggled back against him and he wrapped his arms around her, then cupped one round breast in his hand.
“Goodnight,” he murmured.
* * *
Mason could feel Sylvie next to him in the darkness. Warm and soft against him.
But Sylvie knew better than to climb into his bed without permission. She slept on the couch in his room, waiting to serve at his pleasure. If she’d come into his bed, it was to entice him to punish her.
“Roll over,” he demanded.
The shadowy shape beside him rolled over. He slid his arm under her stomach and lifted her lower torso, then slid a pillow under her, raising her ass. He raised his hand and slapped her ass. She cried out. He slapped again.
“You aren’t allowed in my bed unless I invite you.”
“But—”
He smacked again, the cracking sound ringing through the room.
“I’m going to punish you and you will stay silent.”
He grabbed her long, dark hair and coiled it around his hand, then pulled it tight, drawing her head back from the pillow.
He leaned close to her ear. “Understand?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
He smacked her bottom again. Then again.
Sylvie liked to be slapped.
He stroked his hand over her round ass, then tugged her head up again and nibbled her earlobe.
“Do you want me to spank you harder?” He only asked to build her excitement. Sylvie always wanted him to spank her harder.
“No.”
Her plaintive tone caught him off guard.
“What the hell, Sylvie?”
“Who’s Sylvie?”
She was just a shadowy shape beside him but he didn’t have to see her face to realize … it was Dana’s voice.
He sucked in a breath, then rolled onto his back.
“Shit.”
When he’d woken up to her soft body next to his, he’d thought she was Sylvie. He’d wanted her to be Sylvie, desperately needing to be a Dom again.
He loved the tenderness that he and Dana had shared, but he knew he needed more.
“No one important,” he answered. “Just someone I know casually.”
Dana tugged the pillow from beneath her stomach and dropped it on the floor, then rolled toward him.
“You seemed to be having a not-so-casual dream about her just now.”
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“I’m sorry, Dana. I was asleep. It didn’t mean anything.”
“But why are you dreaming about her when you’re here with me?”
He could hear the hurt in her voice. How could he make her understand that it was just that he had needs she couldn’t meet for him?
He’d had a life before the two of them started this whole thing, and he would have a life after they parted at the end of their two weeks. Maybe it would be better not to say anything. She had to get used to the fact she was only in his bed for a short time.
“This Sylvie … you treat her differently in bed than you do me.”
“That’s true. She meets a different need for me.”
“What kind of need?”
Fuck, did she really want to get into this now?
“Dana, I don’t really want to start this conversation in the middle of the night.”
“But I want to know. She meets different needs for you. If I understood them better, maybe I could—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no, Dana.”
“Mason, I—”
He rolled onto her, holding his weight on his arms, her trapped between them, and glared down at her. “This stubbornness of yours is exactly why you can’t meet those needs. Now go to sleep or I’ll send you to your room.”
She frowned but held her silence.
He rolled onto his side again, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a spooning position, facing away from him.
“Now go to sleep.”
* * *
Dana lay in Mason’s arms and sighed. She had been an idiot for telling him she loved him in the shower. But the words had just slipped out.
She knew Mason wouldn’t allow this relationship to continue. She’d always known it. But she was a dreamer and in all her dreams, she wound up in a happily-ever-after relationship with Mason. Spending her life with him, as husband and wife.
That was her biggest and brightest dream. She’d give up almost anything for it.
But her blurting out an “I love you” just made things worse. That’s probably why he’d dreamed of another woman. One who didn’t stress him out with unwanted emotions.
One he could allow himself to fall in love with because she wasn’t his stepsister.
The way he’d handled her when he’d thought she was Sylvie was … disturbing. And exhilarating. He’d punished her, smacking her bottom until it burned. But it had excited her. And when he’d tugged on her hair, pulling her head back … shivers had quivered through her.
* * *
Dana picked up the tray that held orange juice in a crystal glass, a fine china coffee cup filled with steaming coffee, a china plate with a silver cover to keep the contents warm, silverware, and a pristine white linen napkin. She carried it to the dresser and set it down, then turned to the bed.
Mason lay there with his arm casually thrown over his face, the blankets sprawled across his waist, baring his broad muscular chest and shoulders. She wanted to climb right back into bed with him. To reach under the covers and find out if he was hard, then stroke him awake. But she was haunted by what had happened last night.
Mason had taken her virginity and then only hours later had dreamt about another woman. And then, when she’d questioned him, he’d told her she didn’t meet his needs.
Her heart ached.
He met her needs. Every one of them.
Except for loving her back, of course. And that tore at her soul.
As if Mason could feel her scrutiny, he opened his eyes. He blinked, then gazed in her direction.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice sleep-roughened.
She longed to sit on the bed beside him and stroke his raspy, whisker-shadowed jaw. To press her lips to his chin and drag her teeth along the coarse stubble, then run her hands down his sculpted chest.
“Good morning,” she responded. “I have breakfast for you.”
She turned and lifted the tray, then carried it to the bed.
He pushed himself upright and she set the tray on his lap. She lifted the silver top from the plate.
“Eggs and bacon and those silver dollar pancakes you used to love so much.”
He smiled and gazed up at her. “You made this?”
Her cheeks heated. “No, I asked the butler to arrange it. I would have, but you didn’t have the ingredients in the kitchenette.”
“It’s okay, Dana. You don’t have to cook for me. I was just curious.”
She sat on the chair near the bed. “I would like to cook for you.”
He laughed as he poured syrup from a tiny silver pitcher onto his pancakes. “Okay, we’ll arrange that sometime.” He glanced at her. “Have you already eaten?”
“No, my breakfast is on the table.”
“Get it and we’ll eat together.”
She nodded absently as she watched him take a bite of one of the small pancakes.
“Mason?”
He tilted his head toward her, then frowned at her serious expression. “What is it, Dana?”
“The conversation we started last night … When you said I didn’t meet your needs…”
He put down his fork, his expression grim, hesitating.
The silence was too much for her, so she had to fill it. “When you were dreaming about that other woman … Sylvie … the way you made love to her…” It reminded her of when she’d seen him with the maid. “I think I should tell you that I once saw you and…” She sucked in a breath. “I saw you and Maria … uh … having sex in the den.”
His expression turned pained. “When?” he asked sharply.
She stared at her hands, her fingers twisting around each other. “It was on prom night.”
The fact that he asked her when … did that mean it had happened more than once? But, of course, it had. Why would she believe otherwise?
“You couldn’t have seen. You’d already left with your date.”
She shook her head. “I changed my mind while we were driving away. I didn’t want to be with him that evening. I wanted to be with you. So I told him I felt sick and had him bring me back to the house, then I raced inside looking for you.”
“And you found me.” He frowned. “Damn it, Dana. You should never have seen that.”
“I didn’t really understand at the time. You seemed to be … forcing her.” She shook her head. “But everything I knew about you told me you wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Fuck, Dana, I wish you hadn’t…” His hands clenched into fists. “You shouldn’t have seen that,” he repeated in a low mutter. “Maria … she liked it rough. She liked a man to take control, and she liked to struggle. Fuck, it must have looked to you like I was raping the woman.”
“I would never believe that. And even though I was still young, and inexperienced, I could tell she was … enjoying it.” She shook her head. “But it was confusing to me.”
“Dana, I’m sorry you witnessed that. But what happened after you saw us? Did you go out to your prom after all?”
She shook her head. “I went up to my room and just stayed there until morning.” Sobbing her heart out.
Mason pursed his lips and nodded, probably figuring out the latter part.
“You know I struggled with my attraction to you back then,” he admitted. “Being with Maria gave me a way to alleviate that yearning.”
So it wasn’t just the one time.
Dana’s heart sank at the thought that he could so easily escape his desire for her, which meant it had only been a physical attraction, nothing more.
He lifted the tray from his lap and set it on the bed beside him, then sat on the side of the bed.
“Dana, I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
“About why you said I don’t meet your needs?”
“That’s right.”
A low trilling sound caught his attention and he picked up his cell phone from the bedside table and glanced at it. His lips tight
ened and he glanced at Dana again.
“It seems this conversation will have to wait. I have to go meet someone.”
“Now? But—”
His sharp gaze spiked through her and she fell silent.
He stood up and, totally naked, walked to the bathroom. Once the door closed, she couldn’t help herself. She hurried to the bed and picked up his phone and glanced at the text he’d received.
Need to talk to you at once. It’s urgent. Meet me at Le Noir right away.
It was from Maria.
* * *
Mason walked into the stodgy club, with the oak-paneled walls, elegant crystal lighting fixtures, and heavy wooden furniture. He stepped into the private room Maria had reserved for them, then closed the door behind him. Maria, dressed in an elegant, tailored jacket and matching skirt in dark blue silk, sat on a leather sofa, a decanter of white wine in front of her. She held a tall, stemmed crystal glass in her hand.
“There you are, Mason.”
“Hello, Maria.”
She placed her glass on the round table in front of the couch, then stood and walked toward him, smiling. “Surely I get a kiss.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head and pressed her lips to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. As her tongue glided into his mouth, he grasped her hands and tugged them from his neck, then pressed her away from him.
“That’s not really appropriate, Maria.”
“Really? We used to do far more than that.”
“Yes, before you became my stepmother.”
She laughed. “Ah, it’s inappropriate to give you stepmother a kiss, but fucking your stepsister is quite acceptable.”
He frowned. “How do you know about that?”
She rested her hand on his upper arm. “Mason, we both knew it was inevitable.”
He walked to the leather chair facing the couch and settled into it, not willing to play this touching game with Maria. “I asked how you knew.”
She strolled back to the couch and poured him a glass of wine. She handed it to him, then sat down again.
“Still playing the maid, I see,” he said.
She smiled seductively. “I’m willing to play a lot more with you. I’m sure the staff could bring me a maid’s costume pretty quickly and we could replay some of our finer moments.”
