Absently, she twisted the ring on her finger. Remade… She’d remade herself. Scarred, stronger. And better, she realized. The woman she was wouldn’t have even bothered going to that club with Tim. The woman she was now wouldn’t have bothered with Tim.
“I don’t tend to do the club scene,” he said, his voice cutting into the silence.
Staring at his bowed head as he continued to play, Chaili said, “I can’t say that bothers me. But if you don’t do the club scene, how do you know about Blue’s?”
“Well…” He slanted a look up at her. “If you’re looking to find a certain sort of…partner, discreetly, Blue’s got the right place for you.” Shrugging, he said, “It’s not what I’d prefer but it does the job. Some of the people who use the club… Well, it’s everything. They live it, breathe it. It’s their life. Not just in the bedroom, but everywhere. If that’s what works for you, then that’s fine. I’ve found what works for me. I’m not living any sort of lifestyle but my own. Trying to fit into somebody else’s version of a lifestyle interests me about as much as what my neighbors had for dinner last night.”
The knot that had been tightening in her gut started to ease a little. “So what did they have for dinner?”
He shot her a wide grin. “What the fuck…ah, what the hell do I care?” Shifting his attention back to the piano, he said, “I tend to want to be in control in the bedroom. That’s just who I am. I’m bossy, I’m pushy and I don’t plan on changing who I am. It wouldn’t work anyway.”
“I don’t want to change you.” She settled back down on the bench and leaned against him for a moment.
The music stilled for a moment. “I know that. I’m kind of amazed by it. But I know.” The music resumed. “There are things that I find…useful from the lifestyle that I use. Safe words. Makes it easier, especially when I don’t know limits. Then there’s the fun stuff…”
“Fun stuff?”
“Hmmm. What are your limits, Chaili? What don’t you like?”
“Ah…” She licked her lips. Her heart bumped against her ribs and she could feel the slow crawl of blood creeping up her neck, staining her face red. Tugging at the neckline of her shirt, she squirmed around on the seat, trying to figure what to say, how much to say. If she even knew what to say…
This was a lot harder than she would have thought. A more personal discussion, she’d never had. “I’m not into group stuff. No threesomes, foursomes, moresomes.”
“Moresomes?” He paused for a minute and started to laugh. “Nah. Don’t worry. Moresomes aren’t an issue and I’ll beat the shit out of the man who even suggests it. Just you and me, Chaili. As long as we’re together, it’s just you, just me. I won’t have another woman, you won’t have another man.”
“What if I want another woman?” she asked teasingly, although that was something else that had been pushed at her.
“Don’t.” He shot her a look. “If you decide you want somebody else, anybody else, let me know and we end it. I don’t share, Chaili. At all.”
“I don’t either.” She held his gaze, watched as the hot, pleased little smile curled his lips before he went back to playing, like his entire life was wrapped up in that piano. She understood, though. Marc’s mind just functioned better when he played. He’d always been like that. He’d even studied better when he played the piano. If he could find a way to cook and play the piano, he’d do it. Bathe. Shop. Sleep. Everything.
“So there’s that ground rule established. The watching thing…” He shrugged. “If you get the need to watch we can always head over to Blue’s. I don’t much mind that. You can wear a skirt, even. I’ll yank it up and show you things that pussy you married couldn’t even begin to think of.”
She laughed, the sound more than a little breathless. More than a little nervous. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to share you in any way, though. That includes letting another man see you when I fuck you. Do you need that?”
“No…” The word was barely a whisper.
“Good.” He stopped playing, turned on the bench to stare at her. “What do you need?”
You. Just you…but she didn’t dare tell him that. “I don’t need any of it. I just…”
“No hiding,” he rasped, shaking his head. “I don’t want you hiding. I’ll tell you what I want, what I need, but I want the same from you.”
“You strip me bare, you know that?” Looking away, she stared out the window at the endless expanse of the water. “What we’ve done gives me what I need. I can take it harder, rougher…I like it harder sometimes. I want that. Other times, I just want…” She shrugged, reaching up to toy with the neckline of her shirt.
“I just want a man to make love to me. Just us. I won’t ever be any man’s slave, though, and it all stops at the bedroom door… Sexually, I’m more inclined to submit, but I don’t think you can call me a submissive because I’m not looking just to please you. That’s not my primary concern. It’s a big thought in my head, but…” She shrugged and closed her eyes. “I want something out of it too. Maybe that sounds selfish, but…”
“That’s not selfish. It’s human. I sure as hell want something out of sex, even if I want to make sure you come so hard you’re still feeling me inside you an hour later.” He wrapped his arm around her upper body, pulling her back against him. “I think we’ve already established we’re not talking about any sort of typical D/s relationship, baby girl. Let’s worry about what we need, not what rules others live by.”
He slipped his hand under her shirt, his fingertips tracing over the tattoo. “What else do you need? What do you like?”
“It’s your turn now,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Hmmm.” Marc turned his face into her hair, brought his other hand around her and pressed it to her belly, fingers spread wide. “If it’s sex, I’ll want to control it for the most part. That’s just me. Like if I tell you I want you to strip naked and eat dinner that way so I can stare at you and think about the many different ways I’m going to fuck you, I’d want you to do it.”
“And if I say no, because I’d be cold, then what?”
“I’d turn up the heat. But if it really bothered you…” He shrugged. “Then maybe we’d just come back to the issue in a few weeks. And I wouldn’t drop it unless you gave me a good reason. Your scars aren’t a reason. They’re part of you and I find you beautiful.”
Tears clogged her throat. “I don’t see how.”
“Take off your shirt.”
With a watery laugh, she whispered, “Is this a sex thing?”
His hands gripped her shirt. “It’s a ‘Marc worships you and wants you to see what he sees’ thing,” he whispered, dragging the material up.
She let him. When he turned her around, he traced his fingers over the scar. “This doesn’t make you any less, Chaili,” he whispered. “You’re still the same funny, amazing, smart woman I’ve known most of my life. Do you still do the work down at the kid’s center in the summer?”
“Yes.” She tucked her chin, unable to look at him. But watching his hands on her flesh was…
Well. Startlingly erotic.
“And when Shera gets sick with her asthma, are you the one who’s nagging her about her medicine, going to the doctor, all that stuff?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re the one who nagged her into quitting smoking, aren’t you?”
She grimaced. “Hell. It wasn’t that hard. When you’re sitting there dog sick from the drugs, recovering from surgery, and you tell your friend you’d like her to not end up dealing with cancer…well. She got the point.”
“Not everybody would care enough to try.” He nuzzled her neck and then went to his knees, tracing his fingers along the tattoo. Pressing his lips to it, along the curves of the butterfly’s wings. Then shifting his attention to the scars. “This didn’t change who you are.”
Tears pricked at her eyes as he tugged the shirt back on. “And I find that tattoo hella sexy, by the way.�
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A startled laugh escaped her and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
He turned her back around, resting his chin on her shoulder as they stared out over the water. “I want to control sex. I won’t always need it, but for the most part, I’ll want to. I’ve already had about ten thousand different fantasies about the ways I want to tie you up, tie you down…” He cupped her in his hand and pressed the heel of his palm against her mound. “I plan on doing the first one tonight.”
“You’ve already tied me up.” Breath hitched in her lungs, just thinking about it.
“Spur of the moment. This is something I’ve been thinking about…for days.” Lightly, he rubbed the heel of his hand against her.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she sagged in his embrace, clutching at him for balance. “I’m fine with being bound.”
“Good. I already know you like being spanked. Does it need to be more?”
She grimaced. “No. I…I don’t mind certain sorts of floggers, but if it’s something that leaves marks or really hurts, I don’t much care for it.”
“I don’t plan on doing anything that leaves a mark. And pain doesn’t do anything for me. I’m a control freak, but that’s it.” He continued to stroke her through her skirt. “Do you want me to make you come?”
“Yes…”
“Pull it up.”
She went to reach for the tie, but he said, “Up…not off. I like seeing my hands on you while you’re naked under that pretty skirt. My fingers inside your pussy.”
Shuddering, she gathered the skirt in her hands and dragged it up, holding the panel in one hand, and gripped his arm for balance as he started to stroke her. “Your turn now,” he whispered into her ear.
“I hate being made to beg.”
“Hmmm…well, sometimes I’ll do that. But you know how to make me stop.” He plunged two fingers inside her sex, twisted them. Withdrew. Over and over. “Have you ever been hogtied?”
“Nuh…no.” Oh, hell. She couldn’t have this conversation while he was touching her like this. Finger-fucking her and expecting her to talk… Closing her eyes, she focused on his touch, clenching down around him as he stroked, teased, tormented.
She felt his chest rumbling against her back and she groaned. “What?”
“You’re not listening,” he teased, pulling his hand out and swatting her lightly.
She gasped at the stinging contact against her sex.
“What about that?” he rasped. “We didn’t discuss that. Is this allowed?”
She couldn’t…oh, shit. Sucking in a desperate breath of air, she whispered, “Do it again.”
He spanked her pussy again, lightly, the stinging contact with her clit sparking through her like fire. “I guess this is allowed…” He started to finger fuck her again.
“Do it again,” she demanded.
“No.”
“Damn it, Marc. Do it again…”
Suddenly, he wasn’t touching her.
Staggering, she slammed a hand against the bench to catch her balance as he moved away. “A few more things, Chaili,” Marc rasped.
“Marc,” she groaned, her head spinning, her body aching. Turning around, she glared at him.
“Sorry, baby girl.” His voice was wry, rough. “You make me lose my head. That control thing… I’m serious about it and when you push certain buttons, it makes me want to do things like flip you over my knee and paddle your ass.”
She blinked, the image dancing through her mind. Oh… She bit her lower lip to keep from whimpering.
“You okay with that?”
She swallowed. “Do you know when to let up?” she asked warily.
“Yes. And if you want me to stop, you know how to make me.”
She blinked, nodded. She rose to go to him. “Have we gotten these rules established well enough, Marc?”
Marc felt the threads of his control straining to the breaking point. He caught her back against him. “I can’t bend you over my knee if you’re standing,” he purred against her ear. He guided her over to the piano, sat with his back to the instrument, guiding her so she lay facedown over his knees. Stroking his hand along her rump, he squeezed lightly. She shuddered. “I’m going to give you my cock when I’m done. I want to watch you take it in your mouth,” he said.
She groaned.
He brought his hand down, watched as her pretty, ivory flesh went pink. He did it again. She shuddered and cried out. Again. Again. He reached down, stroked her clit, teasing the erect little bud lightly and feeling her quiver. Then he spanked her again, a little harder. Then a little harder. Every few swats, he’d go back to tease her clitoris. Then, as he went to bring his hand down on her ass, she cried out and came.
Her body twisted over his knee and he stroked a hand down her back, pleasure streaking through him. Delight. Need.
Mine…
Chapter Eleven
The oven timer buzzed before they got to finish.
Chaili was actually pretty okay with that.
She needed a few minutes to recover.
He’d spanked her to climax.
Seated at the island, sipping a Diet Coke and watching while Marc cut up a salad, she tried to catch her breath and wrap her mind around that simple fact. He’d spanked her to climax. Desperate to get them back to someplace that felt comfortable, she said lightly, “You’re surprisingly domestic, Marc.”
“I told you, if I wanted anything other than carryout or mac and cheese.” He shrugged. Then he gave her a telling look. “I love the way you say my name when you’re in the middle of an orgasm.”
Her throat went dry and she gulped down half of her drink. She tried to get back on level footing and look what happened…
“You keep trying to put up a wall. What’s the deal with that?”
She reached over and plucked an olive out of the bowl. “No walls. What do you mean?”
“Chaili.”
Shit. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head. How did she respond to that, she wondered. I’ve loved you my entire life…and I don’t know if this is going to last…
“If you’re already having doubts about us, we’re doomed, you know,” he said quietly.
“I don’t even think there is an us yet, Marc.”
She looked up as he reached for the towel lying on the counter by them and slowly wiped his hands off.
“There’s been an us for a lot longer than I realized,” he said softly. “It just took me a little while to see it.”
She turned away, looking for anything to stare at, to occupy her mind. “Marc, for there to be an us, we’d need to know.”
“Do you know what I’ve missed the past few years? More than anything I can think of?” He stared at her, his eyes lingering over her face, studying it. Searching it. “You. I’d find myself thinking about you. And I’d call you. Sometimes you were there. Sometimes you weren’t. When you weren’t…it made the day darker. When you were, it…well…you made the day. There was an us. I just didn’t see it. Come on. Let’s eat.”
Every time, damn it. Every time she was almost close to level, he shattered the very foundation under her feet. Sliding off the stool, she edged around the island, keeping a little bit of distance between them. “Could we eat outside?” she asked, glancing toward the doorway that led to the deck she’d seen. There was no real desire to sit outside, but if she had a few more minutes…
The look in Marc’s eyes told her he knew exactly what she was doing. But he shrugged and gestured. “Sure. Take the basket of bread and our drinks. I’ll be out with the rest in a minute.”
She looked at the island with the salad, the dish of lasagna. “I can carry things out.”
“So can I,” he said mildly. “Go out outside. There’s a fire pit on the table. It’s gas. Why don’t you light it?”
“Okay.”
Damn it. She’d wanted a few minutes to try and get herself under control and now she was going to be eating a dinner by firelight with him…
&n
bsp; Every damn way I turn…
Outside, she set the glasses together at one end. She’d thought about setting them farther apart—him at the head, her at the foot of the table. Just to give herself some of that badly needed space. And yeah, that would have gone over really well. So instead she did what just fell natural, the two of them, sitting side by side, staring out over the water.
Jerking his chain wouldn’t be smart.
Although it would be a hell of a lot easier if he’d give her a little bit of space. Just a little.
She fiddled with the knobs on the fire pit and watched as it flared to life, smiling absently. It was pretty—brightly colored rocks that looked like glass in the base, reflecting the light. Easing back, she turned away and moved to stand at the railing, staring out over the lake. The wind kicked up, blowing her hair and tangling her skirt around her legs.
Hearing the door open, she turned around and saw him balancing the plates, waiter style on his arm. She laughed and leaned back against the railing. “I forgot you used to do that sort of thing for a living,” she said.
“A handy skill, juggling four plates,” he said dryly. He set them down and headed back inside. “Back in a minute.”
A few minutes later, he was back outside with silverware and cloth napkins in a deep shade of burgundy. She sat down, about ready to pop off with another quip, but she glanced up, saw him watching her. Waiting. She needed to stop this, she knew. Blowing out a breath, she said, “It looks pretty decent for a guy who used to burn mac and cheese.”
“Yeah, well, wait until you try it, smart ass,” he muttered.
She smiled and took a bite of the salad. It was good, although salads were easy.
Beautiful Scars Page 14
