Mistress of Redemption (33 page)

road, this life. You have a lot of

debts to pay.”

What he wanted to do was hold her,

tell her he wouldn’t let her down.

She was tough as nails, but she’d

come this way at a cost. It was a

miracle.

He’d never thought of himself as

deserving a miracle, but maybe that’s

why they were called miracles. To

give the undeserving a chance to

change.

Thank you.

“It’s the reality in which I get you.

That’s all that matters to me.”

At her expression, he couldn’t wait

any longer. He slid his hand to the

back of her neck and half lifted her

out of the car, his other hand going

around her waist to crush 129

Joey W. Hill

her to him as he covered her mouth

with his. He drank her in like a man

dying of thirst in the desert under the

cruel sun. Surrounded by fire, she

was his salvation and damnation, and

he’d accept both to hold on to her.

When they parted, her eyes were

closed. He touched her lips with his

thumb again and her mouth curved at

last, even as he caught one of her

tears on his fingertip. She dropped

her head back, pinned him with her

gaze.

Though the dress was innocent, that

smile was not. “Then get your ass in

this car.

Your Mistress has plans for it. I want

those jeans open. In case I want to

play with the only stick this car has.”

With a rakish grin, he kissed her

hand, held on to it as long as he could

before he had to release it to circle to

the passenger side. When he got to

the car door, he backed a step away

and vaulted over it. He landed with a

bounce in the passenger seat, despite

the agonizing twinge to his

midsection.

It was only pain. He wasn’t afraid to

experience pain to please his

Mistress. In fact, he was looking

forward to it.

130

Mistress of Redemption

Epilogue

Six months later

“So
this
was a success?”

Dona applied the ice pack gently to

Nathan’s swelling left eye, cupping

his chin in her free hand. She

couldn’t help a quick stroke of the

feathered eyebrow, needing to feel

the soft skin that creased at the corner

of his unmarked blue eye at her

amused question.

“Well, considering she could have

just shot me as a trespasser and

dragged my body into the house…”

Lifting his hands to her wrists, he

curled his fingers around them, not

impeding her, just caressing. He did

that a lot, touched small portions of

her anatomy as if he was savoring,

memorizing, always seemingly awed

at the gift of being able to touch her.

Even though they’d touched each

other so many ways since he’d been

released from prison, often with

more raw need than reverence. But

maybe they were the same thing.

When she bent, pressed her lips

against his swollen upper one, she

knew no matter how he touched her,

her body responded. Whether it was

the most casual brush of contact when

they walked down the street hand in

hand at night, exchanging quips with

the street vendors, or far more

intimate couplings in their tiny

apartment.

“You could have worked up to

them,” she murmured against his

mouth. “In

Violet’s mind, you almost got her

husband killed. It might have been

best to wait another five years.

Maybe until the end of the next

decade.”

He dipped his head, brushing her

cheek with his soft hair as he pressed

a kiss into her palm. Glancing at her

beneath those long lashes, he worked

up her wrist to the pulse point there,

his tongue teasing it to a faster

cadence.

“Be still,” she reproved. “I’m trying

to be a doctor here.”

He lingered, tracing a line back down

her palm that caused a stir in her

lower extremities. The playful desire

in his eyes goaded her. When she

curled her hand, pricking his face

with her nails, he obeyed and

released her. Her good slave—but

never too good.

“I wanted… I’ve been thinking about

them a lot. She wouldn’t let me in the

house, said my filth wasn’t going to

infect her home. I think they have a

kid now. There was this little bike

with training wheels by the front

door.”

He rose, moved into the bathroom

and pulled off his shirt, wetting a

cloth to run down his arms. Dona

made herself stay where she was,

watching him remove some of the dirt

he’d accumulated from his day’s

work.

131

Joey W. Hill

She quelled the desire to reach out,

soothe the pain. His heart had

changed, so it was difficult for her to

let him do what he needed to do. But

he never faltered. Never asked for

pity. Only that she be there when he

got done doing it.

“It may not have been personal. She

may have been referring to how dirty

you were from work.”

He met her gaze in the mirror, a

rueful smile crossing his firm lips at

her attempt to tease, but he lifted his

shoulder in an apparent casual shrug

as he bent his attention to the cloth,

wiped it across his bare chest. She

liked him smooth, had him keep

himself shaved for her, though she’d

had him keep the hair on his head the

way it was now, the shoulder length

that let her see all the different color

variations from the sun.

“They’ve seen me cleaned up. All

shellacked. I wanted them to see me.

Who I am.

This is who I am.”

All the potentials of strength and

intelligence she knew he possessed

were emerging. This handsome,

magnificent man was slowly

becoming as complex and beautiful

inside as out. He took her breath

away, on many different levels.

Despite herself, she moved to the

opening of the small bathroom,

reached out and ran her fingers down

the center of his back.

“So what happened? Use the other

clean cloth for your face. The

coolness will feel good.”

He complied, so his next words came

out from behind terrycloth. It also

served as a blindfold, helping him to

get the words out, as she knew it

would.

“I told her I would respect her

wishes, but I needed to speak to Mac,

and to her.

They listened.” There was wonder in

his voice. A quiet triumph, laced

with contentment and acceptance.

“When it was over, she didn’t say

anything to me, just walked into the

house. But Mac stood there and

looked at me awhile, then asked me if

I wanted a beer. We sat out on their

dock for about a half hour, drinking

beer, not saying much. Then he shook

my hand, wished me luck. I saw her

watching me as I walked back down

the street to catch the bus. She didn’t

look…she looked like she was

thinking, not hating.”

Dona stroked her knuckles down the

valley of his spine. She knew what it

was to love a man with her whole

self. She’d dared to do it twice now,

and this second time she knew she’d

do anything for him. She couldn’t say

she didn’t understand Violet’s anger.

The black eye she’d given him the

moment he’d stepped onto her

property, the follow-up punch to the

jaw.

But it hurt, imagining how Nathan

would have stood there, taking the

blows, a man big and strong enough

to stand toe to toe with scarier things

than a pissed-off woman who was

barely over five feet tall, even if she

was a cop. He would have waited

until she finished, the blood filling

his mouth. Then once again, he’d

quietly ask for a chance to talk to

them. It was that which would have

gotten through to Violet. Seeing that

there was something different about

him. Something worth hearing.

132

Mistress of Redemption

He was fiercely devoted to the quest

to make amends. Fiercely devoted to

taking care of Dona. Maybe too

devoted, she reflected.

She worked late hours at the free

clinic. While society’s memory of the

previous life associated with her

name had vanished, her medical

degree and credentials were

unquestioned. The advantage of

having Lucifer as her previous

employer, she suspected. Another of

the quietly amazing gifts she’d been

given.

Every day, Nathan came to escort her

home, no matter how tired he was

after a hard and hot day of roofing in

the new subdivisions going up on the

outskirts of the city.

“A kick-ass Mistress you might be,”

he’d tease her, “but you’re still a

woman. My woman. You’re not

walking home alone.”

He liked to hold her hand as they

walked. They’d talk about their day,

watch the neighborhood kids squeeze

in that last moment of play in the

darkening streets.

Those moments of male testosterone

meshed oddly well with his

submission to her in the bedroom, his

willingness to serve her however she

desired. But it wasn’t just the

roughness of the neighborhood. He

knew how she felt about opening the

door of their home alone, fighting the

hold of what might be behind it, a

lingering phobia.

Therefore, when she woke to find

herself held tightly by him in the

loneliest hours of the night, she

understood. He’d tear open his heart

and let her have it if she asked. It was

all for her. He’d found something

worth saving his soul
for
, and that

had made all the difference. She

wondered if he understood he’d

saved her soul as well.

“I want to celebrate.” He turned

suddenly and caught her about the

waist, twirling her, sending the

handful of cotton balls she held flying

and making her laugh with his boyish

exuberance. The light and the

shadows in her mind joined hands,

making it the best kind of ache to

look up at him. “I got paid yesterday.

I’m taking you out to dinner and for

ice cream afterward.”

She cocked a brow. “
And
ice

cream?”

“Waffle cone, cookie crumb topping,

everything.” Sobering, he brought her

closer.

Despite the injuries to his face, she

got lost looking into his blue eyes,

feeling the muscled length of his body

press against her. “Anything you

want, Mistress. Today, tomorrow…”

She let him kiss her, and as he

deepened it, those calloused hands

clutched her hips, pulled her closer

in male demand. She decided she

was going to exercise a Mistress’s

prerogative. Dinner could wait. Ice

cream and him. Those were the only

two things she needed, and if she

could have them together, so much

the better. She had half a pint of

mocha vanilla swirl still in the

freezer. The microwave would melt

it just enough…

* * * * *

A summer breeze flitted through the

curtains. The bed was stripped down

to just sheets as his body stretched

over her, giving her the pleasure of

running her palms up 133

Joey W. Hill

his strong arms, braced on either side

of her. Across the broadness of his

back, down to his hips, slightly sticky

from the ice cream she’d licked off

his buttocks and his long cock. He’d

had some too, and her pussy still

ached from the pleasure of the cold

and heat mixed, the warmth of his

mouth before she’d had him replace

it with his cock.

Lean, a roofer’s spare body, but all

muscled and more wide-shouldered

than expected. When he bent to her,

catching her lips in a kiss that was

somewhat off center because of the

rhythm of his body stroking into hers,

everything was dusky, dim, soft at the

edges in the quiet room. The noises

of the street outside blended with the

radio inside.

“Dona.” He murmured her name,

sinking deeper. She arched, wanting

all of him and more.

“Mine,” she whispered back, biting

his lips a little harder, feeling him

swell inside her at the sensual

punishment, the claim on him.

“Yours,” he agreed. “Forever,

Mistress. Yours to fuck…however,

whenever…”

Humor glinted through his gaze, but

something even more intense.

“Mine to love.”

“Yours to love.” He bent, kissed the

point of her sternum, just beneath her

breasts.

“Yours to keep.”

Her protector. Her lover.