Mistress of Redemption (32 page)

dreams, to the extent he slept as little

as possible. He needed her healing

touch…her love. Had he lost it? Or

had he never had it, and he was

making her up entirely, a

hallucinatory side effect of his near-

death experience, as the doctor

suggested? Why couldn’t he

remember her name, otherwise?

125

Joey W. Hill

But the only thing that gave him the

courage to close his eyes at night was

the occasional visit from her. She

was worth any terror…

* * * * *

He was on his knees, naked, in a

room where the fire glowed warm

and comforting, the heat sensual on

the skin. Not searing or punishing.

She was there, sitting in a wing-

backed chair, her legs crossed, hands

lying slim and graceful on the arms.

She wore a short blue silk dress that

clung to her breasts, showed him the

high proud set of them, the points of

her nipples. The indentation of her

waist, flare of her hips, the line of

her thigh. Her feet were bare. It was

odd, the small toes painted a cherry

red, curling into the carpet, when the

rest of her looked so intimidating, so

in control. Her sable hair waved

around her face in a Twenties starlet

type of way, accentuating those

incredible lips. Her dark eyes seared

his soul in a way that would make

him gladly crack open his chest for

her to brand it completely.

He had to approach her or he would

simply die from the pain of not being

near her.

She granted his wish.

“Come here.”

Moving forward on his knees, he kept

his head down until he reached her

feet. He groaned with relief when her

fingers brushed his jaw, curved under

his chin and lifted it so he could look

into her face.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll always

love you. I’m so sorry.”

Tears ran down his cheeks, over her

fingers. Taking her hand to her mouth,

she pressed the salt of him to her

lips, keeping her eyes on him. Then

she put her hands on his shoulders.

“Lift me. Lay me down on the carpet

and take off my clothes.”

His hands trembled as he slid one

arm around her back and scooted her

forward to position the other hand

under her knees. He picked her up.

As he rose to his feet, he’d never felt

anything as perfect as holding her in

his arms, looking down into her face.

Feeling her body relaxed, trusting his

strength to hold her, take her where

she commanded. Turning, he stepped

before the fire and dropped to one

knee to gently lay her down on the

soft rug there. Her arms left his

shoulders, drifting out to either side

of her so she could grip the long

strands of the carpet.

“Rough, Nathan. Take my dress off

rough. I want to feel your power

wash over me, knowing it’s all mine

to command.”

It was a simple truth. All she had to

do was say it and he would obey. It

rose in him, savage and pure. He laid

his hands on the neckline of that

perfect, formfitting dress with its

array of sparkles and rhinestones that

followed the upper curves of her

breasts and moved in a serpentine

line around her hips. That design

gave him a flash of some other

memory, terrifying and arousing at

once, gone before he could identify

it.

He didn’t pause though, because his

Mistress had ordered him to do

something.

Tearing the fabric from the point of

the neckline to just below her mound,

he found she was completely bare

beneath it. She arched up when he

froze, holding the fabric tightly 126

Mistress of Redemption

in his fists. He stared down at her,

the pink nipples, the delicate point of

her bare sex, the graceful curves of

her woman’s body.

“Tear it all the way open.”

He did, and now the dress spread out

on either side of her, flaring out like

a cape.

When she lifted her slender white

legs, her heels touched the small of

his back, the upper curve of his

buttocks. A soft, playful smile

touched her lips as she exerted a

slight, nudging pressure to bring him

forward, angling up her hips with a

mouthwatering display of flexibility.

“Inside me. Now.”

Letting go of the dress, he laid hot,

hungry hands on either side of those

hips. Her fingers dug into the hard

muscle of his biceps as he found her

with his broad head.

Slowly he pushed into wet heat,

watching her undulate, her mouth

open. Her breasts rose on a

shuddering breath, her eyes sparkling

with a passionate heat rivaling the

fire.

He knew if he could hold that gaze,

he would never fear the touch of fire

again. Not if this was the prize.

“Mistress.”

“My name. Please, between us here

and now, let me hear you say my

name.” She spread her thighs wider

so he sank deeper.

“Oh, God…you feel…” Like heaven,

heaven found in the depths of Hell.

“Nathan…” She was rippling, though

he’d barely just entered her. As her

muscles clamped on his cock, she

dragged him down with her, making

his vision gray, the grip of his hands

become bruising as he sought to drive

into her so deeply it would be like a

fatal wound, keeping them linked

through all eternity. Her throat was

bared to him, pale, her tongue moist

and pink as she opened her mouth on

a scream.

“Dona…”

* * * * *

Dona.
His eyes sprang open, stared

into the dark, wide awake. That was

her name.

It washed over him, everything

coming in a jumble of images and

thoughts that would take time to sort

out, but she was real. He knew it now

for sure, knew it the way he’d always

known those nightmares were real,

his literal trial by fire to earn her.

While identifying that name gave the

gnawing fear within him an almost

painful level of relief, she had

another name. One he held on to, the

name he called her in his soul.

Mistress.

It would make the nightmares and

loneliness bearable. He would use it

to

remember that every action and every

thought had to be with the intention of

earning her love.

Reaching up in the darkness, he

touched the letters, made sure they

were still there.

127

Joey W. Hill

Please. I don’t deserve her and I’ll

do what I have to do, but if I could

only have her beside
me while I do
it, I won’t ever take her for granted.

I’ll never doubt her love, never

cause her
pain…please, please,

please… Give her back to me.

Dona. Mistress.
As he fell asleep

again, the nightmares for once

sullenly stayed in the shadows.

* * * * *

“You’re still moving like an eighty-

year-old gimp.” Jerry, the dayshift

guard, made the observation as he

processed his effects.

“Yeah, well, getting downed in a

knife fight and dying for ten minutes

will do that for you,” Nathan

responded dryly.

Today he would be released. All that

quiet sense of waiting and tension

that had been building in him like a

coiled spring emanated from him like

an engine revving. It got

exponentially stronger as they put him

through the checkout process, as he

carefully bathed and shaved, dressed

himself in his outside clothes he’d

ordered for this day. A pair of tight

jeans, a dark heavy cotton T-shirt, not

so heavy that you couldn’t see the

bump of the nipple rings he wore.

Most of the prisoners and the guards

couldn’t look at the piercings on his

cock without wincing. They didn’t

hurt anymore, but if he barely touched

himself there, he remembered her

touch and became instantly erect from

the sensation. For six months, he’d

forced himself to wash without

jacking off, despite his aching desire

to do so. He wouldn’t, not until she

commanded it.

The movement as he walked rubbed

the seam of his jeans over the

piercings along his cock, carefully

folded in his jeans with no

underwear protecting it. His Mistress

wouldn’t want him wearing any

underwear.

She would be here. He hoped. He

wanted her to be with enough passion

that it should be able to conjure her,

if that was the way this worked. He

hoped his prayers had earned him the

chance to prove… Not that he could

be worthy. He wasn’t sure that was

possible. But perhaps it wasn’t a

matter of being worthy. In his mind’s

eye he saw the stage again, the

horrible moment of her greatest

crime. He would love her, help her

trust that a man could love her

without betrayal. He would value the

fragility of her heart far more than his

own, because they were one. It was

his heart. He wouldn’t destroy their

love with his fears. She wouldn’t let

him, for one thing. She knew what he

was thinking before he thought it. She

was the best woman to keep his ass

on the right path. He’d make it his

life’s work to ensure she never

regretted the effort. Or that Lucifer

and His wondrous Lady didn’t regret

giving him this chance.

If she’d just come for him.

It was and wasn’t a sense of déjà vu

to step outside the prison gate, move

to the edge of the highway. He had to

cut through a parking lot, something

that hadn’t been there. There were

buildings within view. A gas station

about a quarter mile down the road to

his right, a cluster of buildings that

looked like farming structures to his

right.

More things that hadn’t been there

when he first met her. Trees, some

green fields. As 128

Mistress of Redemption

he stood there, squinting in the sun,

his stomach hollow with anxiety,

something caught his eye. Moving to

the opposite side of the road, he bent

and closed his hand on the cigarette

lighter half covered in sand. A lighter

that had been scratched with his

initials on a bored night over a year

ago.

She wasn’t an illusion. He had faith

in it. But finding the lighter helped.

His fingers held it as his eyes shut.

As the faint hum of an engine caught

his ears, he hoped. He hoped.

He had served his time in more ways

than one. Now he was free. Only he

didn’t want to be a free man. He

wanted Dona’s leash upon him,

needed it.

Like a scientist, he’d made his mind a

microscope, focusing in on the tiniest

portions of her. The way she had

turned her head. The curve of her

lips. The pain lingering in her eyes.

If it’s just the bus and I have to get

on it, I will. I’ll keep going as long

as I have to, to prove I
deserve her.

I will deliver every letter alone, face

the karma I deserve. Live every life

alone if I
have to. I just…oh God, I
don’t know if I can survive another

minute without her…

He lifted his gaze to the horizon.

She was coming. The red Mercedes

as he remembered it, her dark hair

flying, only something was different

this time. When she slowed, stopped

alongside him, it was not with the

dynamic fanfare, and Dona was

wearing a… He blinked. A pale

yellow sundress, as fresh and

feminine as a lily. Her feet against

the pedals were bare, a pair of

canvas sneakers pushed just beneath

the seat. The Goth makeup was gone.

As he reached out, removed her

sunglasses with trembling fingers,

there were just the dark beautiful

eyes seeking his. Real, alive. His

Mistress, but a Mistress of Hell no

longer.

Mortal, like he was.

She had accepted that she might face

pain again, but that it was time for

her to rejoin the world. She’d had the

faith to risk her heart again, to

believe that he would provide the

love that would make that risk worth

it. He found he couldn’t speak at the

enormity of that gift. Behind the

anticipation of seeing him, he could

see she was as scared as he was.

“So…” Her voice was soft as he

cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing

her lips. They quivered as she

pressed her face against his touch,

her gaze never leaving his face.

“You’re sure about this? It’s a hard