by Eden Bradley
“Christ, Cassandra,” he rasped. “If I’d known you would feel this good, I would have taken you in that first moment. You are so beautiful. So hot inside I can hardly stand it.”
Finally he was buried deep, filling her completely. He leaned down and kissed her, a long, wet kiss, a hungry kiss. Everything he felt, everything she needed to know, was in that kiss, in that moment.
He began to move, each thrust of his hips driving pure pleasure into her body. Her hips arched to meet him, wanting to take him in as deeply as possible, wanting everything he offered. She trembled on the edge of orgasm. When he angled to hit her g-spot, she moaned, bit into the soft, sweet flesh of his shoulder. He drove into her, began to shudder, and she let it go, coming as he came inside her, the two of them shaking in unison. Coming apart, coming together. Entwined, body and soul.
CHAPTER TEN
THIS WAS THE THIRD MORNING IN A ROW Cassandra had woken up in his bed, in his arms. Marcus. Their days and nights together had been blissful, intense. And in between all of the wicked things he’d done to her, they’d talked for endless hours. They’d lain in each other’s arms. She had first seen him only two weeks ago, yet nothing had ever felt more right to her.
She looked at him, at his closed eyes, noticed the tiny lines at the corners. Reaching out, she touched her finger there, lightly traced the planes of his face.
“Marcus…”
“What is it?” His voice was soft, sleepy.
“What happens now? What does this mean? What are we to each other?”
His eyes fluttered opened, the deep brown lit with gold. “Much of that depends on you. The bottom always has the most power, isn’t that what they say? It’s true. But I want to be with you. It’s crazy, but something about you…” He stroked her hair, tangled his fingers in the curls. “If you decide it’s too complicated, I will be crushed. Devastated.”
“So would I.” She couldn’t imagine being without him.
“I know this is all happening fast.”
“It is. And I’ve been lying here thinking that I have to stop and question whether the circumstances are adding to the intensity.”
“Relationships in the realm of BDSM are always intense. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
“It feels real.”
“Yes.” He picked up her hand, brushed a kiss across her knuckles, making her shiver. “We’ve been avoiding this conversation. But I think it’s time we talked it all out.”
She nodded. He was right. Her pulse stepped up a beat.
“You have to tell me, Cassandra, if you are willing to give up my uncle’s training to be with me. Because frankly, I can’t stand the idea of anyone else’s hands on you. But I am a trainer myself. I can fill that role, in between these moments when we are simply together. But you have to decide what you want.”
“I want to be with you—even if it means breaking the rules. You must know that by now. But what will he do to you?”
“I could be cast out from the community—”
“No!”
“Yes. And my uncle could disown me, but I’m willing to take that chance. I’m even willing to hurt him, if that’s the only way I can have you.”
“But I can’t put you in that position, to make that kind of choice!”
“Don’t you understand that I have no choice? I need you, whatever the cost. You are well worth it.”
“No one has ever thought so before.” Tears stung her eyes.
“Then it’s about time someone did.” He kissed her hand again, turning it over to press his soft lips to the tender flesh of her palm. He said quietly, “I know it’s crazy, but I am falling in love with you, Cassandra. And that’s never happened before. That’s worth everything to me.”
The tears fell over her cheeks, onto his hand that still held hers. “I thought it was only me.”
“It’s us.” He caught her gaze, looked into her eyes. “I want to be with you, to love you, to hurt you, to tame you. I want you to be mine.”
“I am yours, Marcus.”
He kissed her then, tenderly, lovingly. When he pulled away he said, “We need to tell my uncle. I’ll talk to him.”
“No, I need to go with you.”
He nodded. “I understand. Tonight, then.”
Mika, dressed in her collar and her tattoos, silently let them in and led them to Master Robert’s office. She left them at the door. Cassandra tried to stop her hands from shaking. So odd, walking through this house fully dressed. She was grateful for Marcus’s reassuring hand pressed to the small of her back.
Master Robert sat behind his enormous desk. Imposing, both him and the desk. Marcus had called and told his uncle he had to speak with him right away, but the older man’s brows shot up when they came into the room together.
Marcus guided her to one of the chairs in front of the desk, then sat in the other. Robert leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands.
“Good evening, Uncle.”
“Is it? Why don’t you tell me why you are here together. Although I think I can guess.”
“We came here to ask you to release her.”
“She has no contract with me.” But his voice was deep, stern. He was plainly angry.
“Not as such, but we both know there is an implied contract even now.”
“Hmmm, yes.” Robert leaned back. “When did this happen?”
He was looking right at her, making her shiver. She still wanted to please him, even now; she felt a sense of failure that ultimately, she hadn’t.
Marcus answered, “From the first moment we saw each other.”
“I knew you wanted her. I’ve never seen you react in such a way to any woman. I should have seen this.” Robert paused, his dark gray brows furrowed. “Do you understand how serious this is?”
“Of course, Uncle.”
She could see the pain in Marcus’s face as he spoke. Was Robert really going to disown him? He was Marcus’s family, all he had left, from what he’d told her. How could she do this to him? Her heart fluttered frantically in her chest.
“Marcus, there can be no actions in this life that do not carry consequences.”
“I understand that.”
“Is she worth it?”
Oh, God. This was too awful. She stood.
“No. No, I’m not.”
She ran from the room.
He caught up to her at his car, parked in the driveway of his uncle’s house. She didn’t even know where she’d been going. He grabbed her arm.
“Cassandra!”
She turned to him, wiped the tears from her face with one hand. “I can’t do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t let this happen to you. I can’t let you make these sacrifices. Not for me. I’m not worth it. I’m not.”
“You are worth everything to me!”
She shook her head, blinded by tears. “How do I know? How do I trust that? We haven’t even known each other two weeks. And if this is some fleeting thing, is that worth losing your uncle over? Being shunned by your community?”
He paused, drew in a deep breath, blew it out. “I love you, Cassandra. I know you were raised to believe you don’t deserve it, but that’s bullshit. I’m here and I love you, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”
He grasped her arms, held on tight, whispered again harshly, “I love you.”
A sob rose in her chest, choking her. She could almost believe him. Maybe, with time, she would know the truth of his words in her own mind, in her soul.
Robert’s voice came from the doorway. “Love, is it?”
Marcus turned to him. “You know I would never do this to you for anything less.”
They both waited, watching Robert’s stern features. Marcus’s grip on her arm tightened, and her heart went out to him.
“Cassandra.” Robert’s voice was still harsh, cold. She shivered.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you love my nephew?”
“Yes!” Tears blinded her momentarily. More threatened when Marcus wiped them away with a tender hand.
There was a long pause. “Then you are already his in the only way that counts. In the truest way. I could never give that to him. Take her, Marcus. Treasure her. You hold a gift beyond imagining.”
She felt Marcus relax beside her, his muscles loosening.
Robert stood up a little straighter, gestured to Marcus with a raised chin. “And when you two have come up for air, come back to my house. You will both be welcome here.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
She looked up to see Marcus smile, read the relief on his face. She knew he’d been ready to make this sacrifice for her. She was grateful he wouldn’t have to.
Robert turned and went back into the house, closing the door. Marcus turned to her. Even in the pale moonlight, she could see his eyes blazing with pure emotion. With love. God, she loved him, as impossible as it seemed. And if that was possible, to fall in love with someone so quickly, so deeply, then maybe anything was possible.
The tears were spilling over onto her cheeks, blurring her vision. She wasn’t perfect. Yet he loved her, anyway. Her head spun with the realization that she could have this life, she could submit to him, and it was something beautiful and almost sacred, because he loved her. There was nothing sinful about it, except in the most delicious way. And despite the confusion in her head, the struggle, her heart knew she really had no choice but to be with him. She needed him more than she needed to continue punishing herself.
He pulled her close, held her in arms rough with passion. And when he kissed her, the rest of the world faded away. Her years of guilt, of shame, all of it was dissolving beneath the force of his love, of her love for him. Nothing else mattered.
Marcus pulled his mouth away and whispered into her hair, “There’s so much I want to show you. The sensual pleasures you came here for, and so much more. We’ll make these discoveries together.”
Yes, it was time to stop seeing everything as punishment for her imperfections, to allow herself to enjoy her dark side without needing it to be sinful. Marcus would help her. Together they would figure it out, would learn how to love each other in the midst of these sinful pleasures they both so craved and adored.
Since discovering this shadowed and voluptuous world, she had found joy in fulfilling the needs of her body. And now, unexpectedly, she had found what she needed to fill her heart.
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN HE WALKED INTO THE RESTAURANT BAR for their appointment on Friday afternoon, the first thought Maggie had was that the phrase “tall, dark, and handsome” had been invented just for him. He approached the table with cool, leonine grace. When he was close enough, she could see his eyes were hazel, a luminous combination of gold and silver. Amazing eyes. Mesmerizing. Power emanated from this man in almost palpable waves. Her stomach twisted into an odd little knot as she stood to greet him.
“Mr. Knight?”
“Ms. London, nice to meet you. But you must call me Damien.”
He took her hand in his, his grasp warm, firm. Heat flared in her palm at the contact. Yes, definitely a handsome man, with his tall build, his head of dark, luxurious hair, and those eyes. He could hypnotize a woman with those eyes. The hustle and noise of the lunchtime crowd faded into the background, along with the dark paneling, the red linen tablecloths, the scent of garlic bread.
He came to her side of the table and held her chair while she sat down, flustering her. So few men in New York knew anything of these old-world manners. To find it in a man here in San Francisco was just as surprising. Perhaps in Europe…yes, he was very European. Something about him. The way he dressed, in casual elegance, the way he moved and spoke. A bit too formal for a man of his age, which she guessed to be late thirties, forty at most.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr.—I’m sorry. Damien.”
“Shall we order? A drink for you? Yes.”
He motioned to a waiter. The man came almost at a run. Utterly confident, this Damien Knight, and commanding in a way people probably responded to almost without realizing it, as the waiter had.
“I’ll have a Glenlivet on the rocks. What do you drink, Ms. London?”
“Maggie, please.” Good lord, had she just heard a hint of flirtation in her voice? This would never do. She never flirted with her research subjects, and this was work. But a drink would not be overstepping the boundaries of professionalism. “A glass of white wine. Nothing too sweet.”
His gaze held hers. “Yes, nothing too sweet for you, I imagine.”
What was the intimation in his tone? “Excuse me?”
“You don’t seem the kind of woman who enjoys too much sweet…anything.”
What was he implying? And why was his strangely insightful remark making her blush? It was true, she wasn’t crazy about sugar, chocolate. She didn’t care for those sweet, girlish things so many women loved. No kittens and bows for her. She certainly wasn’t the kind of woman most people would call “sweet.” Competent, in charge, perhaps a little bossy, even. But never sweet.
She didn’t know what to think of this man.
His fine, long-fingered hands on your skin…
She really had to stop that!
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for coming to do this interview with me.”
“You’re the one who came here from New York. I came only a few blocks. You’re still expecting this to be a series of interviews?”
“Yes. I thought this subject might require more than one meeting.”
“You’re right. It will. There are many different aspects to the BDSM lifestyle. It’s not something one can learn about in a single conversation. Tell me again the name of the magazine you write for?”
“Citi.”
He lounged back in his chair, the picture of cool confidence. “A women’s magazine, is that right?”
“I suppose. Although it’s more sophisticated, more thoughtful, than the usual fashion magazine. We approach tougher subjects, are more liberal than most other women’s magazines, more forward-thinking. Hence my sex column. Our demographic is working women, metropolitan women. Women who are unafraid of the world.”
“As you are?”
Was that a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth?
It was a strong mouth, the mouth of a man who knew exactly who he was. His stance, his walk, everything about him conveyed the same message.
Their drinks arrived and she took a grateful sip, wishing she’d ordered something stronger.
He held his drink in his hand as he did everything, with grace and a casual strength, his fingers sensually caressing the glass. “So, Ms. London, tell me, what is Maggie short for? You don’t look like a Margaret.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She was silent for a moment. His gaze on her was more than scrutinizing somehow. She moved her fingertips around the rim of her wineglass, shifted in her chair. “Magdalena.”
“Your mother was Italian?”
“French. I was born in Italy.”
“Your parents traveled?”
“My mother did. I thought I was conducting this interview.”
His silvery-gold gaze rested on her face, held there. He watched her, silent. This man obviously justified himself to no one. She reached into her briefcase and pulled a notepad out, a pen. “I hope you don’t mind if I take notes?”
“London doesn’t sound either French or Italian.”
She sighed. How was she ever going to get control of the conversation with a man like him? “It’s not. London is my father’s name. He’s American.”
“And you were born in Italy why?”
“You really aren’t going to stop until I’ve answered all of your questions, are you?”
He took a swallow of his drink. The sound of the ice moving in his glass seemed abnormally loud to her, the faint clink as he set the glass down on the table.
He shrugged, broad shoulders moving
beneath the finely made black cashmere sweater. “I’m curious about you.”
“Why?”
“Because a woman who makes a living writing about sex is fascinating by nature. You were about to tell me what your mother was doing in Italy when you were born.”
She shook her head. “My mother is an artist. She went to Italy to paint, to Tuscany. And to have me. She said she wanted me to be born into beauty.”
“And so you were.”
By the look he gave her she was fairly certain he didn’t mean the Italian countryside. Her face was hot. She took a sip of her wine.
“What about your father?”
“I never knew him. Can we get back to the interview, please?”
Where had that “please” come from? He really did inspire a sense of yielding in people; she’d seen it with the waiter. But Damien Knight would soon figure out that she was as strong as he was.
Then why was her breath tight in her chest? Her neck still on fire, her hands shaky?
“Certainly.” He was all acquiescing grace suddenly.
This was better, back to business. In business mode she should be able to ignore the strange effect this man was having on her.
She wrote his name at the top of her pad of paper, cleared her throat. “Can you give me a simple definition of the term ‘BDSM,’ for my readers?”
“BDSM stands for bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadomasochism. But it can be any or all of those things.”
Why did hearing him say these words make her go hot all over?
Focus!
“And, um…what is it you do when you’re not…practicing the BDSM lifestyle? What do you do for a living, if I may ask?”
