Truly Helpless: A Nature of Desire Series Novel Read online

  “Did you go onto the Internet and brush up on your top 100 dating tips?”

  “A man doesn’t reveal his sources,” he said, poker-faced, then the expression relaxed into a smile. “Fuck, you look good.”

  She was sure that wasn’t in the dating handbook, but it worked for her. She liked it when his roughness slipped through. Until he figured that out, it told her when he wasn’t acting.

  She’d left him a message in his Zone inbox, asking what dress the night would require, and he’d responded “casual sparkly, but comfortable shoes. Sexy always works.”

  He wasn’t much of an online chatter, but that worked fine for her, too.

  She’d chosen a pair of jeans that fit her the way she and any straight male with a pulse liked, and combined it with a shirt with a halter-style back and which stopped just above her navel. That allowed him a glimpse of a small strip of smooth skin and the delicate silver spiral charm she wore on her navel piercing. The top also revealed a provocative amount of cleavage between full breasts held high in her lace bra. The back was a series of thin straps that crisscrossed her bared flesh, one thicker strap masking the bra line.

  A spider-shaped pendant rested in the pocket of her collar bone, the jewelry a sparkling array of onyx and rhinestones. The boots she wore under the jeans were comfortable but gave her ass a nice swing.

  As Marius offered her a hand out of the car, his grip heated and firm, their bodies brushed. The contact set off the expected sparks along her skin. He registered it, because he started to draw her closer. She held fast. “The kiss attempt happens at the end of the night, not the beginning.”

  “Not a woman who eats dessert before the meal. Check.” He released her hand and closed her door when she moved out of the opening. As his back had to face her while he accomplished that, she allowed herself to brush it with her fingertips. “You look nice, too. And you smell good.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. She leaned against the rear passenger door of the car, her hands folded behind her hips. “A brushing of mouths, a brief greeting of sorts, is acceptable. Can you handle that?”

  He braced a hand against the top of the car, by her head, and leaned in, sliding a hand along her waist. As he closed the distance, she spoke again. “Like your mouth is a feather, stroking lightly across my lips.”

  His fingers twitched on her waist, his gray eyes flickering. He wanted to take more, to coax and seduce. By her instructions, this was a “normal date,” but she wanted to start with this subtle reminder that she was the Mistress. What was deep inside of him needed that, too, a tug on the sub part of his nature.

  Their mouths were very close. The solid wall of his chest pressed against the give of her breasts, another hint of deeper pleasures. His eyes slid to her mouth, but as he came so close contact was only a breath away, his lashes lifted so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

  A lot of subs would avert their gazes at half this proximity. It didn’t have to be a requirement of the Mistress. Something instinctive in the sub defaulted to deference.

  But there was another kind of sub. One who would lock onto his Mistress’s gaze with near violent tenacity, as if knowing the survival of some critical part of him depended on it. Sometimes there was another layer under the desperation. Simple, lovely need. To serve, protect, hold fast.

  She saw a glimpse of it, a light in his eyes, in the dark pupils, and her heartstrings tightened.

  “Hello there, Duncan,” she said softly.

  He stilled. She used the blink of uncertainty, where he stood between the decision to fight or retreat, to caress his jaw. And remind him he had a higher priority than his reaction. Her command.

  “My kiss,” she said. “Light as a feather.”

  She reminded herself how badly this man could fuck up a woman who eased up too soon, trusted him prematurely. Right now, she would treat him as she would a wild animal. Just because he took food from her hand didn’t mean he’d stopped seeing her as prey.

  He nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and closed the distance. She kept her hand on his jaw in case he decided to disobey and devour her, but she didn’t expect that. The hand was mainly to keep that whisper of contact between them as long as she damn well wanted it.

  He had firm lips, a little chapped. His breath was cinnamon and mint, his jaw smooth under her hand. He was a furnace. She’d noticed that before. Her bad boy had all the fires of hell burning inside him, twenty-four seven. A shiver ran through her as his shoulder and arm muscles flexed, his hand molding in tighter contour to her waist and hip. That indication of rising desire matched what unfolded inside her at the teasing contact between their mouths.

  She’d leaned forward. So had he, his chest more firmly pressed against her breasts. His hand left her hip so his arm could slide farther around her waist. Yet he still obeyed, keeping that same light, provocative touch between their lips. Tendrils of desire glided up her inner thighs like a painter’s brush, only she imagined it as his mouth. What a beautiful mouth he had. That twist at the corner gave his kiss a different pattern of friction, less uniform and more pleasing.

  She broke the contact, easing back and rubbing her thumb over his lips, a lingering touch. He’d been perfectly restrained, but had offered so much erotic potential her lower belly had become a butterfly garden. She moved out of the shelter between him and the car.

  “So,” she said, aware that her voice was a throaty purr. “Where are we going?”

  He cleared his throat. “Would you prefer to take your car? Mine—”

  “Is perfect. It reminds me of the car my prom date drove.”

  She adjusted so she had her hand in the crook of his elbow, showing him how she wished to be escorted. “Though hopefully you will not have a bag of weed and giant can of Icehouse under the seat, my date’s master strategy to get me so mellow I’d melt out of my clothes.”

  “Did it work?”

  “What do you think?”

  He gave her a shrewd perusal. “You came out of the womb in control, Mistress.”

  “You’re saying it to charm me,” she said mildly. “But rumor is I told the doctor how to cut the umbilical cord. I’m kind of fuzzy on those details, but it sounds like something I’d do, particularly if I thought he wasn’t doing it right. You still haven’t answered my question. Where are we going?”

  He paused at the passenger door of his car and reached in his back pocket. The shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders. When he noticed her noticing, she arched a brow.

  “I don’t pretend not to enjoy what’s mine to look at,” she said. “You have a problem with that?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said with that wry smile she liked. In prison, inmates were required to be formal with the C.O.’s. Always “yes, ma’am,” or “no, sir.” Hearing those two words on Marius’s lips was a pleasant distraction and pure fantasy material combined.

  She shifted closer and touched his mouth, this time in a more functional way, punctuation to her question. “How did you do that? The crooked lip.”

  “Guy with brass knuckles. I kept clear of them for most of the fight, but had to risk them up close and personal one time to get in a solid shot to his gut and drop him. It doubled him over and I finished him off with a knee to his face that broke his nose, so we both got bloody.”

  “It does seem so.” She took her touch away, quelling her irritation with his disregard for his own life. He was so matter-of-fact, reminding her of her high school years, being around boys who boasted about carrying guns and dealing drugs. Thank God, that world hadn’t been directly part of her middle-class suburban one, but it wasn’t as far from that of her closest friends, so she’d had exposure. Still, thinking of how Marius jeopardized himself bugged her, probably more than it should at this point in their relationship.

  Proving it, she realized he’d pulled something out of his pocket for her to see and she was looking down at it without seeing it. She was caught up in visions of him with his face t
orn up and bloody, no hands to wipe the blood away and tend to him, other than his own. He’d become quiet and tense, deducing from her silence she wasn’t pleased. Then she saw what he was holding. She seized his wrist in a death grip, making him jump as if she’d sprung out at him from behind a door.

  “No fucking way. Oh my God. Seriously?” She practically squealed like a teenager. Laughter at herself took over, warmth rushing through her body. “All right, who told you? How did you find out I love Boyz II Men?”

  He shrugged with his usual cocky assurance, but his eyes were twinkling in an unguarded way, a surprised reaction to her ebullience. “Didn’t I say a guy never revealed his sources?” Handing her the tickets to hold, he opened the passenger door with a flourish. “First, we’ll get dinner at a great Lebanese place I know, then we’ll hit the concert. Polish off things with a stroll on the Riverwalk before I drop you back off at your car.”

  “Okay. Sounds good.” Actually, the Lebanese place gave her pause, since she was a Southern comfort food kind of girl, but she’d charged him with planning the date, and she’d see where it went. He’d pretty much already put it over the top with the tickets. She could handle a little foreign food.

  “One more ‘this is awesome’ reaction.” She did an impromptu hip hop dance that surprised another grin out of him. “Fair warning, I may throw my underwear up on stage.”

  He held up both hands. “Just don’t expect me to do it. I’m not wearing any.”

  She snorted on another laugh and put a hand on his arm, letting her palm slide along it as she folded her long body into the seat. The car was still as clean as she’d noted at The Zone, and he’d put a flat black cushion over the duct tape repair on her side so she was comfortable. Unlike in a lot of older cars, the door didn’t squeak when he closed it. Clean and well-maintained.

  She appreciated that combination. As he moved around the hood, all snug jeans, obvious muscles and steely gray eyes, strong chin and a fantastic ass, she decided she liked it a lot.

  The Lebanese place was a cross between deli and diner, with a large horseshoe display case in the center of the room displaying a sampling of all their foods, desserts and carryout options. The hostess showed them to a corner table in the back and Marius held Regina’s chair for her. As she perused the menu with a faint frown between her brows, he touched the top of it. “Have you eaten Lebanese food before?”

  She shook her head. “This will be a first.”

  “May I order for both of us?”

  Her gaze slid to his and she set her menu aside, folding her arms on the table. “Yes. Since you asked so prettily. But I don’t like a lot of weird flavors, and I fall on the mild to medium end of hot and spicy.”

  His lips quirked. “I’d argue with that.”

  She made a face at him. “Order my food.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He gestured to the waiter. As she watched, he ordered a selection of what sounded like mostly appetizers. Should she tell him to knock it off, the flirty D/s references? Maybe not. It was a part of who they were. Maybe he was treating it like that because he was nervous. She saw signs of that, in the way he put his hand on the table, down below it, then back up again to tap a finger against the table top, an unconscious tic. The intent of the date was to take him out of his comfort zone. So far it appeared to be working. Though he might not see that as an appealing thing, it wasn’t his wishes that would matter tonight. Hers would take care of both of them.

  After the waiter left them, he flattened his palm against the table, as if realizing the reveal. “So is it okay to ask questions like we would on a normal date?”

  She took a sip of the ice water the waiter had left her. She might have ordered a beer or wine, but she wanted her head sharp and clear tonight. Marius had stuck with water, but he was on a fifty-dollar budget. When he had that occasional beer he’d mentioned, she expected he was a Budweiser guy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Privacy is an issue for most folks at the club. We don’t usually ask what anyone does for a living, or about family or where we live, unless someone volunteers the information.”

  “True.” She leaned against her crossed arms again. His gaze slid over her breasts and the interesting effect on them under the sparkling shirt. When he noticed her noticing, his smile became even more male.

  “Like you said, no reason not to look. I want the woman I’m with to know she’s appreciated.”

  “Well, her tits at least,” Regina said dryly. He toasted her with the water, not denying it, and she shook her head at him. “So are those the kind of things you want to know about me? What I do for a living?”

  He shrugged. “Small talk. It’s what you do on a date, right? Figure out more about each other, the surface stuff that breaks the ice and gets us that much closer to sex.”

  She chuckled, though he didn’t appear to mean it as a joke. “You think that’s all it’s about?”

  “Mostly. Some people want to get to know one another ahead of time, but you can watch them and see the hope for sex is in the driver’s seat.”

  “They could be interested in each other and want to have sex. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  He looked doubtful. “Even if that’s true, until the sex is out of the way, it’s hard to get to that.”

  “Sounds like they’re rushing instead of savoring. We may have childlike impulses, but we’re not children. Weaving deeper things into the sexual slows things down, while holding onto the promise of more intimacy, making it better when it’s finally the right time.” She let her attention course over his face and shoulders, the set of his hands on the table. How he wore his clothes, the things happening in his face. “I look at you and imagine a whole list of things I’d order you to do for me, in bed and out. Lay out the nightgown I want to wear, turn down the bed. Kneel by it while I read. Climb in between my legs when I’m ready, burrow under the covers and eat my pussy until I come.”

  Her itemizing commanded his full attention, and what pleased her was that the entire list drew his interest, confirming her suspicions about his desire to provide both service and pleasure to his Mistress. Leaning forward farther, she ran a thumb over his bottom lip. When he started to part them, she shook her head, pleased when he listened and remained still under her hand. The man had such a mouth. She indulged herself a heartbeat before she sat back and continued. “But a whole lot more than that interests me. Else I wouldn’t be here tonight. Anticipation and savoring tell us things about one another, so when sex does happen, it’s even better.”

  He took a swallow of his water and set it down. Rotated it with his fingers tented on the top of the glass, as if he had too much nervous energy to stay still. “You’re not bad at delivering a line yourself, Mistress.”

  She blinked once. “I think it’s easier for it to be about the sex for you, Marius. You spend a lot of energy not being straight with others, but you won’t assume the same about me.”

  His eyes went to that quick frost, which he quickly masked behind indifference and a placating spread of his hands. He sat back in the chair, hooking his arm over the empty one next to him. “All I’m saying is a fun fuck has its place. It can get you through the week, with none of the emotional stuff dragging you down. Will he call, will she call, what’s the relationship going to be…”

  “You’ve had experience with that?” But he sounded so detached from the process, she wasn’t surprised when he shook his head.

  “I watch other guys go through it. It’s kind of pointless if all they want is to give their dick a workout. I think they figure it’s just part of the burden of dealing with women. Though sometimes they find a woman that feels the same way a guy does about it.”

  “Maybe some of us start out wanting to give our gonads a work out, but then we stumble over something deeper we like,” she pointed out. “That’s why we go back for more, with future dates.”

  “Yeah, it happens that way for some guys. It even works out for some of them.”


  “But not you?”

  “I haven’t really gone down that path.” He shifted forward and started rotating the water glass again.

  She dropped her hand over his. “Stay still,” she said quietly. “Keep your eyes on the table.”

  His thick lashes had started to flick upwards, but at her command, he kept them fanned over his cheeks. She moved her foot so the toe of her boot pressed on his shoe, where his leg was bouncing in a staccato against the table base, making it vibrate. “Still. No fidgeting with your Mistress.”

  The leg stopped, but his voice took on that flat tone that she was starting to realize was the lid on a simmering cauldron. “I thought this was a normal date.” His fingers half curled beneath hers, knuckles pressing up into her palm.

  “It is. But as you aptly pointed out, there are things that run beneath the surface of every conversation, no matter how we dress them up. You’re a fulltime sub, Marius. And you know I don’t ever stop being a Mistress. So when I notice something that needs adjustment to help your ‘normal date’ skills, I won’t let it pass. Be. Still.”

  The leg had started to move again, but it stopped with a jerk. She closed her eyes and tuned in to the rise and fall of his breath, uneven, erratic, and the steady cadence of her own, though her heart might be tripping an extra beat as he responded to her.

  Did he realize what a step that was? He could have set her back with another quip, but instead, he’d reacted to the command automatically. It had been a long time since he’d interacted with a woman outside the scene. A man made such a decision intentionally, with the result that his social skill set diminished. She could integrate some of the structure he understood to help him stay out of trouble. Mostly. She hid a smile at the thought. Even if the boy wasn’t fucked up in the head, he’d be a handful. He wanted a Mistress who could hand him his ass whenever he needed it. Whether he realized it or not.

  He was a lot of wild, chaotic energy. She’d always liked standing in the middle of a storm.

  “You can look up now.” She took her hand away and picked up the previous thread of the conversation. “You asked what I do for a living. I consult for engineers and tech people. Sometimes it’s guidance for a current project, but lately it’s been free form thinking.”