"I want to take us a little off the beaten path on the way home," she told him. "Take the turnoff to Lilesville up here. I have a gift certificate to use and you're going to help me spend it."
"Nope. Female shopping is definitely a boundary. Way too cruel a punishment."
"Jerk," she punched his arm. "You'll like this. It's a sex shop." She wouldn't give him further explanation, so when they pulled off the scenic rural route and drove up to the quaint rambling house that had been attractively landscaped for its purpose as a retail venue, Mac raised a brow at the "For Hers" sign. "I've been conned. This is one of those women's boutiques."
"It's a woman's sensuality shop," she corrected. "For Hers sells sexy things that turn women on, and the owner sells it in a way that women feel comfortable shopping for it.
Erotic, not pornographic. I know him, Justin Herne. See, there he is now." Mac saw the tall man come to the door, well-dressed in slacks and tailored shirt. He had a lean, muscular build and his brown hair was pulled back in a sleek tail, emphasizing the precise perfection of his features.
"And just how do you know him?"
She slanted him a mischievous glance. "He's something to look at, isn't he? He's my friend Sarah's husband. Newlyweds, in fact. I did Sarah a favor that helped bring them together. As a result, Justin gave me this very generous gift certificate." She pulled it from her purse, laid it in his hand. "Which I want you to go in and use." Surprised, he glanced down at the five hundred dollar certificate. "Must have been some favor."
"A story I'll tell you on the trip home. I got all the intimate details, and I promise hearing them will get you hard as a rock." Her hand wandered over his leg and his cock stirred.
"What do you want me to buy, Mistress?"
Her fingers moved to the inside of his thigh. He shifted to accommodate her, so she could tease his testicles as she lifted her other hand in greeting to Justin. "Pick me out something you know I'd like. And no cheating. No asking Justin or another customer for help."
With that, she stepped out of the car, leaving him watching the distracting sway of her ass in the snug denim as she went to greet Justin. The man met her with a warm embrace, Mac noted, married or not. He decided it was time to get out of the car. A guy who owned a women's sex shop might have some different ideas about monogamy.
"Justin, Mac. Mac, Justin." Violet introduced them. "I'm going to go enjoy your garden, Justin, and Mac is going to decide what would please me." She caressed Mac's forearm. "He's learning to be very good at pleasing me." Justin's dark eyes shifted to Mac. It was the first time any Mistress had exerted her Dominance publicly over him, and lust warred with discomfort, his body roused by her obvious claim stake even as he felt embarrassed to be revealed as such to another man outside the strict structure of a place like The Zone or Tyler's. But when he left the two of them chatting in the garden and stepped into Justin's shop, he realized Justin was already keyed in to the dynamics that ruled their type of erotic play.
Every item in the shop - lingerie, play toys, costumes, videos and erotic romances, even bath oils and soaps - were selected to further a woman's erotic fantasies, including some very classy and high-priced bondage toys and restraint devices.
Mac's lips twitched at a butt plug with a horse tail. With her equine fetish, she might like that, but he damn well wasn't picking it out for her. He'd let her discover that one on her own and then torture him with the threat of it. Which, with her sadistic streak, he wouldn't put past her. He grinned at the thought. As he passed his fingers over a soft camisole, he remembered the texture of her skin beneath his, the arch of her throat, her cries as she came, the clutch of her fingers on his arms, his hips. The smell of her hair, her half-smile.
"It's hard to know what to get for a woman when you want to give her everything, isn't it?"
Justin had apparently stepped into the doorway while he was touching the garment, staring into space. Mac realized he had a tight, crushing grip on the soft fabric and he released the satin, making an awkward attempt to smooth it.
"It is," he agreed shortly.
"Do you want a suggestion?"
Mac opened his mouth, closed it, gave a shake of his head.
"She forbade you to ask for help."
That definitely pushed way past the threshold of his comfort zone, and made itself uncomfortably at home in the living room of his psyche. So he shrugged. He wouldn't lie, but he wouldn't, couldn't engage a man like Justin Herne on this issue. "I have to know what it is," he said. "That's the point." Justin nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said. He stepped forward, placed a brief hand on Mac's shoulder, met his eyes from an equal height. "Take care of her.
She's very special to us."
As another customer came in, he turned away, and Mac watched him slip into the mode of the warm, professional shopkeeper. He shifted his gaze to the window and found his Mistress sitting on a bench amid the early autumn flowers of the courtyard garden, gazing into the sparkling ripples of a fountain. The sun was making her a bit sleepy, and she laid her head on her hand, turning sideways on the bench so she could watch the fountain and let her thoughts wander where they would. All she needed were wings and a sprinkling of dust across her cheeks and he'd easily imagine her as a garden fairy, alighting in this sensual, quiet place to dream dreams only fairies understood. Of butterfly princes, rides on the backs of swallows, or naps taken in the cradle of a blooming rose.
As the customer brushed past him with a murmured, "Excuse me," and a lingering, appreciative glance, he realized he'd been drifting himself, just standing there watching her for nearly ten minutes.
As if she sensed his attention, Violet's head rose, and she looked his way. She studied him with serious eyes, then lifted her hand, pressed her lips to her palm and blew a kiss.
Watching those delicate fingers, that moist mouth press against her skin, a warmth swept through him, as if she'd blown pixie dust to him in truth. He smiled, lifted a hand and turned to find something that would make his fairy queen happy.
Violet opened her eyes at a feather light touch on her calf.
Mac sat on the ground next to the small bench, one leg crooked up, his fingers cupped over his knee while his other hand played lightly with her calf. The bench was small, but he could have sat with her. He hadn't. He had waited at her feet, patiently, for her to wake.
She feigned a casual stretch, aware of his eyes coursing over the tilt of her breasts as she did so. "I didn't mean to nod off on you," she said.
It was surprising to have to admit to herself that she was flustered as much as pleased by his devotion to her needs. It was one thing to have it in The Zone or at Tyler's, where the environment demanded and expected it. She knew she had thrown down the gauntlet when she had introduced him to Justin in the way she did. He had met the test, accepting her unspoken desire to have him embrace his submissive role in a semi-public manner with barely a hitch in his stride, and he'd stayed in it, as if he had taken her actions as an unspoken command to do so until she said otherwise. It was unsettling, but undeniably arousing.
She stroked his neck, ran her hand through the thick curls, grazed her knuckles down his jaw, across his upper lip, along the facial hair that was so soft in one direction, so marvelously not when his lips were moving between her legs. He turned his head, kissed her fingertips one by one as she offered each. His gaze never left hers, and her nipples tightened sweetly beneath her shirt, rising up for his attention.
"So what are you thinking, Mackenzie?" she asked quietly, stroking him.
"I'm thinking I'd like to sit on the bench, hold you in my lap while you sleep as long as you like."
"Mmm. What did you buy me?"
He turned to the decorative bag behind him, pulled it forward. Violet was conscious of his nervous tension as she reached in.
"I bought you two things. I was sure you'd like...at least one of them." She lifted out the custom-made Italian ankle boots. Designed in a hunter green velvet that would perfectly match the first dress she had worn with him, it had black ribbon lacings, the ends of the laces tipped in emerald beads. The elegant stem of the heel was three inches.
"There's also three extra sets of laces in there. You can do them up in a gold foil color for Christmas parties, and there's a brown with these smooth colored earth stone beads to tone it down, wear them with jeans. And then there's one set in a matching green lace. I chose the boots, but Justin pointed out the laces and the ways you could wear them. I don't think that's cheating, exactly." She suppressed a chuckle. "I love them, Mac. They're beautiful. They're perfect." She set the boot aside, leaned down to kiss his firm mouth. "You're perfect." His hand curled up behind her neck, holding her there, prolonging the embrace, and she had no objections. She couldn't think of a more wonderful moment, basking in the sun of a secluded garden, Mac's lips on hers, his touch on her body.
He pulled back slightly. "The other thing. If you don't like it...it may have been too forward, but you said I should get you something you would like..." He stopped, shook his head. "I should probably take it back."
"Not until I've seen it." She was curious as to what item Justin had in his shop that would be causing Mac such concern, and she reached back in the bag.
It was a hinged box of carved wood, the top engraving of a pair of whooping cranes. "This is beautiful, Mac. What were you so worried about?"
"Inside," he inclined his head. "The gift is inside. I just thought you'd like the box, so I bought that." He shifted. "I bought the boots for you, too. This...I thought you'd want to know it was bought with your money, so to speak."
"I know how much Justin's shoes cost. You spent too much already, and I told you to use the certificate," she scolded.
"I did. Inside the box." He placed a hand over hers on top of the lid. "But I can get you something else if you don't like it."
Curiosity fully roused, she released the clasp of the box and raised the lid when Mac reluctantly slid his hand away.
The silk-lined interior held two things. One was a key. The other was a man's silver bracelet. The Italian design of flat pewter links joined by smaller links would be an appealing look for a man who wasn't a fashion plate, but who knew how to dress well and attract a woman's eye. Each of the smaller links was embedded with a discreet diamond chip.
"It locks," Mac said, as she looked down at it. "I used Lisbeth's gift at The Zone so Mistresses would know what I was...but they never really tied me to her. You hate it.
I'm sorry, it was selfish, and presumptuous. I just - " Violet laid the box to the side, reached down to take hold of his shoulders and dropped into his arms, unbalancing him with the unexpected move so he rolled back to take her weight. She ended up stretched full length on top of him on the garden path, her mouth fastened on his, hands fisted in his hair. He recovered quickly, his arms sliding around her back, tightening the embrace so every curve and valley of their bodies fit together, and he swallowed her soft murmur of pleasure with the contact.
Violet lifted her head from the kiss at last, though she thought she could have lain there forever, feeling the hard strong length of his body beneath her, tense with leashed passion.
"So you like it, then?"
She lifted a shoulder, affected a neutral look. "It'll do." He grinned.
Violet lifted herself off him, and of course as soon as he recognized her intentions he helped, providing extra strength with his hands at her waist. She took the bench again, looked back into the box and fingered the smooth flat rectangular pieces, nearly an eighth of an inch thick, joined by the smaller square links, like an elegant masculine chain.
"How'd you know my shoe size?" she asked, her mind moving over a myriad of thoughts, desires, possibilities, trying to rope them in, struggling for rationality, caution.
"I noticed your shoes at Tyler's, lying on the floor this morning."
"Some men would notice the shoes. Most wouldn't notice the size."
"I'm not most men."
She flicked her lashes up at the arrogant tone, then saw the spark of humor in his eyes, not quite covering his concern at her sudden quiet. It warmed her, his attempt to draw her away from darkness. She wasn't surprised he knew her shoe size at all, when he was so accomplished at picking up so many of her mood shifts.
As if he read her thoughts, he put his hand against her calf. "I notice everything about you, sugar."
"I'm beginning to see that."
And the realization was opening up her heart further to him, so that the vulnerable organ was all but lying at his feet, ready for him to pick it up and cradle it in those large hands. Or crush it with his formidable strength, enhanced tenfold by the fact that every third heartbeat in her chest seemed to be caused by him. When a slow smile transformed his expression, it jumped and accelerated, making her revise that. Probably every other damn beat.
Well, she wasn't a coward.
Violet closed the box, laid her hands over it, resisting the urge to grip it possessively, the way she wanted to do with him. But relationships didn't work that way, not D/s or vanilla, or any kind in between.
"I want to put this on your wrist more than anything, Mac," she said. "But I need to wait."
His eyes sobered and she looked down at the box beneath her hands. "There's something I want you to know about me first, and then..." She looked up, met his gaze.
"If you don't regret choosing this as my gift, I'll put it on your wrist, and call you mine in truth."
"All right. Tell me."
She shook her head. "When we get home. I want to tell you when you have some space to think about it. For now, I want you to come up here and hold me like you said, and if I drop off for three hours and your legs fall off from lack of circulation, you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
He shifted uncomfortably. "Violet, there are things about me...we don't have to know everything right away to be all right with something like this." He nodded to the box.
"Yes. Yes, we do." She tapped the surface with its carved wooden cranes. "I take this very seriously, Mac, and I think you knew exactly how seriously I would take it, which makes it all the more special to me. I can't give it without you knowing the one thing about me that may make you decide not to pursue our relationship further."
"Sugar, there's nothing in the world that could do that." She smiled. "There's that charmer again, but I can see you chewing on what it is I'm going to tell you. Come up here."
He looked as if he would try to persuade her further, but apparently came to the correct conclusion that she was not going to be deterred from her plan. Rising to his knees, he slid his arms beneath her thighs and behind her back and stood, lifting her at the same time. He turned, brought them back into the bench with her cradled securely against him, her legs bent up, held securely in his arms so she was limp and comfortable and immediately at peace, almost as if by giving herself into his arms she had entered the quiet sanctuary of a church. She scooted around to nest herself down, and the erection beneath her immediately drove out any thoughts of institutionalized religion.
"I seem to have a rather sizeable lump in my bed, but I don't think I want it removed," she observed.
"Good thing," he returned dryly. "With you sitting on it, the only chance it has of going away is if it's whacked off."
"Would you ask for water before I did that?"
He chuckled. "At the top of my lungs."
"Progress."
But she saw the shadows in his eyes and reached up to touch his face. "What I tell you will matter, Mac," she said softly. "I don't know if it will be for good or ill, but it will matter."
He didn't say anything this time, just held her closer. She shut her eyes, forcing herself not to push the moment, but to savor it, seeing as today might be the last she could enjoy him. The truth could set you free, but sometimes freedom was the last thing a person could want.
"What was that?" he asked.
She cleared her throat. "I said, what's that old adage about setting something free?" He tipped up her chin. "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't - "
He paused, and a chuckle bubbled out of her at the same moment a devilish smile crossed his face. They finished it together.
" - hunt it down and kill it."
She left him at the club, with several lingering kisses. First in the car, and then through her window after he got out, until his back ached and his heart felt like it would explode. Then there were ten minutes of simply standing there, their hands linked and resting on the base of the open window, while they simply considered each other. No, that was too adult, and he was too honest not to call it what it was. They gazed at each other with no attention to anything else in the world. What was best, he felt no need to pull away. She was the Mistress. She would say when it was time to leave. All he had to do was stand there, drink in every aspect of her, enjoy the feel of her small-boned hand within the clasp of his, and wish time would just linger there as long as they wanted it to do so.
"Well," she said at last. "I guess I better go. Work tomorrow."
"Yeah." Taking a chance, he tightened his grasp, unable to help himself, and bent down one last time, seizing her lips in a kiss that was undisguised, hungry, greedy, conveying all he felt and wanted from her. His other hand found its way to the side of her face, her neck, tightened so he felt her pulse rage beneath his touch.
When he lifted his head, she was holding onto his wrist, her nails pressing into his flesh. He was scored by her in a dozen places on his back and upper torso, and he gladly would have let her take every bit of his skin off if it would please her.
"Be careful in this death trap," he said. "When can I see you again?" Though she flashed a reckless smile at his warning, her eyes were serious as she considered the question. He knew, with a tightening in his gut, that she was about to tell him whatever it was she felt was so important that she would not fully offer the gift he'd selected until he'd heard it.
She reached into her purse, took out a business card case, held it without opening it, tapping it on the steering wheel a moment before she made her decision and took out a card, wrote on the back of it.
"I want you to come to my house for dinner, Wednesday night. Can you cook, really?"
"Yes."
She raised a brow. "Just yes? No qualifications, like 'I can only cook burgers or toss salads'?"
He braced both hands on the window and squatted down so they were eye level. "I attended three semesters of cooking school. I can cook you anything you'd like to eat, sugar, and give you a chocolate dessert that will melt in your mouth." A delighted, sinful smile crossed her face and she tangled her fingers in the chest hair visible in the open collar of his shirt. "How about I cover you with it and make you so hot you melt it? Then I can lick it off every last inch of you," He caught her lips in another quick kiss and didn't flinch when she bit, capturing his tongue and teasing it with her own. When she broke the kiss, her cheeks were flushed and violet eyes bright, for she'd donned her concealments before they were in sight of the club. He loved knowing their true color, knowing that the lavender was an enhancement of the glowing iris that was already there.
Her gaze flicked down. "I want you to wear something obscenely tight," she said.
"No underwear, so be careful of what's mine when you're getting yourself zipped into them. I want you shaved, close." The direction of her glance indicated what part of his anatomy she was referencing. "Your shirt and shoes go off at the door. I plan to sit on the counter and fully enjoy watching you cook." He lifted a brow. "I'll do all that, and bring groceries. Do you have a fully stocked kitchen?"
"Mackenzie, I have everything you need."
She pressed the card in his hand, but he saw the hesitation before she did it. All those who took D/s play into the sanctuary of their homes had to weigh the choice very carefully, for a lot of reasons. No one was in a better position to know that than him, given the case he was working now. But he did not want to see worry in her eyes. He took the card she offered, but kept his attention on her face. "You can trust me, Violet."
"I know that," she said.
"It's not going to make a difference, whatever it is."
"Yes, it will. I just... No, don't look at it yet. Not until I drive away. I just want you to know, if you change your mind and decide not to come - "
"Violet." He started to look at the card, her insistence be damned, because the fear in her eyes alarmed him, but she closed her hand over his palm, hiding it.
" - I will understand," she said firmly. "But if you do come, I'll want to talk about what you're really doing at The Zone, and if I can help. I don't have to ask if what we have is real or not. This weekend answered that. Maybe we can use that to help you, Officer. Or is it Detective?"
If she'd told him she was an alien on a mission to investigate the sexual nature of the human population, he would have been less knocked off his feet. At his expression, she managed a smile that was strained around the edges and stroked a quick hand down his chest, caressing him through the open collar of his shirt again. "Doesn't change my terms for how you dress that night. Hope to see you Wednesday. I'll be thinking of you."
She was gone a full minute, the Stealth merging into traffic with practiced ease, before he thought to look down at the card in his hand. He blinked. Felt the rug she'd just pulled out from under him rear back and slap him hard on his ass.
"Son of a bitch."