Mirror of My Soul

She turned her gaze to Joseph who was apparently absorbed by the sight of Leila’s smooth pussy, the clit jewelry she wore in the piercing there, her body stretched out beneath Roland’s. “And while I change, I expect your Master might devise ways to make you come, Leila, to reward your service to me.” For they all knew that her cries and arousal would further torture Roland, prohibited from releasing his own desire even when Leila sucked him harder. Caught in the throes of her own passion, she would scream against his hardened flesh as she came at her Master’s touch.



Joseph nodded, his dark eyes wickedly gleaming in anticipation.



Marguerite turned to address the only two members of the party that she had not yet. She found Violet watching her closely while Mac massaged the calf resting on his shoulder, pressing his mouth along her skin. Her lips had parted, showing her distraction, but her gaze stayed on Marguerite nonetheless.



“Mistress Violet, would you be willing to join me for a cup of tea when I return?” Violet’s Caribbean blue eyes were alert, cool. “Yes I would.” They still had a score to settle, obviously. Marguerite inclined her head in just as reserved a fashion. On that challenging note, she let Tyler show her out of the pool house.



Chapter Thirteen



He followed her up to the second level and took her hand, guiding her to his room.



From the shirt casually thrown over a chair and the hairbrush and cufflinks sitting out on the dresser, Marguerite was certain it was his room this time. She also noted that her overnight bag had been brought here.



“I’d like to choose a plug for him, after I change clothes. I assume you have some that are sterile?”



“Mmm-hmm.” He drew her to him, began to unbutton the front of the dress, peel it off her shoulders.



“Tyler.” Her breath escaped her as he bit her neck, took the dress off. “What are you doing?”



“Exercising a Master’s right to dress and undress his slave. I’ve gotten you another gift.”



“Your most recent one was more than I could ask. I don’t need to be spoiled.”



“On that, we’ll have to disagree.” He dropped her dress over his shirt on the chair, a curiously domestic, intimate picture that absorbed her attention for a moment. “Take off the rest of your clothes. I want you to stand before me naked.” Leaning against the closet, he crossed his arms, his attention focused solely on her in a way that made her body grow even more full and heavy with need. His command of her while a willing, beautiful slave awaited her on his hands and knees downstairs released a dichotomy of reaction in Marguerite that was as overwhelming for a moment as a physical climax. She savored it, wondering at the way it spread heat over her skin, drew her nipples to hard points and made moisture gather at the gateway between her thighs.



She put her hands back to unfasten the bra he’d readjusted before she met Roland.



His gaze dropped as it came free and she eased the straps down her arms, entranced by how he watched her. She employed the same deceptively passive methods she employed to rouse a sub, only this time she did it to tantalize the man she chose to call her Master.



She’d worn thong panties. For him. Enjoyed putting them on, easily imagining his hands as sensuous a touch as the light nylon. Pivoting on her toe, she reached back, hooked her hands in the side straps and took the panties down slowly, bending fully as her yoga practice allowed her to do. Once she had her head to her knees, she came up halfway, just enough to step out of them and loosen her hair. She straightened, tossing it back so it spilled down her bare back. Turning, she dropped the panties and stood before him naked, her clothes littering the floor, discarded with the casual indifference a Mistress would show.



His expression was one of complete absorption, his body tense, erection visible. He might very well decide to fuck her here and now before she went to Roland so the scent of his come would be on her. Primitive and direct, the leader of the pack making it clear to other males his claim on the alpha female. When more response trickled down her thigh, he moved, coming to her. Removing a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he widened her stance with a nudge which caused her to grip his shoulder for balance. He put the cloth full against her, making her hold tighten, her lips part as she stared into his face, not wanting to look anywhere else.



“You’re ready to come already, aren’t you, angel?” She nodded, lowered her gaze, her lashes fanning her cheeks as she reached forward, stroked her knuckles over the hard length of him. “But I would go to my knees and give you pleasure first.” She wanted to, her mouth watering for it.



“You will, but not now. I want to watch you with Roland. Watch you handle him, bring him to screaming climax, begging to serve you.”



“So you know you can make me do the same?” A smile curved her lips. “That stereotypical alpha male need to Dom the Domme?”



“Perhaps.” His lips were firm with sensual intent. “I want to watch that magic you do. That place you go and take a sub with you, bringing him a Nirvana he never knew was possible. And know that what’s getting you hotter and hotter is feeling me watching, that later tonight all that excitement and arousal you have will explode around my cock, my mouth, my hands. And when you do suck on my cock, I’m going to put a vibrator in you. Each time you rock forward it will drive into you so you’ll climax again as my come explodes in your mouth, over your breasts.” She swallowed and wondered if he knew what power he could wield over her with only words. Her fingers itched to touch him, but she curled them into her palms, trying to maintain some semblance of control.



“Let me show you my gift. You can decide if it’s what you want to wear to dominate Roland.”



At her curious look, he shook his head. “I won’t command your actions as a Mistress. I told you, I love watching you. I love your sheer artistry.” He picked up a blindfold from the bed and came to her, fixing it around her eyes, bringing his body close so he was pressed against her bare skin, his fingers whispering down over her hair, her shoulder blades. “I want to put my gift on you now for your own pleasure, to get the full effect. But if it doesn’t suit your purpose with Roland you can change.” A moment later, he directed her to hold his shoulder and had her step into what felt like a pair of loose pants. He drew them up just to her hipbones and asked her to hold the edge of the waistband so they would not tumble back down her thighs.



“Either you’re a poor judge of sizes or I’ve lost a lot of weight since you last saw me.”



His chuckle came from below, as he had apparently knelt to her left. “I’ve been around long enough to know there is no safe conversation for a man to have with a woman about her weight, good or bad. I’m not that gullible.” His hand was at her hip. Feeling the pants tighten their hold on her there, she realized the pants laced all the way up the leg. He made a similar adjustment on the other side, getting the seams set where he wished before he began to draw the laces snug from hip to ankle. The seams for the back molded into the crease of her buttocks tightly enough that the cheeks would be clearly separated and defined as if she wore no clothes at all. The fabric felt like a wet latex. Her breath got a little shallow, not from the constriction but because of how it felt to have him dressing her, on one knee to her left, then her right, then behind her. He didn’t prohibit her from touching him, so she kept her fingers grazing over his shoulders, his hair, feeling his shoulders move under her touch as he worked the laces to adjust the pants.



He was dressing her as she might command a sub to do, though she’d never commanded one to do something so intimate to her person. Yet he was also dressing her as was a Master’s right. She was already shaking as she did when he touched her this way, compelling her submission. It made her realize how much overlap there was in serving and being served, the needs that were met not so far distant from each other.



The important element apparently being the focus, the absolute attention and devotion demonstrated by either Master or slave. The way his hands arranged the clothing, cared for her appearance, the comfort of the fit, the way he knew she needed to touch him as he did it. So much he’d given her in a short time. Though her mind was still fairly certain that he could be gone from her life tomorrow, he was so strongly insisting the opposite that some part of her was beginning to hear him, to believe.



When the pants were in place, they were low on her hips and she felt the light brush of the tied strings at her ankles, the tiny chatter of beads decorating the ends. She felt him stand and she turned, finding his chest with her hands. He stilled at her unexpected move and she took a step back from him, her hand flat on his chest. Slowly, gracefully, she went to her knees, bent and touched her forehead to his feet, then straightened enough to offer the same homage with her lips to his knees, his groin, his stomach, upper abdomen. Rose to touch her mouth to his heart, throat, brow. At last, rising on her toes, her hands on his head to bring it down to her, she kissed the crown chakra. Then she sank to her knees again, her hands drifting back down his body.



“Thank you,” she said quietly.



Tyler looked down at the woman kneeling before him and could not speak. He knew the spiritual significance of what she had just done, knew she would never do such a thing lightly. But even more than the spiritual impact was the emotional one, the fact she’d just offered him an act of love, of respect and honor. Of trust. Lifting her to her feet with hands that were not quite steady, he laid his lips over hers. Not moving, not taking, simply connecting, trying to feel and give everything at once in that light touch. Her hands came up again, framed his face. When her lips parted he groaned and dove in, feeling consumed by the shape of her lips, her teeth, her tongue, the brush of her cheek. He’d missed having a woman in his soul. He found himself wondering if Nina had ever fully gotten in, for with Marguerite he felt there were so many chambers in himself he’d never noticed before. Somehow she was in them all. Perhaps a part of him had known Nina couldn’t take all of what lay in those chambers, that she was only so strong. The woman before him needed his protection and love, but… He remembered yesterday by the pond, how she’d turned him toward her, would not permit him to hide his pain. Her face caring, supportive. Not afraid or uncertain because of his moment of weakness. She’d offered compassion. Strength.