Holding The Cards (8 page)

“We’re here,” she said, and was pleased when he stopped, but did not automatically put her down, awaiting her pleasure on the matter.

Lauren reached up and traced his jawline with one finger, caressing his nape with the other hand molded to his neck. Her knuckles drifted down his sternum and to the place where her breast and his pectoral met. With one fingernail, she traced the joining path of the two curves, letting him feel the shape of her against him, as if drawing it on the canvas of his own body.

"Don't open your eyes," she repeated, suspecting the order might need reinforcement. "Remember the punishment if you do."

"It would be worth it," he muttered, but he did not open them. She smiled, locking both her arms around him to draw herself up for a light brush of lips against the leaping pulse in his throat.

She gasped against his skin as he crushed her to him, holding her squeezed in his arms as if he could meld their skins together and make one inseparable organism if he held her that way long enough. His jaw pressed against her hair and she knew she did not imagine the tremor she felt run through the muscles there.

Again the thought ran through her, its passage like the drag of barb wire across her heart.
What on
earth happened to you, you lovely man?

She let him hold her that way for a moment more, tightening the grip of her own arms, to give him comfort. The sexual drumbeats receded to jungle sounds, and there was something far more gentle between them, something far more dangerous than the sexual vibrations.

"You can let my legs down, now," she said at last, breaking the spell. He complied, stooping slightly to release them, his hand following the length of her thigh so that when she stood, his hand trailed up her hip, his long fingers caressing the curve of her bottom.

“Drop your hands to your sides,” she ordered, and he let out of whuff of frustration that brought back a startling memory. At her giggle, his brow creased.

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“What?”

She studied his face, touched it to reassure him that she was not making fun of him. It would never occur to her to do so, not to this gift of nature. Her gift, for the time being.

“Well, I was remembering going to a dog obedience class with one of my friends. They had this exercise; I think they called it Sit-Stay with Stimulus. It was where the dog sat at his master or mistress’s heel while the trainer and her assistants went up and down the line, approaching the dog, and crooning to them. You know ‘you’re such a good dog, look how beautiful you are,’ to see if they would resist their master’s orders and stand up or go toward that stimulus.”

Lauren glanced down between them. She was standing nude before him, the heat of her body close enough to radiate onto his, and send the message clearly behind the closed eyelids that she was within touching, embracing — hell, a dip of the knees — fucking distance. Her gaze drifted down further. She suspected if she freed him from the constraints of his jeans, his arousal would be laying along the seam of her slightly parted thighs. And then it would be over. Even a Dominant had limits to what she could bear.

So, regrettably, for now, the clothes stayed on, though she would have enjoyed seeing him kneeling by the tub naked, his cock jutting up above his folded knees, all four knuckles of either hand required to be pressed to the tile floor on the outside of his thighs, his head up. Lauren wasn’t a big subscriber to the

“head down and don’t look the Mistress in the eye” school of Dominatrix. She loved faces, and all their expressions, and with a tucked down head, you missed a lot of information. Plus, it was actually harder for a self-conscious sub to keep his head up, which made it easier to earn the pleasure of punishment, if you made holding the chin up a requirement.

“That noise you just made,” she injected warm humor into her voice, “reminded me of that class, the dogs impatient with the whole silly nonsense, but willing to endure it for the reward.”

“Do the trick, get the bone,” he said.

“There was that instant gratification, yes,” she curled one lock of his hair around the curve behind his ear, following the sensitive shell of skin down to the silver earring and tracing the small inside loop of that with the tip of her finger. “But while most of the dogs did need the little reward treats to keep them focused, mostly they seemed happy to be pleasing their Master or Mistress, taking joy in their owners’ pleasure in them. I liked that.”

“Why?”

“Because it said there was something more between them, something that made them obey beyond treats. Maybe love. Maybe sort of the for better or worse bonding that dogs seem to be so much better at than people.”

His fingertips reached out, touched her face with unsettling accuracy. Lauren looked up at him.

“Don’t be sad,” he said softly.

She laid her cheek in his palm, and let him feel the attempt of a smile.

“Okay.” She straightened, gripped his forearm for balance and stepped into the tub, grimacing, as she had to shift weight to the tender ankle. All pain was forgotten at the blissful embrace of hot water. She shut off the water as he had instructed, leaving the fountains running. Lauren picked up a couple of the sapphire colored bathbeads Lisette had in a dish in one corner and dropped them in with her, changing
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the texture of the water so it became a soft oill upon the skin, perfuming the air with rosemary and lavender.

“Mmmm,” she lowered herself down further and rested her head on the edge. She looked at Josh, still standing, a bit uncertain in his expression, as if he was not quite sure what to be doing and feeling awkward as a result. She reached out and took his fingers.

“Come, kneel here beside me.”

He felt his way to a position parallel to the tub and knelt just as he should, his legs folded under him, his thighs cradling his genitalia into a triangular, straining area of denim. He laid his palms flat on his thighs and she permitted it, because it did not obstruct her view of anything and it kept his forearm in stroking distance.

“You may open your eyes, but only if you keep your gaze on the floor. One flicker of those beautiful lashes,” her finger brushed them, gently, but they quivered in response, “and I’ll blindfold you with my robe.”

She watched his eyes open, blink, and focus on the tile. He tried so hard to control the involuntary flicker toward his peripheral vision that his eyes teared up. He would steal a glance when she started to wash, she was sure. She was hoping for it. She tilted her head back and let the water from the fountain nearest splash down on her head, the back of her skull seated comfortably on a smooth ledge of rock.

The water ran down her face, her throat, and pitter-pattered down her breasts, the rounded tops floating just above the water’s edge, like the smooth curve of a dolphin’s rise.

"Would you like some help scrubbing your ears, sweet love?" Marcus asked.

Lauren raised her head. He leaned in the doorway, watching them both. "Nothing more relaxing to a lady than being groomed by a good looking eunuch or, in this case," he smiled enigmatically, "The closest thing to one."

His gaze passed over Josh, kneeling by her tub, his eyes down. Marcus's expression reflected acceptance, and no surprise. Somehow, Fate had brought together three who knew how this game was played. She knew it as a way to intimacy and to explore the deepest regions of her heart. Marcus seemed to have turned its practice into just another art form he admired. Her eyes strayed to Josh. It was a mystery as to how Josh knew the secret handshake, so to speak, and uncovering that mystery would become as much a part of the game as anything else.

For now, she knew she felt comfortable, and she had not felt that way in a sexual situation in a long time.

She had not felt comfortable with Jonathan. This wasn't the same game she had played with him. The same field perhaps, the same essential rules, but not the same game.

It was a relief to realize that Maria might be right, that the game was not the problem. What had unbalanced her was the discovery that she was not playing with someone who cared about her, someone she could trust, and perhaps, even more painful for her to acknowledge, never had been.

She nodded to Marcus. "The cream colored wash cloth and the moisturizer soap in my bag on the
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counter," she said. "The one that smells like vanilla."

He nodded and retrieved the items, then came to kneel by the tub, next to Josh. Marcus's gaze passed over her naked body. He did not look at her with impersonal disinterest. He looked at her as a lover of art would, with appreciation for form, and she felt flattered to see approval in his eyes.

"What I like best about this is not seeing you naked, love," Marcus said. He began to massage the bar of soap in the washcloth, creating a rich lather. "Though you are quite beautiful. What I like is knowing Josh is kneeling here beside you and cannot see you." He held out his hand and she put her wet palm into it.

He began to wash her arm, smooth strokes less than a foot from Josh's bowed head. "He can only imagine the way the cloth strokes the soft, pale skin on the underside of your arm, that area between the elbow and wrist as soft as a baby's skin." He turned her arm as he spoke, in tones that were slow and measured, like the caresses of a lover's tongue. "The way your breasts lie heavy in the water, the nipples full and soft from the warmth. Your legs wet and slick, your knees bent so the soap rolls down your thighs and melts into the bath."

A muscle flexed in Josh's cheek, sending a ripple along the tense jaw. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent like a stallion whose eyes had been covered with a scarf. Lauren ached, watching him. It was a state of delicious anticipation, her will torn between wanting to thrust her wet body into his arms and give him what he desired, see how he handled it, and taking him higher, seeing when the stallion would break free.

She was in control of the cards, so this could go somewhere or nowhere, and the choice was hers as long as Josh's choice was to submit to her will. But there were other factors at work here, and it was not that easy.

She knew how to whip him into a state of arousal akin to the grip of a deadly fever, a state that would make him believe he had no choice. While not the same thing as forcing him, it was problematic to her conscience. It was why a Dom often shied away from the damaged subs. It had to be the sub's choice throughout. If it wasn't, then you had crossed the line, and it was hard to see that line in a cloud of emotional issues, and to resist the temptation to draw on a sub's weaknesses. Power could corrupt a good intent. It was that simple. She had to be careful. Josh mattered.

She turned from the disturbing path of her thoughts to the man washing her. Marcus's squatting, splayed-knee pose made it obvious he was aroused by Josh's plight, and while the arousal wasn't for her, it did not make her less appreciative of the view. It was difficult to keep her eyes open, though, with his capable hands lathering her shoulders in a massaging motion that had her purring. He pushed her unresisting body so she lay with her head resting on the cushioned rim of the tub. Her eyes came back open, however, as he slicked the soap smoothly down her breasts. It was peculiar to have a man hold her breasts who had no interest in them sexually. However, since he handled them with such reverence for their form, she could not feel offended. In fact, quite the opposite.

As he traced them with his knuckles, weighing them in his palms, her heightened sexual awareness of Josh made the nipples rise under the light brush of his fingertips. She arched, expelling a trembling breath.

Josh gripped the side of the tub, agitated by the possibilities beyond his sight. A smile touched Marcus's lips as he raised his eyes to hers and her own lips curved. The flickering candlelight of the bathroom played along Marcus's perfect features and deepened the dark shadows in Josh's expression.

"I can smell the desire for you coming off his skin," Marcus observed. "Lay back, dearest, and let me rinse you. You should see her breasts, Josh. They're perfect. Large enough that they quiver when she so much as breathes, glistening with the water and soap I've put on them, but small enough that they weigh
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comfortably in a man's palm, particularly a broad palm like yours, where those long fingers could reach up and tease her nipples."

Lauren swallowed and shifted, lifting the objects that Marcus was describing.

"They're stiff now," Marcus continued in a murmur, "large and dark red, filled with blood, just aching to be sucked."

The hot water passed across them and back, the stimulation of tiny needles. Lauren caught her lip in her bottom teeth and bit down hard to suppress a groan.

"I could take care of that." Josh's voice was almost a growl.

Lauren reached out trembling fingers and trailed them along the nape of Josh's neck, making circular patterns on the skin.

"No," she murmured. "Not yet. I like watching you want me."

At her touch, Josh shut his eyelids, clenched them into tight folds of skin. At her words, his fingers became fists on his knees, but he nodded once, a quick jerk. Tears sprang to her eyes, startling her. In all the time she had spent with him, Jonathan had never shown such an obvious desire to please, coupled with a rage to devour.

Passion. He had never given her passion. Josh was passion in human form, undiluted, protected on an island that was about sensation and the genuine substance behind it.

It was demoralizing, how the strongest woman could be reduced to insecurity in the absence of passion.

She had not realized until now how she had begun to doubt her beauty and self worth. Passion was a flower with a fragile bloom, easily collapsed by frost. It was fortunate that it also had strong roots, able to survive in darkness for lengthy periods without dying away completely. Under the heat of Josh's passion, the flower was opening.

Lauren realized she felt like a goddess, her every movement sinuous and worthy of worship. She was fascinated by the beauty of her own skin, the soft touch of her hair on her shoulder blades, the long, graceful curve of hip and thigh. She was more than worthy of desire. She was worthy of begging, of adoration.

Lauren raised her face with an incoherent murmur as Marcus brought the sprayer to her neck. She moved her face through the water, drowning the tears.

Marcus chuckled, though his eyes were intent, showing he had not missed the emotions crossing her face. He conscientiously squeaked a strand of her hair to ensure it was free of soap, and managed a light touch of her chin at the same moment. Lauren gave a slight nod. She was fine.

"Ah, the unspoken fear of all men," he voiced the thought behind his laughter, "that a woman with a hot bath and a good shower head will have no use for a man."

Lauren smiled. "And a woman's greatest fear is that the cable company and La-Z-Boy will create the combination of channels and recliner options that will render her unnecessary."

"You mean they haven't already?"

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Lauren snorted and splashed him with water. "I'm ready to get out of here. Marcus, will you bring me a towel?"

She rose, water pouring off of her, and stepped out of the tub, one hand braced on Josh's shoulder as Marcus went to comply. Josh's gaze stayed on her feet. She knew his eyes opened as she rose. Even looking at the floor, he would have enough of a view just above the rim of the tub to see a quick slideshow of wet breasts, navel, hips, and water gleaming off the ends of the neatly trimmed triangle of soft downy hair between her thighs. His lips parted, his tongue touching them, and it was easy to imagine him sucking every drop of water away. The image was so strong; it tightened the coil of longing in her body at each vital point and weakened her knees so her grip on his shoulder increased for balance. His muscles shifted beneath her touch and she blocked the sudden desire to lean down and press her lips to the bump of shoulder blade. She thought if she did, she might wind her arms around him and never let go.

She wrapped the towel around her and hobbled over to the sink. "I think I'll just get ready for bed now, if you guys want to go do the same," she managed, avoiding her own gaze in the mirror. She caught Marcus's nod in the corner of her eye. He shifted past her and touched Josh's elbow. Lauren raised her gaze to the mirror as Josh rose. He gave her a long look. She could not summon a smile to lessen the seriousness of his expression, so she just stared back at him until Marcus touched him again and he turned away, preceding his friend out the doorway. Marcus turned in the frame, pressed his own fingers briefly to his lips and sent the gesture to her, gentle approval in his gaze.

She wasn't sure if it was merited. A Mistress took away the places for a submissive to retreat, made him vulnerable to her by patient, tender eradication of all emotional shields, until there was nowhere he could hide from her. It worked hand in hand with proving to the sub that he could trust his Mistress at the very deepest level, making those protections unnecessary.

Jonathan had wanted a Mistress who would treat the "breakdown" process like an amused predator cutting off a rabbit's every path of escape. Perhaps if she had loved him better, she would have been willing to go against her own nature and provide him what he wanted. No, even then, she could not have done it. It just wasn't in her to be vicious. That wasn't the kind of Mistress she was, and for the process to work right, the Dom had to let go of her shields as well, perversely be as open and exposed to the sub as she demanded he be to her. She hadn't been the right Mistress for Jonathan, the right person, the right woman.

"Go on to the guest bathroom, I'll use it after you."

She heard Josh's footsteps retreating, and then Marcus was leaning in the doorframe, watching every shift of her expression with those brilliant green eyes. "You know," he commented. "You are very appealing, for a woman."

"That's because you get turned on watching another Dom at work, as I do." She pursed her lips, considered him. "I wonder if I'm being too unkind, if I shouldn't ease up a bit. I could be taking this too far, much too fast."

He considered that, studied the ceiling, then brought his eyes back down to her face. "However cliché it sounds, my dear, you know and I know that a Master is cruel only in order to be kind. It's a very, very important rule."

The silence drew out between them and she never let her gaze drop from his. "But I don't know him well enough. In a dungeon, there's room for mistakes. I've never moved this fast with any sub."

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"Don't you dare lose courage on me now," Marcus admonished. He stepped forward, touched her face, but his expression was one of understanding, not condescension. "I have extensive experience with many rebellious youngsters," a slight smile curved his lips. "But I know, as you do, sometimes there's an instant click. You are doing very well with Josh. If you follow your instinct, I believe there is very little you will do wrong. And I am here, just in case."

She considered that, nodded. "Okay," she said, the one word quieting her worries, for now.

It felt good, the sense of support, but as soon as the door closed behind Marcus and Lauren faced the vision in the mirror alone, she lost some of her confidence. The dominant siren she had projected became a suffering, fragile-eyed woman with haunted features.

She had not sacrificed her whole being to Jonathan's bullshit, damn it. She ran her tongue over her teeth, picked up some of Lisette's perfumed body cream and dropped the towel. Watching herself, she spread the lotion over her breasts, rubbing it into the aureoles, over the nipples, watching them respond to her touch, already stimulated by the evening's events.

She had one or two friends with whom she was affectionate enough that occasional sex was possible, but it was mutually accepted that the emotional bond was based on friendship alone. It was something to be enjoyed, like a sport. Sports played well provided a synergistic lift when the game was in full swing, when you forgot everything but the momentum of that interaction, the playing. But you couldn't compare sex to racquetball or golf, or a good set of tennis, even under those circumstances. If anything, it was more akin to a sport that interacted with nature. Leaning back, hiking out as a sailboat surged up to ten knots close-hauled, the water bathed in the golds and reds of sunset that was more like it. You looked over at your friend and your faces reflected the shared ecstasy of that moment. That moment became part of your bond, deepened the friendship, but it was still just friendship. It was not the stripping of the soul, daring it to touch the bared soul of another.