Surrender's Dance

by Vonna Harper

  His mouth twitched. She read, not anger but respect. “It happened a long time ago,” she said. “I was a child. At least I was the first time.”

  “A child.”

  His soft tone told her that his personal nightmare had its roots in the same place. “Some things should remain relegated to the past, right?” she asked. “It’s behind us.”

  Until this, he’d gripped her painfully tight, but now he released her. Before she could decide what, if anything, to do or say, he glanced at her wrists, prompting her to do the same. He’d left the imprints of his fingers on her flesh. Eyes shuttered, he took her hands and began to gently massaging away the marks. “Tell me how it began for you.” He reached out as if to touch her cheek, then stopped. “Please.”

  Wondering if her survival might hinge on her response, she shook her head trying to clear it. It would have been easier if not for the heat between them and the dream remnants, with their meaning she could no longer deny. Make-believe about powerful and experienced but faceless dominant men had given way to the real thing, Zemar. “I swore I’d never cry or plead again, never degrade myself by begging a man to love or even care about me. I’d learned it wouldn’t do any good. I felt shamed, abandoned, exposed.”

  “Like you are now?”

  “This is nothing.” She indicated her naked body. “You’ve put my skin and sexuality on display. I refuse to let the same thing happen to my heart.”

  Certain he’d find a way to throw the words back at her and were now a lie because of the impact he’d left on her heart, she waited. Instead, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck before she realized what she’d done, but it was too late to take back the gesture of trust and surrender.

  He deposited her on the bed and settled beside her. His arm around her shoulder sheltered her, and despite the blood singing in her ears, she leaned against him. She’d never known anyone this strong, had never wanted such a powerful flesh and blood lover. Health and vitality rippled through him, and she drank from it, from him. Take from me. Please, if I have something you want or need, I give it freely. No matter what happens, let this connection last for the rest of our lives.

  “You trusted and loved someone, but he betrayed that trust.” He brushed her hair off her cheek. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  Don’t hold back. Strip your soul as he stripped your body. “I was eight. I didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘lies.’ Or ‘abandonment.’ I’ve never forgotten his lesson.”

  “His? Your father?”

  Take the next step. Hand him complete honesty. “Yes.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She was there, thank goodness. I slept with her for awhile afterward, holding onto her and doing the same for her. Our closeness helped me understand that other people had emotions and needs. I, ah, I had her until her death when I was eighteen.”

  “At least you had her.”

  You didn’t, did you?

  “Eight.” His gaze said he was trying to see her at that age. “I never know about a captive’s childhood.”

  “Maybe -- maybe you should tell whoever tracks potential sex subjects to include the early years and not just let the island make the decisions.” His arm was still around her, his strength and energy keeping her going. She couldn’t distinguish the line between the terrible need to let him see into her soul and physical craving. Maybe there wasn’t one and everything had blurred together. “My childhood molded me, just as it impacts everyone, you included.”

  He laid her down, her back resting on the mattress with her breasts, belly, pelvis within easy reach. She couldn’t and didn’t want to move. And when he stretched out beside her and propped himself up on an elbow, she didn’t hide from his searching gaze.

  “Your father walked out of your life?” He again brushed back her hair.

  “I tell people that he divorced my mother and me. I -- I begged him not to leave, but he pushed me away and slammed the door. It -- that was the day he told my mother he’d found someone else. I -- maybe I thought he would take me with him. He used to call me his princess. Every day when he came home from work, I’d run outside so he could hug me and carry me inside. I remember telling everyone that I was going to marry him.”

  “You never heard from him again?”

  In a controlled voice she told him about her father coming back a week after the separation so he could take her to see where he was living. She’d sat in the back seat because a tall woman with short hair was seated next to him, and although he’d reached around to briefly squeeze her hand, she hadn’t liked his new cologne or haircut. When her father told her that Carol was going to have his baby and he expected her to call her Mom, she’d refused. Although Carol had said to give her time to get used to things, her father had called her a stubborn brat. When he dropped her off back home after showing her Carol’s immaculate second floor apartment with his clothes now in the closet, she’d clung to him and begged him to live with her and Mommy again. He’d shaken her off, picked her up, and deposited her on the doorstep. Heartbroken, she’d dropped to her knees and clung to his legs until he kicked her away.

  He’d returned a few days later for the rest of his belongings, and she’d again wrapped her arms around him, groveling. Because of her tears, she couldn’t see his expression, but the way he’d peeled her off him and stomped away left no doubt that the man she loved most in life had no use for her. He was going to divorce Mommy and marry Carol instead of waiting for her to grow up. And he was going to have a new child so he didn’t need her at all.

  “I called him every day for the first month or so.” You’re really telling him this, aren’t you? The first person since Mom. “I kept asking when I’d see him again. He’d say he wasn’t sure and then hang up. He did drop by with a birthday present a few weeks after I stopped calling -- and to tell me that he and Carol were moving across the country. I didn’t see him again until I was eleven. They had a daughter.”

  “Bastard.”

  Talking had exhausted her, either that or everything she’d been through since she’d been spirited away from her world had finally caught up to her. Whichever it was, she clenched her chattering teeth and stared at the ceiling.

  “And the second time?”

  “The second time what?”

  “That your heart was broken, and you realized begging wouldn’t change anything.”

  Oh god, she had said that too, hadn’t she? “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Smiling faintly, he cocked his head. “I could make you.”

  “Fine. String me up by my thumbs. That’ll do the job.”

  She felt him jerk. “Don’t even say that.”

  What’s going on inside you? I touched a button, didn’t I? “Can you blame me? I have a pretty good idea what you’re capable of.”

  “Torture isn’t what Surrender Island is about. If it was, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Why are you?”

  Abruptly, he sat up and turned away from her. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She hadn’t really expected him to answer. Not giving herself time to question the wisdom of her action, she ran her fingers over his marred back. He stiffened, then she sensed an internal battle as he relaxed. Her sensitized fingers traced countless scars. Despite the disfigured flesh, she continued her exploration. The hard ridges were as much a part of him as his sculpted muscles. Wondering at the hell he’d been forced to endure, she let tears fall for the first time in years.

  “When my father walked out of my life, I felt as if my heart had been ripped apart.” I give you honesty so, maybe, you’ll do the same. “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had my mother. Although she too was hurting, she put my needs first. She held me when I cried, and when I asked her why my daddy stopped loving me, she said it had nothing to do with my worthiness as a human being and everything to do with his own selfishness and failings. Eventually I believed her.”
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  She’d been careful to apply enough pressure to his back that she didn’t tickle him, so couldn’t blame her touch when he stood and walked over to the front door. “Please come back,” she whispered.

  He did, his magnificent body closing the distance between them. Her own hummed. She’d never felt so restless or on edge. “What are you afraid of?” she asked again.

  “Afraid?”

  “You’re right. That isn’t the right word.” Holding out her hands, she waited until he placed his large, strong ones in them. The contact seemed like a miracle. “Leery. Wary. You’ve kept a huge part of yourself locked away.” Although she wanted him back on the bed beside her, she stood so she could press her breasts and belly against him. His cock felt like a barrier between them until she shifted so she sheltered it with her body. Still only half believing what she was doing, she clung to him.

  “You’ve seen every part of me.” So much was changing. Could she go from being his prisoner to, maybe, his equal? “Touched everything.” She pushed her pelvis at him and moved from side to side, applying friction to his hidden cock. “Why won’t you let me do the same to you?”

  “You know.” He’d been standing there, his arms at his side, rigid as if he didn’t trust her. Now he pressed his hands over her buttocks and applied enough pressure that she couldn’t back away. It didn’t matter because she had no intention of letting this moment get away. He was responding!

  “No, I don’t. And don’t tell me it’s because it’s part of some damn technique you’ve perfected as a Dom. When’s the last time you let a woman past your barriers? Do you ever share your dreams, your thoughts, with anyone?”

  The shudder that passed through him said more than a million words could, and she again wept for what he’d been forced to become. Something terrible had been done to him back when he’d had a child’s trust. As a result, he’d closed himself off and isolated himself. She understood. “Do you have dreams?” she ventured.

  “Yes.”

  Yes. But I don’t know how to share them. “So do I.” She pressed her lips to his chest. “I’ve had a couple recently that have been incredibly revealing. But right now the only one that matters is wanting to fuck you.”

  Taking hold of her arms, he pushed her away so he could stare down into her eyes. “You want --”

  “To fuck. Have sex. Make love. Please.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Don’t mess it up. Whatever you do, don’t do anything to make him bolt. The thought that she could cause this domineering man to flee should have been laughable, but as she ran her hands through his tangled and overgrown hair, she sensed his fragility. His body was powerful, magnificently honed for a physical life, but beneath the surface beat a vulnerable heart.

  Trusting her instinct, she drew him near the bed. With trembling fingers, she reached for the cord holding his loincloth in place but didn’t try to remove it. Whatever sturdy material the cloth was made from provided maximum protection, moving when he did, always keeping his cock covered. The way it bulged when he was aroused, which seemed to be most of the time, left her with no doubt of his size. Yes, she’d gotten a glimpse of the real thing, but she’d never been given the opportunity to study what taut skin and swollen veins said about him as a male.

  He’d deliberately kept himself covered while insisting she remain nude as a powerful message about the difference between them. If she exposed him, it would change a great deal about their relationship. But that move, if it ever came, would have to be initiated by him.

  “Everyone has flaws.” She sat with him standing close enough for their legs to touch. “The physical ones are obvious. It’s the emotional that cause the most trouble.”

  “And are the hardest to identify.”

  If she wanted him to reveal more, she’d have to move cautiously. Still, she could rest her head against his hard belly, couldn’t she? “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be perfect.” She chuckled. “To have become an adult without tears or heartache -- someone like that couldn’t possibly be mature. If we don’t make mistakes or learn from our mistakes ... My mother used to say she wanted to get old enough that she’d have made her allotment of mistakes for one lifetime. But she died too young.”

  “What about your father?”

  Let’s talk about you, not me. “I assume he’s alive. I don’t care enough to find out.”

  He rested his hands on the top of her head. When she felt hot tears behind her closed lids, she couldn’t say whether they were for her or him. “I could if you want me to.”

  He’d do that? But he was taking her somewhere to be sold tomorrow. Suddenly sick at the thought, she forced her emotions to go no further than this moment. “I don’t.” You’re what’s important, not me. “Zemar, what about your parents? Are they alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve never tried to --”

  “After what they put me through, I want nothing to do with them.”

  “I understand,” she whispered although she didn’t. His barriers were so strong, the protective layers he’d built around himself maybe impenetrable. But tonight there was nothing except the two of them and this unexpected closeness. She kissed the base of his rib cage. He caught his breath. “Will you tell me one thing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What did you do before you -- before you came here? It was willingly on your part, wasn’t it?”

  “To a large extent, yes.” He ran a hand under her chin and lifted her head so she was looking at him. A shiver ran through her. “I didn’t fit where I was. Fishing off Alaska kept me away from cities and that was good. But it’s dangerous work.”

  “I know.” She imagined him standing on the deck of a violently rocking boat, endless storms battering his body, driving wind and rain abusing his flesh. “I mean, I read that deep sea fishing there is the most dangerous job in the world. Why were you doing that?”

  “Good money.”

  Not enough reason. Maybe you were hiding from yourself. Trying to stay alive kept you too busy for anything else.

  “One day I was thrown overboard during a storm. I knew I was drowning. I had only one regret, that in many respects I was still the child I once was. I wanted to feel power, to be the one in control.”

  “And -- and that’s when you wound up here?”

  He nodded, and the line of his mouth told her he’d said as much as he would, or could. Wanting to let him know it was all right, she repositioned herself so she could run her tongue over a nipple. She touched silk stretched over steel. He’d recently taken a shower but whatever he’d used hadn’t cleansed his flesh of his essence. He tasted alive, male. When she closed her mouth around his nub, he grabbed hold of her hair but didn’t pull her off him. Loving the mastery implied in the act, feeling the impact deep in her groin, she bathed first one nipple and then the other. A muscle in his chest quivered. She took the nub in her teeth. Another shudder accompanied his quick breath. Then she walked her fingers over his rib cage, learning what she could about his lean, muscled strength, trying to imagine what it had felt like to be alone and freezing in the middle of the ocean. If he’d died --

  If it hadn’t been for the growing heat between her legs, she might have been content to devote everything to his needs, but his manipulation of her body had triggered a primitive reaction she couldn’t and didn’t want to ignore. Needing his touch, she moved his hands from her hair to her shoulders, then returned her mouth to his chest. Strange how someone so strong could remind her of satin.

  As she again took a nub between her teeth and lightly nipped him, she felt his fingers at her throat. He slid the collar back and forth. Instead of being reminded of her slavery, she reveled in the sensual feel of metal against her flesh.

  Then he ran a finger under the collar and all she felt was him.

  This time when she reached for the loincloth, she didn’t hold back from reaching under the fabric. She touched the sleek, velvet flesh that encased the core of
Zemar’s strength. She’d known he was well-hung but to actually have her hands on him caused her heart to race and her cheeks to heat. As yet incapable of making the contact any more intimate, she ran her knuckles over him. They grazed his balls and traveled his length, circling the underside of his head, journeying over it, finally reaching the tip. A drop of moisture waited for her. She captured it, reluctantly withdrew her hand, and licked her finger. She tasted heat. Was it possible? His sperm, the essence of life, actually rested on her tongue? Then she looked up into smoldering eyes.

  “I thought I knew what I was going to do if you gave me the opportunity,” she whispered. Saltiness reached the back of her throat. “But I don’t know my boundaries, what you’ll let me do, when you’ll make me stop.”

  “There’s no stopping tonight.”

  His simple words filled her with life and promise. They only had this single night, but like her, he wanted it to mean everything. To last forever. Her world closed down, and there was no morning. Her slavery belonged to another time, to a woman who cared about more than giving herself to this incredible man.

  Is it really the island or even my submissive nature and your dominance? Maybe it’s me, you, us.

  He settled his hands around her waist and guided her onto the middle of the bed. Then, caressed and revealed by the muted light, he removed his single piece of clothing and dropped it to the floor. He stood over her, huge and proud. Ready. Hungry. Starving herself, she spread her legs and reached for him. When he climbed onto the bed and knelt beside her, his weight pulled her toward him. She might have rolled onto her side if not for his hand pressing on her thigh.

  Touch me everywhere. Please, let every inch of my flesh get to know you.

  Smiling faintly, he gripped her thigh and studied her sex. Unashamed, she waited. This is me, the private, vulnerable, hungry essence beneath the surface. I give it to you, freely, joyfully. His gaze heated her even more. Before, her core had been his to do to as he chose. Now she offered her pussy as a gift.