ELEVEN

He had the gate open. Figuring it might be that way for the takeout guy, she left it open, drove up to the office and apartment building. He was sitting on the bottom step, a pair of dogs at his feet. The canines, who looked like a blend of shepherd, chow and lab, were watching him cut up an apple. He was offering pieces to them between bites for himself. He also had an open bottle of wine behind him, with an extra glass. He’d filled one with a rich red and had apparently been sipping on it, a change from his normal beer.

He looked so good. His blue-and-white-striped button-down was worn to that softness which had the fabric molding his upper torso, the tails loose over jeans. His booted feet were braced out wide to accommodate the dogs. Men really didn’t have to futz much with the details and accessories. A handsome man could wear the same outfit every day, observe decent hygiene and still turn heads wherever he went. It was his attitude, his charisma, that made the man. It could make a woman hate the entire gender, if she hadn’t had the experience of being in love with one. She saw many similar qualities in Dale. As well as some very vital—and appreciated—different ones.

Getting out of the car, she was struck by a wave of longing for him so strong it almost made her dizzy. She’d left so abruptly at the club, and the last time she’d seen him before that had been in her office. He’d said no expectations, no planned session, just Chinese takeout and being together, but when she came toward him, her body felt tight all over, her throat thick with things she couldn’t say.

He set the wineglass aside and reached for her, nudging the dogs to the side with his boot. That was all it took. He’d pulled her into his arms and she was straddling him on the stairs, the dogs nosing her ankles in greeting as she put her mouth on his; hot, open and delving deep. His arm went around her waist, his other hand taking a firm, proprietary grip on her ass. She made a needy noise, pressing herself against him.

When she came up for air, she didn’t speak, just stared down at him, wanting him to see it all, understand it all.

“I need to put the dogs up.”

“Okay.”

“The takeout guy should be here in the next ten minutes. Go upstairs and get in my bed. I expect you to be naked under my sheets.” His eyes held hers. “Play with yourself. I want you even more hot and bothered than you are now. Get yourself as close to coming as you can without doing it.”

Holding on to her waist, he rose and put her on her feet with the strength of one arm. Then he sent her on her way with a healthy, stinging slap to her ass that reminded her of the marks he’d put there earlier in the week. She felt like she floated up the stairs, which was kind of a miracle given that her body was weighed down with lust.

Pivoting at the top, she saw he was halfway across the open area, the dogs at his heels. She let herself into the apartment and went right to his bedroom. She took off everything, folded it to the side, and then savored his sheets against her bare flesh. She lay on her back, but turned her head, pressing her nose into his pillow. She moved it on top of her body, hugging it to her, sliding it across her breasts and then down, the weight of it against her wet pussy. She wanted him to have her scent there.

Turning on her stomach, she pushed the pillow beneath her so she could use the pressure of it against her body to do as he demanded. Slipping her fingers in between the pillow and herself, she began to slowly rub her clit, work herself against the pillow, the movements of her body creating friction between the mattress and her nipples. He’d said not to let herself come, and yet she might come from merely thinking about him. She hoped the takeout wasn’t late.

It was a nice day, so the windows were cracked. In no time she was gasping, such that there was a chance the delivery guy would overhear her. He might think it was the wind, but she imagined his male instincts would hone in on the erotic quality of it. If Dale was as territorial as he seemed, he’d cover it with casual conversation and send the guy packing.

The pleasures of male possessiveness weren’t new to her. It was a myth that a male sub wasn’t as testosterone driven as any other man when he thought someone was sniffing around what he thought of as his female. Roy had wanted her to be his Mistress, and definitely considered her his wife. She liked that feeling of belonging, liked the shape of it with Dale, the sharper sense of it as his sub. But she had to agree with Roy’s viewpoint as well. She felt just as possessive toward Dale as her Master, which her reaction at the club had proven. Now that she’d confirmed Dale’s feelings agreed with hers, she didn’t feel as foolish about it.

She heard the vehicle arrive, the male voices. She worked herself harder against the pillow, reveling in the sound of Dale’s voice. He’d follow the guy back to the entrance and lock the gate, because he was careful that way. She stroked her breast, tweaked the nipple, which made her hips jerk. She’d be leaving more than her scent on his pillow at this rate. She might end up having to wash it for him. She wouldn’t mind that, either.

She heard his feet on the steps, the slightly uneven tread. Her heart went from pounding to racing. When he came in, she couldn’t see him, because her head was turned toward the window, cheek pressed to the bed. Cool air touched her as he drew back the sheet, watched the undulation of her slightly perspiring body, the rise and fall of her hips against the manipulation of her hand.

He slid his fingers down the line of her spine, over the curve of her buttocks. “Keep doing that, girl. Christ, you’re a picture.” He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he slipped his hands between her body and above the pillow to cup both her breasts. She cried out at the intimate contact, lifting her bottom higher, such that she brushed his hip in the rough denim. She wanted to make circles against the front of his jeans, dampen them with her arousal, but he was at the wrong angle. He was staying out of range. She was performing for him, all of it for his pleasure. Keying into that, she spread her knees even wider, teasing him with the sight of her fingers working her pussy. Never in her whole life had she been so blatant and shameless with a man.

When he withdrew, she turned her head to the opposite cheek, in time to see him reaching inside the night table drawer for a condom. “Can you . . . not use that? There hasn’t been anyone for me, since Roy. And I had my tubes tied a while ago.”

He paused. She knew how careful he was. Even if he’d had other partners recently—something she didn’t really want to know—she expected the risk would be nonexistent. She trusted him.

When he nodded, closed the drawer, she let out a sweet, soft sigh. He came back to the bed and grasped her arm to turn her over. He removed the pillow, putting her on her back in the center of his bed.

“If it’s the first time we’re doing it that way, then we do it different,” he said. “Stay like that for me.”

She watched him remove his shirt, that glorious ripple of muscle across his abdomen. Opening his jeans, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He removed one boot, setting it aside, then he pushed the pants to his knees, reaching in to lift his left leg out of the socket of the prosthesis. He peeled off the stump sock, letting it disappear down the leg of the jeans, and then pushed the denim all the way off both legs, leaving the clothes crumpled around the prosthesis and other boot. Now he turned to her, as bare as she was. He slid his fingers down her stomach, making her quiver. So many things were going through her mind now, images of Dale and Roy twisted together, a lot of emotion with them. He shifted onto the bed, put himself on his knees between hers, and lay down upon her.

His upper body strength had him managing it all smoothly, and though a worry passed through her mind about his knee, she was going to trust what he’d said. He considered that issue his to handle, a part of who he was.

When he settled between her legs, his cock nudging at her entrance, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and lifted her hips, making a guttural noise of pleasure as the head pushed inside her. He stopped there, a blissful, anticipatory pause until she looked up into his face, met his eyes.

He slid in deep, stretching her with his size, a snug fit she loved. “Yeesss . . .” she whispered, and earned an answering glint of pleasure from the blue-green irises, a tightening of that firm mouth.

“All mine,” he said, pushing in a little deeper to emphasize it. “My girl.”

She nodded, giving him a tremulous smile as he bent, covered her lips with his, a swirling, long kiss as he moved inside her. Slowly, easily, like floating on waves. She’d been so worked up, so hot. Now, though her body was still intensely aroused, the emotional weight countered it such that everything became slow and languid. It was a surreal, perfect, isolated moment. They were the only ones in this world, their bodies moving together toward that crest when the wave would surge and crash, rush them over the edge.

Her fingernails bit into his back. “Don’t be afraid to mark me, girl,” he growled. “I’d love to carry your scratches.”

She was glad of that, because he left her no choice. That slow, blissful spin started to change to sharp, demanding spikes. He captured a breast in one hand, his back curving so he could seal his mouth over a nipple, suckle. She worked herself even harder along his length, clasping him tight, wanting to feel every delicious inch of him.

It wasn’t kinky, acrobatic, or exceptionally original. It was a perfect coming together, totally driven by instinct and the need for intimacy, and she loved it. In some way it cauterized and closed the wounds opened at the club. This underscored once and for all that what they were experiencing together wasn’t just a series of defined sessions between Master and sub. What they were sharing, building together, wasn’t defined or limited at all. It might crash and burn. On the first day, that possibility had scared her, but now she liked that the flight was open-ended. It made her want to soar.

She loved the way it felt, her legs spread for him, heels locked over his back and flexing buttocks, his arms caging her on either side, the rough scratch of his jaw on her tender flesh. The sound of his breath, getting harsher, tighter, as his arousal built with her own. Even as her body’s responses accelerated, her mind braked further, taking in all of it. Did anyone ever appreciate such intimacy until it was gone? The pleasure of having a man lying upon you, holding you, breathing with you through the long, dark night? Not just any man, but one with a strong thread of connection to your heart and soul?

Time had not yet tested or strengthened that thread for her and Dale, yet she could feel the stitch had been made. The connection was there, enough to make this a hopeful, poignant moment, as well as an erotic and pleasurable one.

He put his mouth on her throat. She’d already seen his control was substantial, but she’d done a little research on that missing limb and knew it wouldn’t be good for him to stay in this position indefinitely. He was taking care of her; she was going to return the favor.

She began to tilt her hips to meet his thrusts, tightening down on him, lifting her breasts up further, displaying herself for him. Men were visual, after all, and when she turned her head, giving him even more access to her throat, the obvious gesture of full surrender locked in tandem flight with his craving to dominate. His thighs hardened against the insides of hers, and she heard the fluctuation of breath.

“Together, girl.” He nudged her cheek so her eyes lifted to his burning ones. Once their gazes locked, he slid an arm under her, arching her further into his mouth as he suckled her nipple harder, his hand gripping her buttock. One of his fingers pushed into that intimate seam to tease her rim as he worked himself deeper into the tilted angle of her hips.

It swept over her so fast, she barely had time to gasp it out, but he was already there.

“Fuck, yes. Come for me.”

She did rake his back, caught in a pounding surf, the climax strong and uncontrolled. He matched her screams with his hard groans as he released inside her, giving her that desired jet of hot seed bathing her channel, her cervix, transforming her aftershocks into minor orgasms. When she finished, he was still thrusting, ensuring she had the full measure of her release, and she was bearing down on his cock inside her, trying to do the same for him. Her limbs were trembling. His back was slick with perspiration, but it was also sticky. Lifting her fingers, she blanched. “Dale.”

She had marked him, because she had blood smeared on her hands. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

“To do exactly as you were told?” He gave her a look that eased her heart, especially when he took that hand and kissed each fingertip. She sank back into the mattress, watching him. When he shifted off her at last, she caught his arm before he rolled to his back.

“Do you want me to get a towel from the bathroom, to protect the sheets?”

He touched her cheek with a fingertip. “Sure.”

When she returned, spread it out beneath him and he lay back, he took her with him. The insistent move made her smile as he settled her firmly against his side. She put her hand on his chest, moved down to his abdomen and let it rest above his softening cock. She couldn’t resist gliding a fingertip over it, feeling how her juices had made him sticky in a different way there. Some of his semen had trickled down her thigh, escaping her slick and swollen core.

They didn’t say anything for a while. She was giving him time for that postcoital somnolence men required, and truth, she was drifting with him. She’d been wound up since being with him in her office, wanting this, wanting him.

Yet as lust’s driving demand eased, something else penetrated their newfound intimacy. She slid her palm back up his body, over the sectioned stomach muscles, the well-developed chest with the light mat of hair. When she pressed her nose to his flesh to smell him, her stomach shifted like an uncertain cat on a new lap. Her fingers curled, drew in to themselves. During her arousal, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. In their earlier couplings, the newness of the Dom/sub dynamic had apparently kept her from noticing it. The focus had been on assuaging that need for one another. But in the slower pace now, she felt a perverse, unwelcome need to draw away. Not out of the bed, but enough to establish some space, consider him from a distance.

When she shifted to do that, his arm tightened around her and he tilted his head to look down at her. With a Master like him, not much escaped his attention. In this instance, that could be as much curse as blessing. He touched her chin, her cheek, but she continued to stare at his chest, her fingers curled in a ball in the space between her curved body and his. “What is it, Athena?”

“It’s . . . I’m not sure I can say it right.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me. Just say it. Are you okay? Did I do something you didn’t like?”

She shook her head, thinking how kind it was for him to ask such a thing, not in the tone of a man seeking ego stroking, but a lover concerned about her well-being. “It’s . . . Roy was . . . softer than you. He stayed fit, but the way a normal man does. You know, working out on the weights and treadmill, staying active enough to stay trim. Whereas you . . . well, you obviously work out a lot.” An understatement. The man was pure muscle. “Is that a SEAL thing?”

“Maybe. You get in the habit of it, to stay prepared, and it’s hard to let it go. Though I don’t think any of us stay as fit as we do when we’re active. And young and gung ho.” He gave her a faint smile, but his serious eyes were still tracking her expression, waiting to see where she was going with this.

“Touching you, sometimes I feel . . . decadent. Like I’m fifteen again, the girl with freckles and glasses who’s looking at the quarterback, wondering what it’s like to be the cheerleader who gets to touch him. It’s fun, exciting.”

She lifted her gaze to him, answered his faint smile with one of her own, but then she sobered. “Then there’s another part of me that—and please don’t be offended—feels wrong. I’m expecting to feel my husband’s body under my hands. Women always talk about wanting an Adonis, but when you love someone, their body becomes the body you desire, no matter how much you enjoy looking at the others. So in a way, I almost want your muscles to feel softer, to make me feel more comfortable, like I’m with him. But you’re not him, and I really don’t want you to be the same as him. It’s just . . . different. Odd. It took me by surprise. It’s only in moments like this I notice it. I’m sorry . . . I’m really not saying this right.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he caught her wrist. Keeping that steady gaze upon her, he drew her hand back to his body, laying her palm on his chest. He left his hand over hers, slid them both down his chest, over his stomach, so she followed every ridge. He took his time about it, murmuring a quiet reassurance as her fingers curved into the hard terrain.

Then they were at his cock, his testicles, and he molded her hand over them as she caught her lip in her teeth. She stared at the way it looked, her hand touching him there. She could feel his eyes still on her face. He didn’t appear to be watching their hands at all, only her reaction to what he was doing. He moved her hand to his thigh, back up over his hip bone, his rib cage. He kept it to a leisurely pace, a not-so-casual tour, giving her ample time to expand the exploration. She traced a strip of pale skin, stroked the fine hairs of his body, seeing the more vulnerable places among the less-so ones as she went along.

The contact brought back the sensual intimacy of a few moments ago, with a different flavor. By the time their layered hands returned to his chest, she felt a little less uncertain. He laced his fingers with hers, squeezing them together as she lifted her lashes to meet his gaze again.

“I’m not your husband, Athena. I’m your Master. This is my body, and you can explore every part of it.” He turned to his hip, putting his arm around her waist, drawing her close enough to put his mouth to her ear. The position let her press her face into his neck as her hands slipped over his hip and buttock, his scored back. “It’s time to figure out how to love a new body. A new man.” He paused. “I can’t imagine how much you must miss him.”

She closed her eyes, her lips against his collarbone. “It’s gotten better this year. Maybe the third year is the charm. But the first two years, I didn’t want to get out of bed, get dressed, do anything. I didn’t expect to lose him when I was still . . .”

“Young enough to want to love again, to want someone again.”

She nodded. “It felt like a betrayal, to start to think that way again. But when I saw you, it was as if he was standing in the back of my mind, saying, ‘Yes, Athena. That’s the one. He’s the right one.’”

Realizing how that sounded, she drew back, met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean I’m seeing you as a jumpstart. Or trying to trap you into something more than you intended us to be.”

“You’re saying what’s in your heart. I’m a man, Athena. I won’t overanalyze, I promise.” He smiled again, making her smile back.

“Okay,” she said. Putting her head back down on his chest, she tried to believe the strength of his arms would slow the world down. Keep her feelings for him manageable, in perspective. “Okay.”