Mirror of My Soul

Page 55

She needed him as much as he needed her. Whatever else had happened on her leap, she was no longer afraid to show it.
“Take me now, Master.” Her fingers curled into his biceps. “Take me with your pain and rage, and your love. I’m yours to do with as you desire.” His gaze covered her face, the collarbone, still purple and bruised, the taped fingers.
“Please.” Her voice dropped to a savage whisper, seeing it. “Do it for both of us. You’re my Master. It’s as much a part of taking care of me as your gentleness. I want the pain.
So I’ll never forget, never abandon your love again.” In retrospect, he would wonder what compelled him more, the vulnerable submissive in her that made it a plea, or the fierce Mistress that made it a demand.
He turned them over, using his strength to overpower her as she desired, but also using it to roll her onto her back in a way that made sure no pressure was put on the shoulder. Even so, his gaze was burning on her as he rose up on his knees and took each of her hands in his, turned her palms so they were flat on the grass on either side of her hips.
“You keep your hands right there and don’t move them.” He lifted off her enough to get his jeans open, shoved them out of the way, revealing that her words had made him fully erect, large. Marguerite shuddered as he gripped her hips, lifted them slowly up, impaled her. He was strong, relentless, leaving her no doubt that this was punishment as well as pleasure, even as his actions showed her he was trying to minimize the pain that the act could not help but bring her. As she cried out, tears came to her eyes, but she embraced all of it, wanting to suffer it, wanting this punishment, the pummeling of his thickness and length inside her. The proof of his love in a way that the civilized world could never understand the way she did. His fingers dug into her thighs, bruising her. She tried to tilt herself up to him even more, proving to him she was his, all his.
Marguerite thought his eyes were fierce like a warrior in the midst of battle, almost a berserker’s lust. Obeying instinct, she disobeyed, raising her hands enough to clamp down on his hands on her thighs, digging her nails in, drawing blood.
He snarled, caught her wrists and pinned them back down, using that grip and the force of his thighs between hers to keep her anchored at the right angle for his assault.
A moment later, he let go of one wrist to put one hand high on her throat, making her undeniably helpless to him, to accept the mutual pain they both had roaring through them.
Thinking was hardly an option when her body and soul were so open and raw for him. She offered herself with the trust of a newborn. Since it was the first time since she’d been seven years old that she had trusted someone so much with her well-being, it was more fact than metaphor.
I’ll take you at my pleasure, make you mine, but care for you no matter what… Every movement of him inside her, the expression on his face, sent the message clearly that she was his and only his. It brought her a sense of belonging that, up until now, she could only believe in extreme moments such as he’d brought to her since they’d started their journey together. In the fairy tale, when she emerged from sleep, Sleeping Beauty saw the man who promised happily ever after. But happily ever after was essentially irrelevant. Certain things bound people together forever and those things lay between the two of them. She would never doubt the message again, whether in peace or passion.
He came inside her then and her body wanted to rise up, seek the same fulfillment, but physically she was no match for him. He held her down, made her protect her ribs and shoulder and serve his lust and need. He let go of her wrist, reached between them and found her, stroked her, his eyes burning into hers. Within five powerful seconds she came, her body barely strong enough even with his restraint to withstand the physical wave, the tide of feeling that crashed into her. But like her trip into the water, she needed it desperately to find herself and begin again. But not alone this time.
His eyes, the set of his mouth, the implacable clamp of his hands, the force of his cock, made it an oath to her. She believed it more in this moment of primal anger and pain than she would have if it was delivered in flowers and poetry. The most momentous moments of her life had always been forged in pain and darkness. While there might not be light in darkness at times, there would be heat and safety with him, and love existed everywhere. She believed it now, not just because she had felt a moment of it when her father’s expression shifted and she saw a memory of what he once was, but when she accepted the terrible pain she had inflicted on Tyler and saw and felt his love embrace her, a promise to always forgive. No matter what.
Desire. The joy of embracing it fully with body and mind rolled over her, left her quiet, at peace. For the very first time in her life.
He raised his body off hers at length, the harsh lines still cutting into his face. After he rearranged his clothes, he sat on his knees, gathered her up so she was straddling him, holding on to his shoulders with her one good arm as he buried his face in her neck. A shudder went through him, so strong it was almost like a seizure. His fingers dug into her back. He was shaking. And more.
She’d told him that he had to trust her the same way he wanted her to trust him. To give her his pain when it became too much to bear. Would she have gone to get Natalie if she’d understood how it would impact him? Yes, she had to, and Tyler had known that. But, oh, how sorry she was. How she wished she could have done something differently.
Her heart broke anew, yet it was a clean break, pouring out a wealth of poison and fear on the ground, giving it to the earth to absorb and cleanse as she held him to her.
Held on as he did the one thing an intensely strong alpha man could do to bind a woman to him forever. Weep in her arms.
Her own tears bathed his temple. “Tyler.” She whispered his name, whispered it to him as a promise. “Tyler Winterman, I am going to love you forever, I promise. I will never turn away from you again, not when I’m afraid or even angry. I’m yours and you’re mine.” Her arm tightened over his shoulders as she absorbed the amazing truth of that. This incredibly interesting, handsome, exciting and loving man was hers. All hers.
Brendan was coming across the lawn and she discreetly gestured with her hand, holding him off, not wanting to interrupt Tyler or embarrass him. Brendan assessed the situation, nodded and placed the towel on a bench before retracing his steps back to the house. Another good man. Also hers, in a way Tyler miraculously accepted and appreciated.
Despite the darkness, she’d always been surrounded by gentle flames, like candles in a room. Brendan, Natalie, Chloe, Gen… Tyler, coming in to bring more than light—
heat, nourishment, warmth. She had been blessed, in so many ways.
“Please, Master.” She held him close. “Let me have all of it. Let me take care of you.
I’m not afraid of your pain. I love you. Nothing will make me stop.” Jesus wept. Those powerful two words from the Bible. How odd it was that chauvinistic, old-school men like Tyler and likely Violet’s Mac thought it was shameful to cry in moments like this. When prophets could not help but weep at the folly and evil of men, knights of the round table wept at the loss of their king. Even Little John, a man as broad and strong as an oak, had wept when his great friend Robin had died in his arms. So the legend went. She thought the rare tears of a strong man might be a gift to angels and Divinity, proof that there was compassion and love in a world long ago gone mad and beyond repair.
At length he was still, just holding her. She rubbed him, rocked with him, silently gazed out at the water. She reflected she would have been content if Josh had come out and poured clay on them, forever immortalizing them here, a sculpture she would have chosen to call No Matter What.
“Tyler,” she said at length.
“Angel.”
She lifted her head and put her hand to his chin, brought his face up when he didn’t want her to see the evidence of his tears. She leaned forward, kissed one eye, then the other, leaned back.
“What can I do to make you happy?”
Tyler’s gaze coursed over her collarbone area, the bruising that had developed a greenish-black coloring this week. “Maybe punch me in the face. I was an animal.”
“Don’t apologize for it.” She said it fiercely, surprising him with her passion. “We both know it’s not needed. I want to make you happy. I want to love you. Tell me how to start, how to put my feet on the right road.”
Despite the strength of her words, her voice was weak. Tyler knew she had to be fatigued in every limb. She was trembling as much from pain and exhaustion as from the late afternoon breeze coming in against her wet body and hair. His Ice Queen who always felt the cold. “Brendan’s dragging his ass with those towels.”
“No, he’s not.” She nodded. Holding on to her waist to keep her comfortably astride him, he turned to look toward the bench at the edge of the garden. There was a pile of terrycloth. “See? He even brought me one of your robes. He and Sarah both knew I’d want nothing clothing me but something of yours.” The simple assertion gripped his heart. “He came back a few moments ago,” she continued. “He left them there to respect your privacy.”
Tyler grimaced and she smiled. It entranced him, because for the first time since he’d known her, it came easily. It was not a broad grin but a serene curving of her lips, as if she’d given herself permission to use the gesture when she liked and was testing it out.
“I’m sure he’s run off to tell everyone he knows that Master Tyler cried in the arms of a woman,” she teased gently.
“Damn. I hate to have to hide another body on this property. I just buried the last person who aggravated me past endurance.”
She tightened her hand in his hair, tugged. Catching her forearms, his smile became something else. “Marry me, angel. That’s all I’ll ever need. Your promise in front of God and everyone to be mine forever.”
“And if I’m a terrible wife?”
“I won’t complain a bit. After all, I did beg for the privilege.” She swept her lashes down, casting a glance at him from beneath them in a way that made him want to fuck her all over again, this time with passion and laughter in the mix.